Sparrow

“That’s it. Now keep digging. Every time you stop, I’ll smack you with this little baby.” He kissed his gun, then took a seat on a stump with a white mark, crossing his legs

Yeah, Brock had tried extra hard to get me to like him. It had almost worked. But then it didn’t. Even with Troy’s awful reputation and obnoxious behavior, I was still more interested in him.

I started digging my hole, wincing every time the shovel hit the ground. I barely had any strength in me. I was weak, scared, hungry and furious. My body temperature was so low, I was afraid that I’d faint and Brock would finish me off while I’m unconscious. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe I wouldn’t feel a thing after all.

“Good job,” he said.

“Screw you,” I muttered under my breath. He heard. Even though it was weak and faint, Brock heard.

“What did you just say?”

My back was to him but I could still see him from my peripheral vision, and it was a good thing I could, because my rage boiled my blood back to a warm enough temperature for me to keep functioning. The digging helped, too.

“I said…” I answered slowly, trying to control my chattering teeth and shoving the tool deeper into the mud. “Screw. You.”

He bolted up and strode to my direction. For the first time in months, I actually welcomed his proximity. I thrust the shovel blade into his stomach as hard as I could.

I stumbled backward from the impact as he rolled to the ground, his ass hitting the mud with a thud that almost made me smile. By the way he held his middle, I knew I’d managed to hurt him. I groped for his gun, eyes zeroing on the deadly weapon as it slid from his hand. I felt my fingers curling around the cold metal, so close to saving myself, so close to freedom…

A kick to the stomach sent me backward into the shallow hole. By the time I managed to blink the dirt away and regain my sight, he was already standing above me.

Brock stared me down like he wanted to smash his boot into my face. His gun was tucked into the waist of his jeans, the shovel in his hand. “Left or right?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Crap.

I swallowed. “Don’t bother, I won’t try to run again.”

“Thanks a f*cking bunch, like I’d take your word for it.” He tried to laugh, but held his lower ribs. I’d hurt him. “You did a good job on Connor, and I should have done it before I even gave you the shovel. Left. Or. Right?”

I sighed, closing my eyes. Whatever he wanted to do, he’d do it with or without my permission. I didn’t want to beg.

“Right,” I answered.

“Good choice,” he said, grunting as he swung the shovel and slammed it straight down into my right foot.

I was still lying in the hole.

I didn’t cry out.

I didn’t even wince.

I felt sharp poke in my skin, inside my running shoe, like something had shattered or snapped. A bone, probably. I knew it was bad, but the pain felt distant, removed. I stared at him, my eyes cold, my expression aloof, and awaited further instructions. The fact I barely felt any pain hurt me more than anything.

“What now?” I asked.

“Now you get up, and you continue digging.”



TROY



WHERE COULD THEY be?

Anywhere. An apartment I don’t know about that Brock had rented? A hotel, a motel, a barn somewhere, the woods, a lake, a basement? The options were limitless.

Where could they f*cking be? Were they still in Boston? Were they on a plane going somewhere? No, they weren’t on a plane. I would know. That’s what I paid Jensen for. To let me know shit like that. Anyway, Sparrow didn’t have her passport. I did. And her new driver’s license would be in her wallet. She wouldn’t go jogging at five a.m. with a wallet.

What was I worrying about planes for? If Brock had her, she for damned sure wasn’t with him willingly. They wouldn’t be strolling through security. I felt sure they were somewhere close enough to drive, and wherever they were, I needed to find her fast.

The cab pulled up to the curb at Cat’s house, and I jumped out, instructing the driver to wait for me. I pounded on the front door so violently the windows rattled. Cat opened up, wide-eyed and obviously startled. She knew I meant business, because she looked more concerned than pleased to see me.

“What’s going on?” Her forehead wrinkled, her short, skanky skirt swaying from rushing to the door.

“Where’s your husband?” I strode right in. I wouldn’t put it past Cat to let Brock keep Sparrow here. Didn’t trust either of them. I might have been paranoid, but f*ck it, they gave me every reason to suspect them.

“I have no clue. What the hell? Why are you looking for him?” She rushed behind me.

I climbed the stairs two at a time and started throwing doors open upstairs, Sam’s room included. When his door flew inward and banged hard against the wall, he looked confused. He sat at a plastic children’s table, with little trucks lined up neatly in front of him.

“Umm, hi, Mr. Troy?”

“Hey, Sam.” I hesitated for a moment to take one last look at him before I did something I knew he might hate me for the rest of his life. “Have you seen your dad around?”

“Not today,” he murmured, wheeling a truck to the edge of the table. He let it drop to the floor and made an explosive sound with his little mouth.