Chapter 7

XAVIARO

Sparrow's fingers in my hair and the binding around my wrists feel like the only things holding me together as little shockwaves continue to tingle along my spine and through my spent cock. When he untangles his grip, I let out an involuntary whimper.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmurs, tucking his cock away, zipping his pants, then lowering himself to his knees in front of me.

I've spent most of my life dreaming of submitting like I did for Sparrow tonight. I thought I would finally feel put back together. Instead, I feel more fractured than ever, like the slightest breeze could shatter me.

"Look at me, Xaviaro," he says in that same commanding tone that sent me to my knees to begin with.

I didn't realize my eyes were closed, but I pry them open to find his face inches from mine, inescapably filling my field of vision. Nothing exists except for his intense blue eyes and his beautifully stern expression. I swallow and my throat aches. An involuntary tremble rocks my muscles, making me aware of the tension in my shoulders from the way my arms are tied behind my back. Every small twinge of pain in my body is a reminder of the pleasure, and I want to keep all of it.

"You were so good for me," Sparrow says softly, leaning in and brushing a jarringly gentle kiss against my lips. "I know that was intense, but I've got you. It's okay to just let go."

I open my mouth to tell him that I did let go. I went somewhere else while he fucked my throat. I gave myself over to him in ways I've only fantasized about before. I didn't even feel the buildup of my own orgasm. Every second from the moment he wrapped his fingers around my cock until he finally spilled down my throat felt like the longest, most overwhelming orgasm of my life. Letting go was easy, it's putting myself back together again that's proving to be difficult.

But instead of saying any of that, a sob escapes and I sag into him again. I thought I'd stopped feeling years ago, but it turns out I'd just built a dam around my emotions and Sparrow put a crack in it. Everything comes spilling out at once as a wave of hot tears tumble down my cheeks to pool on his shirt and skin where I have my face buried in the crook of his neck.

He makes soothing sounds and strokes his hands over my back and along my arms until the unexpected flood dries up and all of my emotions have been washed away on the wave of tears. Well, maybe not all of my emotions. Something warm and needy remains in my chest as Sparrow uses his thumbs to dry my cheeks.

"Better?" he checks, and I nod.

"Sorry, I—"

"Shh." He hushes me again, and I snap my mouth closed without finishing the apology. He runs a hand down my chest until he reaches the ruined scrap of silk still wrapped around my soft cock, sticky with my drying cum. "Was I your first?"

A rusty laugh works its way up my dry throat. "I'm not a virgin."

His lips twist in a wry, crooked smile. "I don't care about who you've stuck your dick in or vice versa, Killer. I want to know if you've ever given yourself to anyone like that. Have you ever submitted to someone before?"

I drag my tongue over my parched lips and shake my head. "No."

His eyes dance with a wild look that reminds me of the first night he walked into Death Company. The look is full of unpredictable danger and something else… something possessive. Is that what my Sparrow wants, to possess me?

He drops the soiled tie and grabs my jaw, his fingers finding the spots that are already tender from his rough touch. The kiss he presses to my lips this time isn't soft or sweet. It matches the savage ownership in his eyes, leaving me gasping when he pulls away again.

He keeps one hand on me as he gets to his feet and moves to stand behind me, like he wants to reassure me that he's still here. I don't know how he knows, but it's exactly what I need. I arch into his touch as he rests one hand between my shoulder blades while he uses the other to free my hands from my jacket.

I flex my fingers and stretch out my shoulders, then make a move to get to my feet.

"Stay," he commands, rooting me in place with a single word. For the first time tonight, I'm aware of the throbbing in my knees against the wood floor, but Sparrow wants me to stay, so I don't move a muscle.

He walks into the kitchenette, and I follow him with my eyes. Even doing something as simple as retrieving a water bottle from the refrigerator, there's an air of confidence and purpose that hangs around him and draws me to him. He uncaps the bottle as he makes his way back over to me, ignoring the way I reach for it and bringing it to my lips instead. I guzzle it down eagerly, letting the icy water soothe my throat.

He finishes off the bottle himself, tossing it lazily towards his garbage bin when it's empty, not bothering to pick it up when it falls short and lands on the floor. He turns his attention back to me, studying me silently for a few seconds.

