Page 6 of Saving Sparrow
“Are you going to kill me?” I lowered my hands; my fingers trembled against my thighs. Sparrow’s expression remained emotionless. “Why are you doing this?”Where is my husband?
Something small was balanced on his knee, but he was too far away for me to see it in the dim light. My glasses were next to me, but I was too scared to make a sudden move for them.
As though sensing my curiosity, he picked the item up, unfolding the small blade of the Swiss Army knife I’d left in the truck. He was telling me he knew I was a liar.
“He’ll lash out if he feels tricked or betrayed.”
If he had the knife, then he had my duffel bag too. Did he search it? Had he found the items secretly stitched into the lining?
“W-where are my things?”
“Who are you?”
“I need my things.”
“Who are you?!” He was up in a flash, shotgun pointed at me as he advanced.
“Wait! Fuck! Wait!” I scrambled back against the headboard, my hands held in front of me protectively. The ache at the back of my head intensified, making my ears ring. “Wait, please.” The metallic taste of blood hit my tongue. My teeth chattered so hard I’d bitten my lip.
Sparrow rested the barrel of the gun against my forehead, the cold metal pressing against the sweat forming there. “Let’s try this again.” He released the safety, staring down his straight nose at me. “Who. Are. You?”
It took effort to hold his gaze, to not spill all my secrets before he ended me.
“Deny, deny, deny. He’ll blame you. You can’t tell him the truth.”
Was Amelia right? Would he blame me for the worst thing that ever happened tome? Could I risk it? Was I brave enough?
“So, what do you expect me to tell him?!”
She’d stepped in close, whispering,“Anything but the truth.”
“I… I…” I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to watch him do this to me.
Tell him!I screamed at myself.Tell him!
I realized it wasn’t his reaction to the truth that terrified me, but my shame surrounding it. If I were going to die, I didn’t want him knowing the absolute worst about me. I didn’t want him to know I’d failed, that I’d broken my promise, my vows.
The gun shook against my forehead, his body vibrating with tension. I opened my eyes, watching the struggle play out in his gaze. He couldn’t do it. At least not yet.
His braid had loosened, the damp, wavy strands cascading around his face and shoulders. It softened him. I smiled weakly, and his thirst for blood returned.
“Tell me,” he hissed. The tip of the barrel slipped, knocking against my forehead. I winced as he leaned in. Any harder and he’d break skin and bone.
It clicked then. This wasn’t about his needing to knowwhoI was. Sparrow could’ve killed me and lived without ever having those details. What he wanted—what heneededto know—was who I was tohim.
Through the fear, I whispered, “I’m his husband. I loved him.Weloved him.”
“Liar,” he snarled, before the butt of his gun came crashing down onto my temple.
Miguel
Nine Years Ago
“You’re such a bully,” I complained to Quentin. It was our last day of junior year, the official start of summer break.Iwanted to go to Jessica’s end-of-year party, but he wanted to disappear into the woods behind our home like we were kids again. Quentin always voted for the option that didn’t include him sharing me. My easygoing personality was no match for his domineering ways, so he typically got what he wanted. “We’ll never get invited to anything ever again.”
We never got invited to things. No one wanted to hang out with the geek who always had his head in a book or the football jock who threatened to unalive anyone who came near said geek. We were known as the weird McAllen boys who lived in the big house beyond the hills. Truth was, we ostracized ourselves on purpose, preferring the company of each other.
“Am not.” He shoved my shoulder, sending me stumbling.
