by L.J. Shen
What I hadn't taken into consideration was the fact that like most muscle guys, Connor had very little brain to accompany his impressive size. And so, by trying to protect our fake marriage, I’d paired her with an idiot who hurt her.
"Boss…" Connor lifted one sweaty, trembling palm. His face looked like a ball of wrinkled paper, his glistening eyes begging for forgiveness.
I had none to spare. Connor now raised both hands up in surrender, walking backward while I strode toward him until his back hit the wall. His head banged against the polished concrete with a thud.
He was too scared to notice. "You wanted her to get here as soon as possible, and she was stalling on purpose. Then she tried to run away. I had no other option."
“When you poke a bear, Connor…” My voice was low, smooth and threatening. “Prepare to be bitten.”
Stepping into his face, I curled my fingers around his neck and pinned his head to the wall. I squeezed his throat experimentally, watching his eyes bug out, pain and horror dripping from them. I wanted to leave him marked like he left his dirty fingers all over Sparrow’s arm.
"Come near my wife again,” I said, “and I'll show the world just how much of an angry motherfucker I can really be when someone touches what's mine."
"Boss," he gurgled, blood flooding his face and mapping it with little red veins. Sweat dotted his forehead. "Please, I'll never touch her again, no matter what. I wasn't thinking—"
"That much is true." I squeezed harder, not easing the pressure until his cheeks doubled in size and became unmistakably blue. I let him drop to the floor.
He landed with a bang, collapsing like a Jenga tower. His arms shielded his head and body, like he didn’t know where the next blow was going to land. I looked down at him disgusted, a worm I was tempted to squash.
He crawled away, across the room, afraid to look up at me. “I’ll apologize,” he whimpered into his chest, still crawling his way in the opposite direction.
“Don’t,” I spat. “Don’t fucking go anywhere near her ever again.”
I left him to collect what was left of his self-esteem from the floor and climbed upstairs, finding Sparrow sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the vast window. She didn't look up when I came in, just continued studying whatever it is she was fixated on outside. The sky? The tall buildings? A bird? Who the hell knew?
Her face was wrinkled in concentration, and the thought of Catalina being right about her hit me hard. She was a fucking kid. She sure looked like one now. She was a kid, and I ate her pussy without even blinking. What’s more, I surprisingly enjoyed her sleek little body, and I knew I’d do it all over again the next time I got the chance. Eat her, fuck her, lick her, toes to skull, and ride her in every fucking position until every bone in her body hurt.
She was a kid, and I still wanted to do very grown-up things to her.
“This is the weirdest summer ever,” she pondered aloud. “The sunshine today is a lie. The sun’s out, but it’s still cold. Sunshine,” she repeated, “but a lie.”
“Lies are what keeps this world running, baby Red.” I took a step closer. She was so sweet. So fucking weird, too.
"Why does it smell funny in here?" she asked dully, her forehead crumpling.
Of course, the room reeked of sex, but she couldn’t put the finger on that. Good thing I’d planned ahead and kept her sheltered from other men. I didn’t have time to chase all the dickheads who wanted to touch her and rip their heads off.
"He'll never touch you again." I dodged her question, taking a seat on the bed next to her. So many people had touched Sparrow without her permission. Connor. Paddy.
Even I fucked around with her on the night of our wedding. Sure, she wanted it, but I gave her an unnecessary push, because she wasn’t really ready for me, hence her attempt to show me she was on her period.
The mattress sank under my weight, and I noticed my wife was so short, her feet were still dangling off the floor. She kept her hands tucked between her thighs and didn’t look at me, still staring ahead.
"Listen, Red. It’s not okay by me when people touch you against you will. Not Connor. Not me. Not anyone."
“Fire him,” she ordered simply. Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed or scared the shit out of her, but at that moment, when the lingering smell of my infidelity still hung in the air, I couldn’t. Even I had to draw a line somewhere.
“I need you protected,” I argued.
“I’m a big girl, and last time I checked, he was the one with a bruised face and asthma attack after our encounter.”
