Page 35 of Sparrow

Romeo had faith in his president. He trusted the man knew he wouldn’t lay a hand on her.

“I have a club full of men willing to vouch for both of you,” Bowie grit out. “I have a battered woman not talking due to a threat laid down on her.”

Threat? Oh, this fucker was dead. To-fucking-night. There was no way around it. He not only beat her, but he threatened her. No. There was no coming back from this. Club sanctioned or not, Pipes was a dead man walking.

“Now, one of you better tell me why I don’t just shoot the both of you in the head and be done with this fucking bullshit.” Bowie slammed both his hands down onto the table with a loudWHAPbefore turning his back on them and stroking his chin. “Fighting over fucking pussy like goddamn twelve-year-olds with your first hard-on,” he added in disgust. “There’s plenty to go around.”

Monty stepped forward. “Best I can tell, one of you got confused between club property and personal property,” he suggested, his gaze lingering on Romeo a bit longer than Pipes. “That girl out there is free to fuck—”

“She’s fucking mine,” Pipes growled.

Bowie’s head jerked back toward them. “We settled that in church.”

Bringing his fist down on the table before he threw his chair back, Pipes stood to his full height. “She knew I was gonna do it. I brought her here the other night, but the patch over bullshit happened, so I couldn’t. Then I come home and she’s all—” He cut off his own words and ran a hand through his greasy hair. Romeo studied the jerky way the asshole moved as he spoke about Sparrow knowing he would claim her.

Covering his mouth, Romeo leaned forward in his seat. Curling his fingers, he ran his hand down his beard. She knew. He said she knew he’d claim her. Why would she have gotten on Romeo’s bike if she knew someone else would claim her? It didn’t make sense.

“Romeo says she got on his bike willingly,” Monty added in a disinterested tone as though he could read Romeo’s thoughts.

“She knows better,” Pipes said through clenched teeth. “She knows she belongs on the back of my bike, and only my bike.”

She did know better. She knew what it meant to get on someone’s bike. Shifting his jaw left and right, Romeo didn’t say anything. He had to figure this out. Staring at a knot in the wood of the table, he continued to run his hand up and down his facial hair.

“Anyone see this?” Bowie asked. “See her getting on Romeo’s bike?” he further clarified.

Taking his focus off the knot, Romeo regarded the Ohio president. “Lot was full of hang-arounds,” he said as he thought on it. “We were at the bar. Don’t know if the prospects were in view.”

“Convenient,” Pipes snorted. “Where did you do it?” he challenged while pacing from the other side of the table. “Did you do it in my fucking bed?”

This time it was Romeo’s turn. Shoving the seat back, it rumbled along the floor before hitting the wall.

“In the motel,” Romeo taunted, narrowing his eyes on the junkie. “I stripped her down, licked every inch of her skin, and counted her freckles. She rode my fucking cock like a rodeo champ.”

**Sparrow**

BOOM!

The sound of the gunshot was loud, distinct, and unfortunately not new to the clubhouse. Muffled shouts came from the sacred room for church. The men in leather charged toward it. Like a rag doll, Sparrow fell to the ground when they shoved her out of the way. Someone pulled her farther when the shock of it prevented her from protecting herself from possibly getting trampled by the mob of Odin’s Fury stampeding into the meeting room.

Flashes of her father lying with people screaming around him popped in her head. The dead look in his eyes as he bled out on the ground haunted her. Tears welled in her good eye at the thought that it would be Jacob lying on the floor doing the same.

Chapter 23

Romeo

Heat seared through Romeo’s side just after Pipes swiped the gun they’d both reached for away from him. Pain radiated out from it, making his ribs hurt even more. He fell to the floor in what felt like slow motion. Boots thudded around him, but the loud thunder from more gunfire rang in his ears. Wood splintered and flew in the air. He closed his eyes protectively.

“Fuck you!” Pipes shouted like a wild man. “She’s fucking mine! I told her she’s fucking mine! No one can fucking have her! She’s fucking mine!”

He’d done it on purpose. He’d been graphic with the junkie to see his reaction. He hadn’t really thought it out. Getting shot was not in Romeo’s plan. Getting the guy to lose his shit, yes, that’d been the plan. He’d wanted to prove he was unstable. Mission accomplished.

Lying on the floor, he put a hand on his side and found warm wetness. Shit. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so effective. One day, he’d learn tact.

Cracked rib. Gunshot wound. Possibly bleeding out. Some might say no bitch was worth it. Sparrow was.

Boots came into view, and then hands gripped him, yanking him upward. The room had gotten crowded and was only becoming more so as the seconds passed. Glancing toward the head of the table, he watched as Pipes struggled, with Bowie and Monty holding him down on his stomach, the gun out of his reach.

With the palm of his hand resting on it, Monty held Pipe’s neck, while his knee rested on his arm. Bowie had a knee in his back, trying to stop the man from standing up. Other club members filed in, taking in the scene and jumping in to restrain the druggie who seemed to possess superhuman strength in his crazed state.

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