Sparrow

“Fuck you.” Brock spat blood toward my face, missing it by mere inches. His eyes were watering and his pretty face completely fucked.

I let go of his neck and offered him a casual smile, lifting the burning cigarette he dropped on the floor and tucking it back between his lips. I patted his shoulder like we were old friends. “Good talk, buddy. Now, turn off your fucking car lights. You’re gonna be here awhile.”

Slamming the bedroom door behind me, I sighed into my chest. We were going to spend some time in this shithole trying to help Flynn, but that didn’t mean I had to tolerate the idiot. A sudden urge to smash someone’s head into a wall washed over me, and I took the list from my pocket, observing it again.

1 – Billy Crupti

2 – Father McGregor

3 – The asshole who hired Billy?

The shit storm Paddy stirred in my life recently had made me dig up my original goal. It was easy to get lost in life when your quest was to avenge death, but make no mistake. Getting my hands on the person who had my father killed was still my first priority, still what made me tick.

Balling the yellow paper in my fist, I tucked it back into my pocket. I was close. Knew I was close. Felt it in my bones.

And I was going to show no mercy.

SPARROW

YOU DIDN’T CHEAT.

My feet thumped against the concrete and I drew in the chilly air of the dawn, Nonpoint’s “Alive and Kicking” roaring through my earbuds. I rounded a corner toward Marlborough Street, my muscles straining as I sped.

If anything, your fake husband is the one who takes his dick out on tour every time he leaves the house. You didn’t ask for that kiss from Brock. Didn’t initiate. Sure as hell didn’t think it’d ever happen. Brock’s cheating is none of your goddamn business.

My feet were burning and I felt my pulse in my neck, fast and furious. I crossed the road, heading back to the penthouse.

You don’t have to tell Troy. It’ll only bring more trouble, and it’s not like you’re suffering from a domestic bliss overdose.

I stopped in front of the revolving door leading to our building complex as I tried to regulate my breathing. I was not going to tell Troy about what happened with Brock, even though it made me feel really crappy about myself.

Troy was in the penthouse when I opened the door, must’ve arrived after I went out for my pre-dawn run. Still in his clothes from the day before, he lay on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

I didn’t acknowledge him. I took a shower and made my bed in the guest bedroom, and when I came back to the kitchen to fix myself some coffee, he was still there, in the same position. He looked exhausted, but any sympathy my heart could muster toward this man had vanished after the Paddy Rowan incident. I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter as I waited for the water to boil.

“Hello to you, too,” he grunted into his drink.

I didn’t answer. Christ. It was eight a.m. Too early to be drinking.

“You know…” He looked into the glass, swirling the amber liquid. “For someone who’s been upgraded to living in a penthouse and got the job of her dreams, you seem a little ungrateful.”

I threw my head back and gave a bitter laugh, my hands on the counter behind me for support. “Oh, you’re good, Troy. I see the mistress you spent the night with managed to put all kinds of crazy ideas in your head. See, in order for me to be grateful, I needed to want this in the first place. No one asked me before you kidnapped me. We both know I’m not here out of choice. So why don’t you tell me why you’re keeping me here? I’m sure it’s good.” I turned around, pouring myself some coffee and clucking my tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s real good.”

He got up from the L-shaped sofa. I heard him padding barefoot over the gold granite tiles even before he appeared by my side. He poured a cup of coffee, a smirk tugging at his lips. I knew he got high on this exchange, too. Our fighting recharged him. He already looked a little better, like he’d caught a quick nap.

“You seem to give all kinds of fuck about who I’m screwing nowadays. Are you jealous, Red? Because I already told you, you can always use me for your personal needs. The offer still stands.” He deliberately brushed his arm against mine.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to the idea of you cheating. I couldn’t care less who you were with last night.” I took my cup of coffee, intending to march to the guest room. His rough hand landed on my arm, stopping me.