“Fine,” I agreed, but not easily. My lips twisted. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scowl or smile. “Consider Connor gone.” I fished my phone out of my pocket and punched it with my thumb, placing it over my ear. "Calling you so you'll have my number. Happy?"
"Never with you.” Her face was neutral, void of feelings when her ring tone sounded in her purse.
I hated that look. It was the look she gave me before I hired her. Before I went down on her. Before I thought she’d cracked.
You’re a tough nut, Red.
“So what's that smell?" she repeated. "And where's that dress Maria gave me?"
"I took care of it for you. Thank me later."
Her hooded eyes told me she was not expecting any favors from me.
"Have you packed, or are you in the mood for testing my patience again?" I tried claiming some of my bite back.
"Already told you, I don't have a driver’s license. Not a passport. Not even a library card. Nothing. I can’t get through airport security."
I stood up and swung aside the painting of a nude that hid my safe. I pressed my thumb against the biometric pad and retrieved her brand new passport. I tossed it to her, and she opened it, staring inside the pages wide-eyed. It had a picture of her, a recent one, and it was legit. If possible, she looked even sadder.
“I would have gotten you a license, too, but I don’t trust you behind the wheel, what with your temper.”
“Really?” she sniffed, peering past me at the open safe. “The Department of State is on your payroll, too?”
“Even God can be bought for the right price.” I slammed and locked the safe, hoping she wouldn’t freak out at all the cash I kept there. You never knew when you might have to make a run for it.
She began to pace, not unlike a caged animal. “This is wrong. You can’t just get a passport for me without my permission. I’m not a child.”
"Look, you don’t have to be such a pain about it. It's a fucking honeymoon, okay? We'll spend a few days in Miami, do some shopping, wolf down some Cuban sandwiches and Key lime pie, suffer mild sunburn and get our asses back to Boston before you know it. Now pack."
She stopped her stalking, her feet rooted to the ground as she waved her clenched fist at me. "You plan to drag me on a plane without prior notice like I’m a Chihuahua you can fit into a handbag and you expect me to just pack? What if I have plans for the week?"
"Postpone them." I was losing my patience. The Paddy Rowan business was so much more important than girl-time with her friends.
"And what if I don't want to?" She crossed her arms over her chest, jutting one hip forward, challenging.
"Christ." I closed my eyes, trying to control the impending arrival of another twitch.
Was this what marriage felt like? I was starting to seriously consider giving up the assets and money my father had left me. Any other woman would probably jump up and down with joy to hear I was taking her on a honeymoon, housing her in a luxury suite and shoving a credit card in her hand. Sparrow? She acted like I was going to kidnap her and deliver her straight into the arms of ISIS. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they, too, found themselves struggling to contain the wrath of this girl.
Red walked to the corner where Cat and I fucked, and my stomach knotted. She stared at the exact spot where Cat banged her head against the wall. There was a trail of makeup right underneath my Yoskay Yamamoto painting. My h
eart picked up speed. Why did I care? This marriage meant nothing to me. I shouldn't give a damn if she found out.
She blinked slowly, turning her gaze back to me, and serenely asked, "Was this really necessary?"
She knew.
I hitched one shoulder up.
Red chuckled bitterly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, like she was gathering strength for her next sentence. Despite everything, she didn’t lose her shit. It made me eerily proud of her. When she’d stood before me and repeated her vows, I’d imagined the girl I married would break in no time. Little did I know that Sparrow possessed the same quality I had when it came to people: For the most part? She didn’t. Fucking. Care.
I changed my mind. Cat was wrong. She was not a kid—she was a woman who refused to turn a blind eye when it came to her husband’s infidelities. She was more of a woman than my mom and Cat, combined.
"If you can afford a Maserati and a penthouse the size of a medium-sized island, you can also afford a nice hotel room downtown. This…” She pointed at the wall - was she able to detect Cat’s sweet, unbearable fragrance? - “Is the last time it happens under the roof where I live. God, I can’t believe I messed around with you. I feel so filthy."
