Page 48 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“Yes, but Declan is right. We’ve put up with the Reapers long enough. I want them out of the city all together.”

“In other words, hold fire.” I sigh.

“Not much longer,” he assures me. “Bring Sparrow around again tomorrow, we can discuss a plan of action.”

A smile spreads over my lips and I cover it with a sip of the soda the server dropped off in the middle of all the posturing and sexual tension that I still haven’t quite figured out.

“I’m sure he’ll have some ideas on the subject,” I say after I set my glass back down.

“I imagine that’s putting it mildly,” he says, and we both chuckle. “You’ve been different since you met him. I’m… happy for you.”

I cock my head. “But?” I prompt, hearing the hesitation clear as day in his words.

He flattens his lips and for a second I think he’s going to play dumb, but he surprises me by answering.

“But, the selfish part of me thought maybe you’d be alone forever with me. Alone together, I guess.” He lets out a self-pitying kind of laugh and then downs the rest of his drink.

“Who says you have to be alone forever? Plenty of people in this city would crawl over a pile of bodies to get into Lorenzo Moretti’s bed.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he mutters.

“The bodies?”

“Yes. And the ‘Lorenzo Moretti’ part of that statement. People want power and money, that’s all.” His mood is obviously soured as he glares at the nearest stripper, oiled skin glistening under the stage lights as he swings around the pole.

I’m not sure what to say. He’s probably right. What the fuck do I know about it? So instead of saying anything, I enjoy the show for a few minutes with him without really seeing it. In my mind, it’s my little Sparrow all oiled up and naked, grinding to the pulsing beat of an oversexed song.

Heat licks at my skin and the bruise on my chest throbs with the memory of his mouth on me before I left the apartment. Will he ride me again tonight? Tie me to the bed and fuck my throat until he’s shaking and sweating with pleasure? Bind my hands and tease me with his tongue in my hole until I’m begging for release? A heated shiver runs down my spine.

“Go,” Enzo says, flicking his hand dismissively.

“Go?”

“Go be with your Sparrow. I can watch pretty boys gyrate all on my own.” His lips twitch with another restrained smile.

“Alright, boss. But call me if you need anything tonight. Got it?”

“Of course,” he says, his attention still on the dancer. We both know he’s not going to call unless the city burns down tonight.

On my way out, I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Alessio, letting him know that Enzo is in a mood and might want some company. If anyone can pull him out of his funk, it’s Alessio.

I leave the deafening noise of the club behind, my footsteps crunching on the pavement of the parking lot. I stay alert, still not fully convinced that everything with Declan was above board. For all I know, the whole flirting thing was his way of trying to throw Enzo off balance. A distraction. Whether it worked on my boss, I have no fucking clue. What I do know is that ginger snake is on my radar.

My BMW comes into view and my shoulders tense at the shape of someone sitting on the hood. My hand is on my pistol between one step and the next, all my senses zeroing in on whoever has the balls to park their ass on my car. The bigger question in my mind is whether it’s a coincidence or if it could be one of the Fitzpatricks.

I pick up my pace, my strides quick but even, my gun in my hand, cocked and ready but hanging by my side as I approach. It’s not until I’m a few feet away that I stop in my tracks and let out a breathless laugh.

Sparrow swivels at the sound, a grin stretching over his lips as he turns his head to look at me over his shoulder.

I come around the front of the car, and his smirk widens. He leans back, bracing his hands on the freshly waxed hood, no doubt leaving handprints that I would straight up kill anyone else for. He spreads his legs, beckoning me closer without words, and I step between them.

“Stalking me, Little Sparrow?” I tease, cupping his jaw and dragging my thumb along the smooth edge of it.

“Maybe,” he answers coyly. His attention snags on the gun still clutched in my other hand. “Were you going to shoot me?”

“This parking lot needs better lighting.” I shrug, tucking the gun away and buttoning my jacket. “And you were supposed to be at home.”

There isn’t a single thing apologetic about the look in his eyes as he toys with the knot in my tie. “I was worried you might be up to something fun without me.”

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