Page 47 of Deadly Little Sparrow

The music thumps too loudly in my ears and everywhere I look is nothing but drunk idiots pawing at the strippers. For half a second I consider turning around and heading back home to Sparrow. He was curled up on the couch watching a movie when I told him I had to run out for an hour or so. I expected him to insist on coming along, but instead he made sure the knots in my harness were still tight enough, sucked a fresh bruise onto my chest, and told me to hurry home. It’s laughable to think anything could keep me away any longer than necessary.

I spot Lorenzo through the crowd, standing up to greet Declan with a handshake. I pick up my pace, shooting a few well-placed glares to clear my path. I reach the table just as the two of them are taking their seats again.

Declan looks up when I pull out the chair at the end of the table, between the two of them. He’s a tough-looking fucker, with a crooked nose worse than the one Sparrow gave me and a scar along the left side of his jaw, barely disguised by the red stubble on his cheeks. He eyes me with a furrow in his bushy eyebrows and a frown tugging at his lips.

“Didn’t know your trigger man was coming tonight. I thought this was just a couple of buddies in the same line of work, shooting the shit.” His tone is right on the borderline between amused and accusatory. He’s holding his cards close to his vest as he no doubt reassesses the situation.

“Don’t worry, I never shoot anyone at the club. The strippers startle easily,” I say in a deadpan voice. “I have a vested interest in tonight’s topic of conversation, that’s all. You two can pretend I’m not even here.” To prove my point, I cross my ankle over my knee and flag down the nearest server to order a drink. “My usual,” I request, and he gives me a fleeting smile before hurrying off to get me a soda.

“And we’re not friends, Declan,” Lorenzo says flatly.

The Irishman lets out a booming, throaty laugh that makes Lorenzo’s jaw tick as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Not yet. But that’s because you keep refusing all the invitations I send you,” Declan says.

“Ah, yes, like the invitation you sent over last week.” Enzo’s tone is dark and deadly, piquing my interest. He never mentioned any invitations from the Fitzpatricks before.

“Exactly like that one. I didn’t even get a thank you note for the gift I sent with it.” Declan holds his gaze, his voice a low rumble that only seems to intensify the seething look in Lorenzo’s eyes.

“Yes, how rude of me. I would return it to you, but it’s already gone out with last week’s trash.”

“That’s a shame. But I can always send another. I thought green might be more your color anyway.” Declan doesn’t waver from his friendly, dare I say flirtatious tone.

“We want to know about the Sleepless Reapers,” I cut in. They can get back to whatever cat and mouse game they’re playing once we have the information we need so Lorenzo can decide on our next move… so I can give Sparrow what he wants more than anything.

Declan tears his attention off Lorenzo and eyes me again like he can’t believe I’m still sitting here.

“The Sleepless Reapers?” he repeats.

“The motorcycle club running meth and prostitutes on the north side of the city,” Lorenzo clarifies, even though I’m positive Declan knows exactly who the fuck we’re talking about.

“What about them? Sounds like your problem, not mine. It’s your city, after all.” He flashes a taunting grin.

“So, you’re not in bed with them?” Lorenzo presses.

Fitzpatrick studies him silently for several seconds, his smirk unwavering. “I’m not in bed with anyone, Kitten. Not yet, anyway.”

Even in the dim lights of the club, I can see a dark tinge creep into Lorenzo’s cheeks. Is he blushing? I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to do math that refuses to math no matter how hard I try to force it.

“So, if we run them out of town and kill a few of them in the process, you’re not going to cry foul on us?” I ask, wanting to be crystal fucking clear before I get up and go home to tell Sparrow we have the green light.

That gets Declan’s attention. He swirls the drink in his glass and then takes a sip before answering. “We’ve been keeping an eye on them,” he confesses. “Frankly, I was surprised by the shit you were letting them get away with in your territory. The quicker you run them out of the city, the better it’ll be for everyone if you ask me.”

“Good,” Lorenzo bites off the word in a clipped tone. “And don’t worry about what goes on in Wildcliff. This is my city and I have it in hand.”

Declan hums thoughtfully. “You seem tense. Why don’t I buy you a lap dance before I go.” Lorenzo growls and Fitzpatrick gets to his feet with another booming laugh. “Good meeting you, Angel of Death.” He tips his head in my direction. “And I’ll see what I can do about a more suitable gift next time, Ennie.” He winks, throws back his drink in a single gulp, then saunters off.

“Ennie?” I mutter once he’s gone.

Lorenzo lets out another ominous growl of frustration. “What a fucking prick.”

“Yeah, he’s… something.” I’m not quite sure to make of the Irish boss, but I don’t give much of a fuck either. We got the answer we were looking for, and that’s all that matters to me right now. “So, I can let Sparrow off the leash now, right?”

He snorts with amusement and picks up his own drink to take a sip. “I thought you were the one who wears the leash in the relationship.”

The image of Sparrow leading me around by a leash and collar sends a spike of heat through me. I reach down to adjust the swell of my erection and clear my throat.

“The metaphorical leash,” I amend.

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