Page 55 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“One handed looks so much cooler though,” I argue playfully, dropping one hand and pretending to aim at the target with the gun cocked sideways like criminals in movies always do.

“Yeah, it looks super cool until the kickback dislocates your shoulder,” he says, and I chuckle at the exaggeration, returning to the proper hold.

“Okay, so I just aim and pull the trigger?” I feign ignorance, fighting to keep the smirk off of my face.

“Aim and squeeze the trigger,” he corrects.

“Cool.” I aim the first shot off center, hitting just above the target. “Hey, I have an idea. Whoever can get the most shots in the center of the target gets to decide how we kill those fuckers,” I bargain.

This time Xaviaro is the one who laughs. “Sure,” he agrees, taking his turn first. He fires five rounds, hitting the center almost every time except for two that are just barely off. “But you know, if you want me to make the plan, you could’ve just said that,” he taunts.

“Now, now, at least give me a chance.” I tut, and he waves his hand in a ‘be my guest’ type of gesture.

Done fucking with him, I line the sight up correctly this time and fire five more rounds straight down the center, hitting dead in the middle of the target every time. Then I lower the gun and re-engage the safety before spinning to face him with a cocky grin.

“You played me,” he accuses.

“You underestimated me,” I say with a wink.

“Well, I definitely won’t make that mistake again.” He nudges me out of the way and gets ready for another round. “Best two out of three?”

“Oh, you’re on, Killer.”

We shoot until my shoulders are getting sore and my ears are ringing, despite the protective covers over them. By the end, I couldn’t actually tell you who the better shot is. Probably Xaviaro still, but I can safely say I gave him a run for his money.

“So, you have a plan in mind for Saturday or what?” he asks as we leave the building some time later.

“I have some ideas,” I confirm coyly, following him around to the trunk and handing over the Glock so he can store it under the floor mat with the handful of other weapons he apparently keeps back there.

“Care to share any of them?” Xaviaro asks, closing the trunk again, then caging me in against it.

I run my hands along his chest, feeling the shape of the rope harness hidden underneath.

“Firefly, the head honcho of that clown show, is a paranoid motherfucker. He gets a new burner phone every few days, but he’s enough of a dumbass that the way he lets his crew know is by texting them from the new number to say it’s him.”

Xaviaro smirks. “Alright, I’m following. Once shit starts going down, we get them where we want them, then pop them.”

I nod. “Exactly.”

“Works for me,” he agrees easily, leaning down enough that I’m able to catch his mouth in a slow, greedy kiss, one hand on his jaw and the other still tracing the shape of the rope through his shirt.

“Come on, let’s go pack up the rest of my meager shit so I never have to think about that rat-hole apartment again,” I say when I break the kiss.

“Yeah? I wasn’t sure if you meant that last night or if it was just the high of three orgasms talking.”

“I meant it,” I assure him. “You’re stuck with me, Killer. I hope that’s okay.”

“More than okay. I already told you that if you tried to leave I would find you,” he reminds me with a look that’s half threat, half romantic promise, which is the exact right ratio if you ask me.

“I love you, you terrifying murder marshmallow.”

“I love you, Little Sparrow,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to my forehead.

Whatever comes after Saturday, we’ll figure it out. Either that, or we’ll die trying.

Chapter 20

SPARROW

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