Page 5 of Sparrow

“Her dad,” Jackal interjected. “You knew her dad—Ducky Oliveira.”

The man frowned and nodded. He made the sign of the cross before kissing his knuckles. “Condolences, Princesa,” he said. “It is sad for a daughter to lose her father at any age, let alone so young.”

Sparrow dipped her chin and did her best to accept his words with grace, but the sight of the drugs on her table out of the corner of her eye spurred an anger in her, which made it difficult. Inhaling deeply, she did her best to swallow it down. Instead of turning it on the stranger, she eyed Pipes. “I’m going to my mother’s.”

Without so much as a fuck you, she turned and headed for the door. She’d rather spit on Tut’s grave at this point than be cordial to him. Jackal could rot, too, for all she cared. She needed to leave the apartment.

“Dixie’s got a mouth big enough to park a buick,” Tut’s comment carried.

“But she sure as hell knows how to use it,” Jackal wheezed on a laugh.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sparrow’s stomach lurched at the idea of her mother and Jackal shacking up. Her mother was too damn good for that weasel looking fuck. She needed to get out of there before she lost her dinner.

As she went to take her next step, iron fingers curled around her arm and yanked her backward. “The fuck!”

Turning, her fist cocked and ready, she threw it in time to see Pipes had grabbed her. His other hand caught her fist before it met his jaw.

“You didn’t see a motherfucking thing,” he said as he squeezed her fingers tightly.

She peered at him.

Pinpoint pupils. Blood shot eyes. Oily hair, gray skin. He looked like death warmed the fuck over. Using again. Using hard-goddamn-core again.

His jaw ticked. “They’re bringing me in on a huge deal. This could be major for me.For us.”

“I don’t want it in our house. I don’t want it where we live.” She needed to set some boundaries. “If I’m not supposed to know shit, stop bringing shit home.”

The grip on her hand lessened, as did the hold on her arm. She turned toward him fully and flexed her fingers. Pipes scrubbed at his chin as though mulling over her words.

“Club business is not my business,” she reminded him. “If I’m supposed to have plausible deniability if you get arrested…” though at this point, it felt more like when he got arrested. How the hell hadn’t he been arrested yet? A question for another day. Maybe she didn’t really want to know. “You can’t be bringing that shit in my house,” she whispered while gesturing to the door. “I fucking know shit now.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Fuck,” he hissed before turning back to her.

“I can keep a secret,” she said, looking into his pinpoint eyes. “But only if you promise me to keep it out of our apartment.”

He nodded.

Taking hold of his face with both her hands, she did her best to make him focus on her. “I mean it. Say it.”

“I promise. It won’t come to our house no more,” he said as he brought his hands up and cupped her face as well. “No more club business at our place.”

Chapter 3

Sparrow

1 Year Later

“What is this?” Sparrow demanded, holding up a small baggie with several pills in it. Her brows lifted high, her hand was on her hip, and fury radiated off her in waves. Blocking the doorway of the small bathroom of their one-bedroom apartment, she glared at Pipes.

One rule. She had onefuckingrule: don’t bring club business home. He agreed to the stupid rule. If he didn’t want her involved, he needed to stop bringing shit the fuck home. Yet, there it was—in this tiny bit of plastic—in their home.

Standing in a towel, Pipes pumped his toothbrush back and forth over his teeth in response. With his free hand on the sink, he leaned over it so the toothpaste wouldn’t splatter on the counter. The irony of his consideration withthatmight’ve been comical if she wasn’t livid.

He wasn’t huge, but he was chiseled, with muscles clearly defined on his lean frame. Water still dripped down his heavily tattooed chest from his shower. He kept his dirty blond hair shaved on the sides, with all the length on the top. In that moment, he had it combed to one side, covering one of his ears. Despite his on again, off again drug use, the man wasn’t lacking in the looks department. There were times she tried to make that enough.

His pale blue, almost gray eyes flicked to her in the mirror. Then he spat into the sink and turned toward her. He cocked his head while his eyes narrowed on the baggie. “Put that back where you found it.”

“Why do you have this?” she pressed, as he didn’t answer the original question.

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