There wasn't anger in her voice. I was so used to crazy-ass women tailing me around, begging for what Sparrow had carelessly rejected, I was almost disappointed with her reaction.
But I just leaned toward her, my posture relaxed. "If I tried to take you right now on the floor, you would do it all over again. You can run. Run all the way across the country, but you can’t run away from your mind. And Sparrow, my little birdie…” I flashed her a confident smile. “I’m deep in your head, and you know it. Now, pack."
She tipped her chin up, marching straight to the walk-in closet, and disappeared between the vast, dark-oak shelves.
“You need a suitcase?” I got up from the bed.
“I’ll find one myself,” she snapped from the depths. “Meet you downstairs.”
Hesitating only for a moment, I turned around and headed for the living room. Fuck it, I wasn’t a gentleman, and if she wanted to handle a heavy suitcase, I really wasn’t going to argue with her.
It wasn't until I walked into the kitchen and saw Connor's head under the running tap as he gasped for air, crying like a goddamned baby, that I realized that I’d just had my ass handed to me on a plate by a twenty-two-year-old virgin.
She didn’t even give me a side of ketchup.
Just sent me to the fucking naughty spot.
I narrowed my eyes on the sturdy man in front of me, furious that he was being more of a pussy than my underweight, five foot three wife.
"Connor, you're fired. Take your shit and leave. I'll send you your last check when I get back from Miami."
His mouth fell open, water dripping from his hair in fat drops straight to his mouth. His imploring eyes fell to the floor, and he pushed himself slowly, depressingly, to a stand-up position.
"But what about your wife? Who's gonna watch over her?"
"She doesn't need watching over." I snorted, opening my front door and prompting him to get the hell out of my place. "Just look at the state of her and look at the state of you."
SPARROW
HE CHEATED ON me in our room.
In my room.
This was crossing the line. Hell, it was sprinting right past it, crossing a dozen more lines I never knew even existed. Yeah, we weren’t a real couple, but this had nothing to do with love. It was about respect.
Obviously, Troy had none for me.
After a silent cab ride, in which I stared out the window and moved my jaw from side to side while he made some cryptic business phone calls, we made it to the airport. We checked in, light-jogged our way to the terminal, two strangers with a mutual destination but very different paths, and waited for the flight wordlessly, both of us engrossed in our cell phones.
When my ass hit the seat on the airplane, it dawned on me that I was scared of flying. Scared of everything, really. Scared of leaving Boston for the first time, scared of doing it with Troy, of all people, and scared of the prospect that Brock had lied to me. Flying to Miami wasn’t going to do me any good, after all.
I’d told my husband that I wasn’t scared of him, but that was a lie. I was frightened. Not that he’d hurt me physically. I knew that’d never happen. But that he’d break me mentally. That, I had no doubt, was something he was more than capable of doing.
Naturally, turning to Troy for comfort was like turning to a hooker for abstinence tips. I quietly sank into my blue, first-class seat, chewing on my fingernails and hoping that the plane wouldn’t crash. Or maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. A whole life with Troy felt like a burden only convicted war criminals should serve.
“Before I fired him, Connor mentioned that you tried to run away. You think you can run away from me?”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him in his seat. I watched him from my peripheral vision as I choked the armrest with my grip. His gaze was on his iPad, but his stone-cold-killer mask was on full display, his jaw hard. I half shrugged, pretending to stare out the window. I wanted to let him second-guess my next move. Be the one to keep him in the dark for once.
“It wouldn’t be a good idea to cross me, Sparrow.” He lifted his face, his menacing voice caressing my cheek. Every word echoed between my thighs.
I grimaced. This was not a good time to be turned on.
I licked my dry lips as the plane taxied down the runway, the wheels eating up the ground with incredible speed. Shit, it was fast.
His hand moved between us, hovering over my inner thigh but not touching.
I angled my hips away from him. “I’m a good runner.”
“And I’m an excellent chaser,” he whispered.
