Page 16 of Deadly Little Sparrow

Enzo nods. “So what are you proposing?”

I shrug. “Sparrow is angry. He’s emotional.”

“Fragile like a bomb,” he murmurs knowingly.

“Exactly. But if I give him a hand with things, it will limit the potential for disaster. If we can get the Reapers scared enough of everything that goes bump in the night, they might clear out of town. Sparrow gets his revenge, we get a Reaper free city. It’s a win-win.”

He doesn’t look totally convinced, but he sighs and tilts his head in acceptance. “But,” he hedges immediately, “this is unofficial in every capacity. The last thing we need is all-out war with a bunch of methed-out Neanderthals. Keep this thing free and clear of Moretti fingerprints.”

I grin, and one of the waiters walking by stops to gawk for a moment at the rarely seen expression on my face before hurrying off, just in case it’s a precursor to murder.

“You got it, boss.” I push my chair back from the table. “That all?”

“That’s all,” he says. “Just… be careful.”

I’m not sure if he means with the Reapers or with Sparrow, but I nod either way. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.

There’s only one thing on my mind as I leave the club, heading straight for my car and speeding out of the parking lot into the night. Sparrow might think we’re done talking for tonight, but I’m far from finished. We still have a few things to straighten out.

SPARROW

I pace my apartment like a caged lion, ping-ponging back and forth between pissed and horny. How dare Xaviaro interfere with my revenge plot. Who does he think he is? Just because he’s some Mafia hitman, doesn’t give him any right to stick his nose in the middle of my business.

Also though, I feel like a novice chef who didn’t realize Gordon fucking Ramsay was eating in his restaurant. Xaviaro must have a long list of notes on what I could have done better. Obviously he took issue with my lack of body disposal, but what about the rest of it? Did he find my virgin act skillful or too amateurish? What about the technique itself? Sure, I took Shit Stain out with a single well-placed stick, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for improvement.

I groan at myself, slumping over the counter in my kitchenette and banging my head gently against the cool surface.

I don’t care what he thinks. And I don’t care about the heat that simmered in his eyes when I had my hand around his throat. Nope, nope, nope.

I push myself up again and absently sweep my tongue along my bottom lip, sparking a hollow, needy ache all the way down to my toes. What if I hadn’t run away? What if I had wrapped Xaviaro’s tie around my hand and used it like a leash to drag him back here and put him on his knees?

The ache radiates to my cock. It’s been hard and throbbing since the second I slammed the hitman up against the door and put my hand around his throat. I can still feel the way it vibrated against my palm with every word he spoke, his eyes fixed on me the entire time like nothing else in the world existed.

I shove one hand down the front of my jeans, a whine slipping from my lips as I grab myself roughly. A few strokes only ramp up my frustration. I don’t want to be jerking off alone in this rat-infested apartment. I tug my hand free and stride over to the window.

No matter how many times I open it to climb out onto the fire escape, it still resists and groans every time. I curse and struggle with it for a minute. If that sexy, subby stalker hitman has been following me for weeks, then he must be out there in the dark now. If he’s so fucking obsessed with me, if he’s so desperate to do me favors I never asked for, then he can come inside and do me a fucking favor.

The window finally slides open with a screech of protest and I thrust my head out into the night.

“Xaviaro,” I bark his name, squinting into the shadows of the alley below to see if I can spot him anywhere. “I know you’re out there,” I call when there’s no response the first time.

A sharp rap at my door makes me jump, slamming the back of my head into the window. I hiss and pull myself all the way back inside, rubbing my head as I make my way over to the door. It’s probably a delivery driver with the wrong apartment number or my neighbor from across the hall who’s developed a habit of popping over to ask to borrow a cup of crack. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell him I don’t do drugs, he always seems to forget. Or maybe he thinks I’m lying and I just don’t want to share.

I undo the deadbolt, fling the door open, and for the second time tonight, I’m struck silent by the sight of Xaviaro Saviano.

“You rang?” he asks, arching an eyebrow and leaning against the doorframe.

My mouth goes dry instantly as I rake my eyes over him. He looks just as put together as he always does, but I swear there’s something else simmering under the surface. Maybe it’s the slightly unhinged glint in his eyes or the uncharacteristically casual way he’s standing. That kiss got to him. I got to him.

I know I told him to stay the fuck out of it then ran away from him earlier, but he doesn’t seem at all put off by the mixed signals when I grab his tie like I was daydreaming about a few minutes ago, and drag him inside. The door swings closed behind him as I wrap his tie tightly around my fist and slam my mouth into his again.

His lips part easily, pliantly… obediently. I moan and suck his tongue into my mouth the same way I want him to suck my cock—with eager strokes and greedy enthusiasm. Xaviaro makes a broken, horny sound that vibrates inside my mouth as he stumbles after me, led by one hand around his tie and the other threaded roughly through his hair.

Maybe something really did come loose inside my brain when my brother died. I have no business getting mixed up with the Mafia. I came to Wildcliff to get revenge against the men responsible for Benny’s death, and then, hopefully, go back to some semblance of a normal life. I haven’t thought too hard about how that will be possible given what I had to do to get here, to this moment in time, but I’m pretty sure getting involved with Xaviaro will be counterproductive to that goal.

But I can’t make myself stop kissing him. I can’t make myself untangle my fingers from his hair or from around his tie. I can’t make myself stop coaxing muffled, breathless sounds from him with my tongue around his. I can’t make myself stop, and I don’t want to. I don’t think he wants me to either.

I break the kiss, my chest heaving, and look into his eyes, seeing the same untethered feeling that’s rising inside of me reflected back. His lips are damp and swollen, his normally stoic expression completely undone. I did that to him. The power of that thought courses through me like a shot of adrenaline, making my cock jerk and throb, eager for the heat of his mouth.

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