Sparrow(52)

RED WASN’T THERE when I got back to the hotel suite. Not that it surprised me. She was more independent than I pegged her to be. She was also a pain in the ass, and from what I’d noticed, hadn’t touched my credit card even once. Consequently, Red was broke as hell. I had no idea how she managed to walk around without spending a penny, but she did it and hadn’t complained about it even once.

She was stirring some very f*cking strange shit in me—shit I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not when I still had to find the missing person on my list, my impending revenge hovering over our lives like a black cloud of suffocating smoke. I took the crumpled note out of my pocket again just to remind myself I had a goal in life, something bigger. Something that didn’t involve money or ass.



1 – Billy Crupti

2 – Father McGregor

3 – The * who hired Billy?



I kicked off my shoes and walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and taking off my clothes. The heat and humidity killed me. Summer was my idea of hell. I was dark, cold person who enjoyed dark, cold weather. That’s why Boston was my kingdom, my home. The unseasonable cold in the city this June suited me perfectly.

But the weather was the least of my worries after meeting with Paddy.

The important thing was that tomorrow morning Paddy’s lawyer showed up with a check for Sparrow. Then I was going to get the f*ck away from this place and back home to deal with the George Van Horn problem. Sparrow would enjoy a fat payment for her suffering all those years ago, and maybe she’d feel a little less reluctant to spend the bastard’s money than she did mine. Though this money wasn’t only for Sparrow, I kept reminding myself.

It was also for my dad.

I took a quick shower and by the time I got out, my wife was back. I was always hypersensitive to the presence of other people. Especially when I couldn’t see them. A survival instinct I’d inherited from my father, I guessed, though it had failed him in the end. She didn’t make much noise—she never did—but I heard her shuffling about, and the sound of her soft footfalls on the carpeted hallway filled the quiet presidential suite.

I walked out with the towel wrapped around my waist, not thinking much of it. She already seen me in my underwear dozens of times and didn’t seem to mind. Most of the time, she even sent hungry looks my way. Leaning my hip against the doorframe of the double doors leading from the bedroom to the suite’s foyer, I watched her intently.

Of course, she was still wearing the same pair of baggy jeans and tight blue-and-white striped tee she’d worn on the plane. I knew her play. She wasn’t going to wear anything special tonight just to spite me. Red was standing on the balcony, her back to me, staring out at the turquoise ocean and tall palm trees. It was late, the sun was setting, and pink, orange and yellow hues smeared the sky like a perfect painting.

“Your resistance is growing old, you know that?” I spoke softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward the balcony’s sliding door. There was a beat of silence before she answered.

“Then do us both a favor and let me go.”

Stopping a few inches from her back, I placed my hands on the railing she was leaning against, caging her with my arms, my chin on top of her head. “That’s not what you said when I was eating you like a seven course meal at an Italian wedding.”

She twisted out of my touch and spun around, facing me, anger written all over her face. For the first time since I married her, she looked genuinely disgusted by my touch. This wasn’t pretense or shyness. She really didn’t want me anywhere near her. I took a step back.

“That was before,” she spat, every muscle in her face quivering.

Right, that unfortunate Catalina f*ck in our house. It seemed like a decent idea at the time, to try and kill the little obsession I’d started nurturing toward my wife. But in retrospect? Worst f*ck I’d ever had, and entirely not worth it.

I pivoted back into the room, not wanting to show any kind of emotions. Hell, what was I talking about? I didn’t have emotions toward this weird kid. I stopped at the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of hard liquor, not even sure which, twisting the top and taking a sip straight from the bottle. She followed me into the room, pouring angry heat from every pore of her body.

“Don’t pretend to give a damn about who I f*ck, Sparrow. Not when you keep on saying everything we do is a f*cking mistake. Stop acting like the betrayed wife.”

“You think I care about you screwing around?” She threw her hands in the air, frustrated. “Sorry you didn’t get the memo, Brennan. For all I care, you can dick your way to every STD known to mankind and even create new ones in the process.”

I turned around and got in her face, still holding the bottle by its neck. “Then what the hell are you talking about? What made you so pissed off now?”

“Forget it!” She shoved me back, her eyes glinting with impending tears.

Fuck, she wanted to cry. Red never cried, even when she married me, when I took her in, when crying was the only thing she could do.

I felt my anger faltering. “What happened?” My voice came out so gentle it startled me. “Why are you so upset?”

“Like it matters. You wouldn’t share anything with me, won’t tell me anything.” She wiped the tears from her face, and I hated that a part of me wanted to do it for her. “Just leave me alone.”