MIAMI TURNED ME into a sweaty mess of auburn curls, but it still stole my breath away. Like a first date with your high school crush, your first kiss underneath the bleachers and that very first cupcake from the overpriced bakery down the road.
Boston was a concrete jungle full of grungy-gray and staid-red brick buildings, whereas Miami was colorful, sunny and vivid. Boston was rainy, Miami, sunny. Boston was suited, Miami, bikini-clad.
It’s like I’d stepped into a parallel universe, where everything and everyone were more alive and vital. Well, other than the man who brought me here. He was much the same. All cold efficiency and barely contained fury. Troy was munching on a toothpick, as he always did. Toothpicks were his pacifiers, and he left them everywhere he went, like a fingerprint.
Our cab stopped in front of a resort-style hotel, two rows of tall palm trees leading to its entrance. I looked up and saw the vast, glassed-in balconies of each room, every patio boasting its own small, real-grass garden and swimming pool. The driver hopped out and ran to the trunk, yanking out our two suitcases. I got out, sucking in the humid air and fanning myself with my hand as I scanned the very foreign surroundings.
Brennan stayed in the car, rolling the toothpick between his teeth and tongue, his dark aviator shades hiding those eyes that pinned me every time they glanced my way. The suitcases sat between us on the walkway like bouncers trying to make sure we weren’t going to pounce instinctively and kill each other.
“Are your legs too precious to walk anymore? Do you need to be wheeled into the premises?” I mocked, venom dripping from each word. “Oh, I know, maybe I can give you a piggyback ride.”
“Funny.” He spat the toothpick to the sidewalk and leaned back into the seat of the cab. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You’re leaving me here?” My voice prickled with edge.
He looked around us, like he wasn’t sure I was talking to him. “You don’t want me to touch you. You certainly don’t fucking want my conversation and you have my credit card. It’s your honeymoon. Check-in. Go have fun. I, myself, am planning to do the same.”
What? After everything he’d done, practically shoving me onto
the plane against my will for this so-called honeymoon, he was going to just dump me in a hotel and abandon me like I was a stray cat?
I offered him a sly smile. “Aw, I’m hurt. Are you saying I’m no fun?”
“I’m saying that if I can’t eat it, fuck it or kill it I have no interest in it,” he answered dryly.
He was messing with me again, capitalizing on the fact everyone feared him. And let’s face it, he knew what I was ashamed to admit—his dangerous aura did appeal to me. People were like onions, made of lots of layers. The deeper you went, the rawer the layer. With Troy, I’d found a layer in myself that wanted to be scared. That got off on the adrenaline and rush of being with a savage.
I bit on my inner cheeks, tasting the metallic tang of blood. A cheater, a criminal and perhaps even a murderer, my husband wasn’t exactly a catch in my book.
And sadly, I still wanted him around.
“Fine,” I said. “Have a good meal. Find a hooker. Fuck her. Kill her. Do your little homerun of fun. Just don’t expect me to sit here and wait.”
He laughed when he shut the cab’s door with an unpleasant thud. It wasn’t a spiteful laugh. He laughed like he was genuinely enjoying our mutual exchange. Then he rolled down the window. “Dinner is at nine. Be ready and dress nice,” he had the audacity to say.
I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that a request or an order?”
“That depends on your answer.” He tipped his shades down, the storm behind those frosty blues threatening to sweep me off my feet.
I took a step back and watched my husband tapping his palm over the headrest of the driver. Anger boiled beneath my skin, and I held my lip between my teeth.
Don’t lose it, Sparrow. That’s exactly what he wants.
“Semantics.” He shook his head in amusement. “You women just love it. We’re outta here.”
The cab rolled back into the traffic jam ahead, leaving me with our suitcases and a sour mood. But this time, I wasn’t going to just take it. I was going to up my game.
In true Brennan fashion, I turned around, took out my purse and shoved a few bills into the hand of the nearest bellboy. I didn’t have much money, but whatever I had, I gave him.