Sparrow

“Hi.” He nuzzled into his dad’s pants leg shyly.

“Okay, gotta run.” I was anxious to resume my escape. My heart slammed against my chest when Brock grasped my shoulder.

“Don’t run,” he said. “Connor is an idiot, but he’s not going to hurt you, even if he certainly looks like he’d like to. I know why he’s after you, and I can promise you, it’s not something bad. Do you trust me?”

His hand was still on my shoulder. I blinked. Did I trust him? Why would I? I don’t know anything about this man, other than the fact that he looked like the closest thing to Adonis.

“Umm, no,” I answered honestly.

He laughed, the kind of laughter that you felt dancing in the pit of your stomach, even though you weren’t the one who laughed. I eased, my muscles relaxing.

“That’s right,” he said, looking at his son. “Never trust strangers, Sam.” He patted Sam’s brown hair, and then he pulled me into a sudden hug.

I froze, but this wasn’t an intimate embrace.

“Listen,” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear. “You’re starting a new chapter in your life. I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to make you feel at home at Rouge Bis. Go back with Connor. Go to Troy, but make sure not to get too involved with him. Lay low, play your part, and I’ll make it worth your while. Deal?”

I felt the tears I’d held inside for so long threaten to spill, but raised my chin. “You’re doing it again. Being nice to me. You’re his friend.”

“No, Sparrow, I’m not.” His voice was even lower now, almost inaudible. “I’m on his payroll. That’s all.”

When he released me, Connor was already too close for me to run again.

Brock’s expression changed to unruffled, and he gave me a light shove in Connor’s direction. “I think you’ve lost something. Here, she is.”

I stumbled straight into Connor’s arms.

Flushed, confused, and most of all, angry as hell, my bodyguard scanned Brock up and down. “She ran,” he spat.

“That tends to happen when people have legs.” Brock’s tone was clipped. Tough. Different. Like Troy. “Don’t let it happen again.”

He turned around and walked away, holding Sam’s little hand without sparing me a second glance. I knew right there that Brock was playing a game in front of his boss and his crew.

I needed to start doing the same, if I was going to survive Troy Brennan.

“You stupid little banshee,” Connor growled. He was panting like he had just completed a Tour de France.

This time he grabbed me harder by the arm, He’d been caught losing me, and it looked like his fury had boiled to a point he couldn’t control. He shook me aggressively just for kicks, then shook me more as he led me God knows where.

I was almost relieved when I spotted the car he’d driven me here in. Almost. I ducked my head and dodged a bruise as he threw me into the passenger seat like I was his duffel bag.

By the time, I righted myself, he was already behind the wheel and starting the engine. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded.

He just pumped the gas in response, to spite me.

"Where are you taking me?" I tried again.

"Back home," he answered. "You need to pack. You're leaving for Miami."

My throat tightened. "Miami? Why? When? For how long?"

Connor kept on staring at the road. He looked fed up, gripping the steering wheel like he wished it was my neck. "Ask your husband," he said through clenched teeth.

I decided to do just that. I sent a quick text to Daisy and Lucy, claiming there’d been an emergency at Rouge Bis and that I was needed in the kitchen. Hopefully that would reassure them for now. Then I turned my attention to dialing Troy.

I realized that I didn't even have my husband's phone number. Up until now, I hadn't really thought about it. The idea of trying to reach him was so absurd, it never occurred to me that I might need to ask him something at some point. I looked outside the window, then at Connor, then out again. Was I really going to ask my husband's employee for his phone number?

Then again, I had too many questions: Why Miami? Why now? Was he sending me alone or coming with? Plane! I was going to fly on a plane! How long was the flight? How long were we going to stay? Was this our honeymoon?

That one stopped me cold.

So what if Brock told me it was safe. Tons of things, bad things, could happen to me.

I was not going to Miami, I decided. The car stopped at a red light, and I opened my side of the car, determined, ready to run, but Connor grabbed my arm, his fingers digging deep into my skin. I felt the air leaving my lungs as I tried to contain the white-hot pain.

He was hurting me. On purpose.

"Let go!" I yelled.

"You're coming with me," he said, leaning across me to yank my door shut and then leaning back, only to hit the gas.

I didn't think. I just hurled my cell phone at him. It hit him in the side of the face and dropped into his lap. Blood trickled from his nose down to his chin. He swiped it away silently, glancing sideways at me, glaring like he wanted to kill me. I knew he probably would have, if it weren't for his boss.

My heart began to pound as my cell bleeped with a new message.

"Give it to me." I motioned for the phone between his legs. "I swear to God, Connor, you better do it now."