Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,7

and watch in awe when he ran into the cops. I swear the police patted down the boy down the street more than a newborn puppy. They were waiting impatiently for teenage Brennan to follow in his father’s footsteps. He got slammed into the hood of every patrol car that rolled by, and every cop on our beat knew the curve of his ass by heart.

Now cops were too scared to even look at him.

As I stood in the hotel suite’s bathroom, staring at his expressionless face, I realized that I had no cards to play. And even if I had cards, he owned the freaking table.

I was completely trapped, a caged bird with clipped wings.

“Can I still work?” I asked through a strangled voice. Mob wives were not allowed to, but Troy was not a mobster. Technically. He took a step closer, his breath falling on my face.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want. You have a long leash.”

I felt his lips traveling inches from the crook of my neck, and I stilled. Thankfully, he didn’t touch me.

“But let’s get one thing straight—when it comes to men, I’m the only fucking one for you. Do not test me on this subject, because the consequences will be grave for you…and for him.”

He was being deliberately obnoxious, but his words still stung. I tried to focus on the small victory I was granted. I could still work. Still get out of the house and avoid him. Now it was just a matter of finding a job to keep me busy.

“If my leash is so long, why is Connor following me around?” I lifted my chin, challenging him.

“Because I always protect what’s mine.”

“I’m not your property, Brennan.” I seethed, narrowing my eyes. Yes, I was scared, but more than anything, I was royally pissed off.

“The fact that you’re in a wedding dress and have my ring on your finger begs to fucking differ,” he said, his voice flat and calm. “But even if you weren’t, with the amount of enemies I’ve collected in this city, anyone affiliated with me needs protection. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He turned on his heel and headed out the door.

It was only after he left my personal space that I released the breath that was trapped in my lungs for what felt like a decade. Why was he so hell-bent on reminding me how dangerous he was?

“You’re not going to get away with doing this to me, you know,” I called out after him, watching his broad back.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Red. I get away with everything. Always.” He didn’t even bother to turn around to face me.

Did he just call me Red?

“Oh, so now I have a nickname? This marriage isn’t real, Brennan. No matter what will happen in church this afternoon.”

That finally made him react. He turned his head in my direction. Our eyes locked. His frosty blues pierced through my greens, burning an imaginary hole all the way to the back of my skull.

Stupid girl. I felt my pulse—wild and manic—behind my eyes, at my throat, in my toes, pumping, pounding, my heart trying to break free out of my skin and run for its life. Why provoke the guy if you can't even handle a stare-down?

There was a brief beat, and then Brennan offered me one of his unpleasant I-Will-Destroy-You smiles.

“Dear future wife…” He smirked in a way that made me want to beg for mercy. “If you think you’re going to give me trouble, think again. I invented trouble. I stir it, I mix it, I fucking fix it. Don’t try my patience, because you’ll discover I have absolutely none.”

MY FATHER WAS giving me away at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church, conveniently located in the center of the city. The guest list was full of people I didn’t know or care about. A mish-mash of high-profile businessmen, a handful of politicians, one senator and endless socialites.

A trail of black stretch limos lined up in front of the old church. Sophisticatedly clothed matrons poured out of the cars, assisted by their husbands, sons and daughters. The attire was formal and oozed power, as the men puffed on cigars, laughing with each other and patting shoulders good-naturedly, certainly enjoying the event more than I was.

By the number of security guards marching through the entrance, you’d think I was marrying the Pope.

As my gaze roamed the entrance of the church from the limo I sat in, it occurred to me that the flower