Page 35 of Desperately Delicate Viper

“What the fuck—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, then lets out another laugh, this one clearly phony as hell. It’s the kind of fake giggle I recognize well; the kind I’ve used a million times to pretend I’m having a good time with a man.

Sparrow’s eyes are wide and alert, in contrast to his flirty body language as he nuzzles his nose against mine. His jacket falls open and I notice the leather sheath strapped around his chest, and the hilt of the knife tucked inside. I fucking knew he had to be armed. Points to me for good instincts, at least.

In a blink, the man is behind him, his lips pulled back in vile, yellowed smile as he hooks an arm around Sparrow’s throat and yanks him off of me.

“Got you, you little fucker.”

“Did you?” Sparrow chokes before slamming his elbow back to nail him right in the nose.

The man curses, blood exploding from his nose in a rush. But he doesn’t stumble back or let Sparrow go. If anything, he tightens his hold, hauling Sparrow back farther.

“That all you got?” He spits a mouthful of blood into the gravel by his boots.

“Fucking meth heads,” Sparrow growls, starting to thrash harder.

His jacket flaps open again, and when it’s clear that the dude is too tweaked to even feel the elbows and kicks Sparrow is throwing at him, I act on instinct. I jolt forward, wrap my fingers around the handle of the dagger, and yank it out of its sheath.

Tweaker is so focused on Sparrow that he doesn’t even seem to notice I’m here. Sparrow gasps and sinks his teeth into the asshole’s arm, but even that doesn’t dislodge him. He spins around and slams Sparrow into the opposite wall.

There isn’t a single thought in my head. There’s no moral quandary or hesitation, only instinct. I lunge forward and jam the blade into his back as hard as I can. He yelps and Sparrow finally worms out of his hold, spinning on his heel and swinging his fist before the man even has a chance to work out that the tables have turned. I tug the blade back out, which, for the record, is a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be. Blood gushes through the tattered fabric of his clothes and he stumbles again.

“Anders,” Sparrow says, holding up his hand.

I toss him the blade and he catches it with ease, like the weapon is an extension of himself. The second his fingers wrap around the hilt, that terrifying smile returns to his lips.

“Say hi to your biker besties for me. I hope they’re enjoying their stay in hell.” He swings the blade, cutting straight across the man’s throat like he’s slicing through butter.

For a single heartbeat nothing happens, like time is standing still. And then a spray of crimson jettisons from his throat and he keels forward, collapsing onto the gravel. I drag in gulping breaths and sag against the wall behind me.

I can’t tear my eyes away as he twitches once and then goes still, spilling a river of blood that’s going to leave a permanent dark stain.

I just helped kill a man.

And if Sparrow hadn’t been able to, I think I would have taken the final swing myself. If I hadn’t, he would have killed both of us. It’s not just a matter of survival though.

I stare at the patch on his jacket again and think about all the people he and his crew have hurt, tortured, watched overdose, and fuck knows what else. Some people don’t deserve to be mourned. Some people don’t deserve to share oxygen with the rest of us. On some level, I’ve always believed that, but now I can feel it solidifying inside of me. Some things aren’t black or white, good or bad, right or wrong. Some things live in a gray area, and I think I’m okay with that.

“You okay?” Sparrow asks gently.

I tear my eyes away from the man’s unmoving body and nod. “I’m good.”

The crunch of fast footsteps makes us both tense again. Sparrow holds his blade at the ready and bares his teeth. The man who comes into view clearly isn’t another Reaper though, at least not a Sleepless one. He’s wearing a dark suit and has a steely look in his ice blue eyes that softens as soon as his gaze lands on Sparrow.

“Fuck, Xav, you scared me.” Sparrow bends over and wipes the bloody blade off on the biker dude’s jeans, then stuffs it back into its sheath.

Xav,Xaviaro, the trigger man and right hand to Lorenzo Moretti, sweeps Sparrow off of his feet and kisses him soundly.

“What the hell happened here?” he asks gruffly.

Sparrow shrugs. “Nothing I couldn’t handle, obviously. Although, I’m glad you got here just in time for cleanup. I know that’s your favorite part.” He smirks and Xaviaro mutters something that makes him laugh. “Hey, wait, what are you doing here?”

Sparrow narrows his eyes and Xaviaro ducks his head. I would never admit it out loud because I value my life too much, but the Ice Man actually lookssheepish. Sparrow shoves his hands purposefully into his jacket pockets, and after a few seconds, pulls out little silver disk between two fingers.

“Dammit, Xav,” he growls. “I’m going to shove this stupid tracker up your ass.”

I slam my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh while Xaviaro kisses him again and waggles his eyebrows.

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