Page 56 of Deadly Little Sparrow

The quiet, rhythmic purr of the car engine is the only sound between us aside from our steady breathing and the rush of my own pulse in my ears. We’ve been silently watching the sun disappear for the last half hour, a surreal feeling settling into my bones as the sky gets darker and darker.

I don’t know if Xaviaro is simply content with the quiet, already in murder mode, completely focused and waiting to pounce, or if he can sense that my thoughts are too far away to hold a proper conversation right now.

My mind jumps between childhood memories with golden filters over them—a million tiny moments with my brother that I didn’t appreciate at the time. Stupid fights and sharing toys, hours spent in shoddily built forts and Keep Out signs on our bedroom doors, laughing until we nearly pissed ourselves, and crying on each other’s shoulders about all the things we couldn’t share with anyone else.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, the burn of unshed tears in my eyes making my blood hotter by the second. Rage pulses through my veins like poison, and there’s only one way for me to bleed it out for good.

I guess it’s not surprising that I’ve been stuck in memories of my brother all week long, but tonight it’s worse than ever. Tonight feels like the funeral Benny never got. It’s my chance to finally lay him to rest and give us both peace.

Xaviaro’s hand on my thigh startles me out of my thoughts and I loosen my grip on the handle of my dagger. I can’t remember pulling it out, but I must have at some point.

“We should be about five minutes out if everything goes to plan. Do you want to go over it one more time?” he offers.

“Sure, Killer. If it’ll make you feel better, we can go over it again.” I run my thumb absently over the cold steel of the flat surface of the blade, careful not to catch it on the sharpened edge.

“Alright, I just checked in with Romeo, Alessio’s solider. He’s got eyes on Firefly. He’s been holed up in his apartment with a couple of working girls all afternoon, none of his guys know or care where he’s at,” he says, and I nod.

“When Sal sends a thumbs-up, that’s our signal that the packages blew, which means the club will be erupting into chaos.” I rattle off the next part. We’ve gone over it so many times I could recite it all in my sleep, but at least this is giving me something to do to pass the next few minutes.

“Right. You fire off a text to Bass and Shithead or whatever his name is to get them up here,” he says, and I snort at the improved moniker.

I let the venom in my veins seep into my grin. “And then all we have to do is wait for them to get their asses here so the fun can start.”

“Should only be a ten-minute ride from their clubhouse.”

“If that,” I say, and then blow out a steadying breath. It’s so fucking close I can taste it, but every second that ticks by feels like a goddamn eternity. My muscles quiver and my heart beats faster with the torture of waiting. With an impatient huff, I throw open the passenger door and get out of the car, gulping down a breath of fresh air as my feet hit the dirt.

I pace over to the edge of the ravine a few feet away, and the sound of his car door slamming closed echoes in the otherwise quiet evening. The burble of the flowing river far below is relaxing. It reminds me of a little fountain I used to have on the table in my living room, manufacturing the sounds of nature inside the pristine white walls of an overpriced prison. I turn around and find Xaviaro right behind me.

“There’s no point trying to convince you to find some inner peace before they get here, is there?” he asks, studying my face with barely veiled concern.

I shake my head. “Nope. I’m sticking with berserker rage all the way on this one.”

“Fair enough. And I promised to hang back and let you have this, but if shit goes sideways, I’m taking the kill shot,” he reminds me.

I step close and wrap my arms around him. “I know. It’s not going to go sideways though. This is pure karmic justice. The universe owes me this much.”

He runs his hand up and down my back, then kisses the top of my head. Pressed up against him, I can feel the vibration of his phone in his pocket, and my pulse skyrockets again. This is it. Xaviaro unfolds his arms from around me and pulls out his phone to check, turning the screen towards me to show me the thumbs-up from Sal.

My hands are shaking with pure adrenaline as I pull the burner phone out of the pocket of my jacket pocket. I typed the message earlier, so all I have to do is hit Send. It was honestly too fucking easy to get Bass and Shit Stain’s phone numbers, and just like I expected, their responses to the text are immediate and lacking any suspicion that they’re being led into a trap.

“They’re on their way,” I tell Xaviaro, tucking my phone away again, then striding back towards the car to get the supplies I need.

It’s like the fuse of a bomb being lit. All the jittery, unstable energy that’s been coursing through me for days solidifies into something with purpose—a sharp, dangerous focus that drowns out everything else. I gather what I need from the trunk and then the two of us melt into the shadows to wait.

In no time at all, the roar of their engines cuts through the night, echoing like thunder to announce their approach. Xaviaro and I share a look, and the ice in his eyes only makes the vengeful fury under my skin burn hotter. My perfect counterbalance. The mate to my inky black soul.

The Shit Brain Brothers roll to a stop in the clearing right near the edge of the ravine. The BMW is parked just out of sight, and neither of the bikers notice us lurking in the shadows as they glance around for Firefly. Xaviaro waits, perfectly still and emotionless like he’s waiting for a bus instead of my signal to jump a couple of dudes. My stillness is different—it’s far from emotionless, it’s simply the calm of the gathering storm.

I hold my breath, feeling the coil of my muscles like a panther about to pounce, tracking their movements as they amble around the clearing, loudly discussing the explosions as they draw closer to our hiding spot, completely unaware. A slight incline of my head is the signal Xaviaro is waiting for. We both spring into action.

Two steps out of the shadows and Shit Stain turns towards the sound of my footsteps. Confusion clouds his expression for a fraction of a second, but I don’t give him a chance to work out what’s happening before I’m on him, wrapping the bungee cord around his throat and toppling him to the ground in one swift movement.

He yelps and claws at the cord, kicking his feet as I tower over him, planting one foot in the middle of his chest and pulling out my dagger again. The blade glints in the moonlight and his eyes go wide. I spare a quick look over my shoulder to make sure everything went to plan with Big Bass as well. I didn’t doubt my man for a second, of course, so I’m not surprised to see him standing over the large man with his snub nose pointed at Bass’s head, his foot on the biker’s throat.

“What the fuck?” Shit Stain tries to move and I step on him a little harder to keep him in place.

With my free hand, I reach into my other coat pocket and pull out my own phone, opening it to the picture that’s been haunting me for too damn long. I stoop down, replacing my foot with my knee, jamming it into Shit Stain’s rib cage as I shove the phone into his face.

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