Sparrow(25)

"Dry clean what? It's a mess! Can't you see?" She waved the dress in the air. “I can’t believe the little skank!”

I walked right past her, and when I reached the open door, I nodded for her to get out. Catalina huffed and marched out of the room, a sulky expression on her face. She stomped down the curved staircase, deliberately stabbing her pointy heels into the wooden treads. At the bottom she spun back to face me, but I stopped before the bottom step, towering one stair and several more inches over her.

"You're an asshole." She shoved a long painted fingernail into my chest.

"And this asshole is done with you."

“Don’t you realize that she doesn't want you? I know exactly why you had to marry little Sparrow, so don’t pretend like it’s a real relationship. She is a girl, and I am a woman. As a woman, I can see what you refuse to register into that cocky brain of yours. She ain't gonna fuck you like I do or shut up and just be there for you like I can. Stop betting on the wrong horse." Her voice was spiked with sadness, and with that, she turned around and marched out of the apartment.

I waited to hear the door shutting after her with a loud bang before slamming my fist into the nearest wall. Good riddance.

I walked straight to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and poured myself a drink. Maria stepped out of one of the guestroom and gave me the stink eye. She knew more than I felt comfortable with about my relationship with her daughter. Then again, no one forced her to work here for me.

Understandably, she wanted Cat to stick with Brock and make it work. Brock, the lovable fucking golden boy. But the truth of the matter was that Cat loved danger more than she loved cock. She always crawled back to me, no matter how hard I tried to push her away. In all fairness, I never tried too hard. But after this little stunt today, barging into my apartment unannounced, I knew I would have to put her in her place when I got back from Miami.

“You let your daughter in here without my permission one more time, and you’re fired.” I took a sip from my glass, my eyes trained on the city view through the wall of windows.

Maria muttered something in Spanish and headed for the kitchen. The sound of glass breaking filled the air. She always had “accidents” around the house every time she was mad at me for screwing Catalina. I paid no attention.

A few minutes later, the door swung open and Connor and Red stormed in. Connor had a fresh bruise on his left cheek, a bleeding nose and murder in his eyes. Red looked flustered too, a furious little thing, trying to shake Connor’s arm off her elbow. My eyes jumped directly to her arm, clasped between his chunky fingers, and he immediately let her loose.

Oh, hell no.

"The fuck happened to you?" I emptied my glass in one swig and pointed at him with it. His eyes darted straight to my wife, as if the answer depended on her. My attention moved to Sparrow.

She looked confused and furious, scurrying to the corner of the living room. She was blushing again and didn’t even do her usual routine of glaring at me disapprovingly for drinking at ungodly hours. Something had happened between these two, and an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach.

"Nothing," Connor said in a tight voice.

She pointed her cell in his direction. "I threw my phone in his face," she announced, not a hint of apology to her tone.

I squared my shoulders and shoved a tensed hand into my pocket, knowing I'd need to keep it there if I didn't want to add more color to Connor’s already bruised face. "Care to elaborate?"

Maria walked back into the living room just then, looking all kinds of interested in the new drama. I think she got off on knowing that I had bullshit to deal with in my personal life. Especially as she held me responsible for her daughter’s own mess. Throwing her out was tempting, but Sparrow seemed ridiculously attached to the help, and she was already too pissed off for me to deal with, so I let Maria stay, doing my best to ignore her.

"He grabbed me by the elbow in front of my friends and now I have a mark." Sparrow stretched out her arm, exhibiting a thick, purple-green ring around her snowy skin.

My jaw tightened.

She yanked her arm back and narrowed her eyes at me. "I know that you think that you rule me, own me, that you can destroy me. But I’m not scared. I'm not going to be pushed around by you or your staff. And I am not going to be touched by anyone without my permission." She spewed her words out like hot lava. Her eyes, aflame with rage, burnt my skin everywhere they landed.

I took one leisurely step in her direction, every inch of my body itching with the need to launch at Connor and smash his skull on the granite tiles. I brushed my knuckles against her bruised skin.

She jerked away and hissed like a snake. “That includes you, Troy.”

So Red didn't mind riding my face like a cowgirl, but still had trouble letting me touch her in front of Connor and Maria. I was beginning to see a little bit of me in her.

"Go upstairs and pack a bag," I ordered, pretending that it didn't sting when she rejected me in front of my two employees.

Maria grinned, getting her money’s worth, and turned on her heel, back to the kitchen sink.

"I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me why, when, where and how,” Sparrow demanded. “Oh, and FYI, I don't even have your phone number. No driver’s license either, so good luck with getting me on that plane. Guess it’s not as easy as you think, bossing me around. You should've really thought about it before..."

She was rambling, and I wanted to press my index finger to her lips and shut her up. But I knew better than to try touching her again. Instead, I raised my hand to cut through her stream of babbling.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask nicely. Go upstairs and pack your shit, understood?”

She stopped talking, her eyebrows flying up in outrage, flipped me the finger, and turned around and climbed upstairs. It was only when I heard her slamming drawers in the bedroom, no doubt to make a point, that I realized how worried I was that she wouldn’t do as I said. Red had fight in her. She was the kind of woman to lead a revolution, not to be kept in a luxury penthouse with a cheating husband.

I was clipping her wings, and I knew it.

Squinting at Connor and feeling the familiar eye-twitch I got every time I wanted to yank someone’s heart out of their chest, I turned my whole body to face him. Up until Sparrow, he was my part-time muscle guy when I required one. He received clear instructions and was paid to act, not to think.

Shortly before we got married, I’d hired him full time to keep an eye on my new wife. Honestly, Connor wasn’t there to keep her safe—no one would go after her. I wasn’t in the mob and even if I were, the underworld didn’t involve wives and children when retaliation was needed. I kept Connor on her tail because I didn’t want her to run away and fuck up everything I’d worked hard to achieve. To make sure I always knew her whereabouts. She was safe without him, but I didn’t want her to know that.

I wanted her small and scared.

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?