Page 46 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“You found your calling,” he says sweetly, easing the gathering tension in my shoulders.

“I found a job that I’m good at and don’t totally hate,” I correct.

“Well, that’s more than most people can say.”

“What about you?” I ask. Aside from the first night that we lay in his bed together, I haven’t asked about his past and he hasn’t volunteered anything. But the more time he spends here, in my apartment, in my bed, in my life, the more desperate I am to know everything.

“What about me?” he repeats.

“Before you were a Deadly Sparrow out for vigilante justice, what did you do for a living?”

“Tech support for big businesses. It was all freelance, so I’d get a six-month contract at one company, then pick up and move when the next contract came in somewhere else.” He sounds bored just describing it, swinging his feet and drumming his fingers on the counter.

“Not your calling?” I infer with a twitch of my lips.

“No.” He laughs again. “I think this is my calling.”

“Watching your Mafia boyfriend cook dinner wearing a rope harness?” I tease, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Sparrow answers, reaching out to snag the back of the harness when I turn around. “And killing the fuckers who took Benny from me.”

His words are anything but ice. Actually, they’re more like fire, searing through me with their ferocity, willing to ravage anything in their wake.

I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. “I know.”

He tugs me close enough to give me a rough kiss before letting me go again.

“Suicide, in case you were wondering,” he says while I move the seared pork into the polenta to simmer.

“What?”

“How I faked my death,” he clarifies. “I wrote a note and stuffed it into my favorite pair of shoes. I left them on a bridge where a lot of people jump. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be, actually. They didn’t even bother to look for my body since most people don’t wash up for months thanks to the temperature of the water.”

The image of his face bloated and cold sends a chill through me. I grit my teeth and force it away.

“Do you feel bad for your parents? Losing your brother and then you.”

“Hell no. They were so embarrassed by his addiction that they acted like he never existed. They took all the photos of him out of the house and refused to say a word about him whenever I brought him up. I picked suicide because it was the only thing that would embarrass them even more than the way Benny died. Fuck them.” He spits the words like venom and hops off the counter.

“How long do we have until dinner, Killer?” he asks, wrapping himself around me from behind, searing my skin with hot kisses along the back of my neck.

“It has to simmer for about two hours.”

I can feel the shape of his smile as it curves against my back. “Perfect. Be a good boy then and come play with me.”

He slips a hand beneath the waistband of my loose sweats and wraps his fingers around my rapidly swelling cock. I moan and let him drag me out of the kitchen with his other hand clutching my harness.

Sparrow pushes me down onto the couch and climbs into my lap, his hands in my hair and all over my bare skin now, his tongue sweeping between my lips in a demanding kiss that I happily melt into. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure he gets the revenge he came for. He deserves peace and this is the only way he’ll get it.

I just need to make sure it doesn’t come at the cost of both our lives.

Chapter 17

XAVIARO

The bored indifference I usually wear as I make my way through the club is absent tonight. I sweep my gaze over each customer I pass, checking for any sign that they might be one of the Fitzpatricks, ready to start a fucking problem.

It would be stupid of Declan not to bring backup, but no one immediately pings my radar as I make my way past each table towards our usual quiet corner. The regular band of loveable jackasses won’t be attending tonight’s meeting. Just Lorenzo and Declan Fitzpatrick, head of the Irish mob, sitting down for a friendly chat about the Sleepless Reapers. It’s a meeting I wasn’t strictly invited to. In my defense, Lorenzo only glared when I told him I was coming, which is tacit agreement as far as I’m concerned.

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