"Do you want to stay or go?" Sparrow asks, and my mind immediately spins with the unexpected task of making a decision right now. Maybe I should go. I'm already too attached to this near stranger. Some space might be the best thing right now, but the thought of climbing into his bed, even just for a little while, is painfully tempting. Seeming to sense my dilemma, he grins and undoes his jeans again, kicking them off as he climbs into his bed. "What are you waiting for? Be a good boy and come here."

I scramble to my feet and start to strip out of my clothes. Unlike Sparrow, I treat each item carefully, lining my shoes up next to the couch and setting my gun and holster on the arm of the sofa. I fold my pants and my shirt as I remove each of item, leaving me in nothing but my expensive black silk briefs as I join him in his bed.

His shirt is gone now too, tossed carelessly aside while I undressed. He's lying on his side, facing me with his head propped up on his arm. That warm feeling fills my chest again. I've fucked plenty of men, but climbing into Sparrow's bed feels more significant than any quick fuck ever has.

"Last week… Was Velcro your first?"

He hesitates before nodding. "But I've had… training."

"Training?" I echo, raising both eyebrows. "Is there a Murder Academy I'm unaware of? Some kind of apprenticeship program that pairs aspiring killers with seasoned mentors?"

A grin spreads over his lips. "In a way."

I wait for him to elaborate and when he doesn't, frustration tightens inside of me. "So determined to hold your cards close to the vest, aren't you, Little Sparrow? Even after I've shown you my hand over and over."

Maybe coming here was a mistake after all. He's told me to stay out of his way, and I've been determined to bulldoze through his barriers anyway. I make a move to get out of bed. I may be slow on the uptake, but taking the hint late is better than never, right?

"Xav." He grabs my arm and tugs me back. "I paid The Phantom every penny I had in my trust fund to train me."

"The Phantom?" I repeat his words, settling back into bed and staring at him in disbelief. "The Phantom? The Russian hitman with more confirmed kills than anyone else alive? The man who allegedly took out the leader of the largest crime syndicate in the world while he was in protective custody?"

"That's the one. Don't spread that around because he was pretty clear that he would kill me without a second thought if other rich brats started showing up at his door begging to be turned into murder machines. Those were his exact words, actually."

"Shit," I mutter, putting an arm around Sparrow and drawing him close with the paranoid need to protect him from unseen dangers.

He laughs but snuggles closer to me under the covers. "This is fucking weird, you get that, right? I don't know what's safe to tell anyone else and what will make me look weak."

The quiver of vulnerability in his voice reminds me of his small stature and the fact that without all the bravado and violence, someone might have already decided he would be an easy target. I tighten my hold on him again, an unintended growl vibrating in my chest.

"I want to help you with the Sleepless Reapers," I tell him for the second time tonight, this time with the full blessing of my boss. "I can have the last three dead before the weekend and their entire club shitting their pants as they run for the hills."

Sparrow stiffens in my arms. "No."

"Sparrow—"

"No," he says again. "Do you know what they did to my brother?" He sits up, pushing the covers off. I notice the name Benny tattooed across the left side of his chest in a scrawl that looks like a signature. Sparrow strokes a hand over the tattoo. "Benny was more than my brother, he was my best friend. And those pieces of shit got him hooked on their drugs and passed him around. They fucked him while he was fucking overdosing, and when they realized he was dead, they tossed his body into a ditch like trash."

His voice vibrates with barely controlled rage, and when he turns his head towards me again, I can see it shining in his eyes.

"You said I'm too emotional and you're right. This is as personal as it fucking gets, and if I don't do this myself, Benny won't ever be able to rest."

"Sparrow," I say his name again, not sure what my next words are going to be. I can't relate to his pain, but I understand it.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," he says, lying back down.

I nod wordlessly. At least this time he didn't ask me to agree to stay out of things, because I'm even less inclined to agree now than I was earlier. He needs to slay this demon so he can rest again, and I have the skills to help him do it. Tonight might not be the night to convince him, but I've already decided he's not doing this alone.

The tension in his body relaxes and he closes his eyes. I lie awake, alert, counting his steady breaths and watching the flutter of his eyelids when dreams pull him under. I stay in his bed, memorizing the feeling of his bare skin under my fingertips and the sound of his soft snoring until the sky outside starts to lighten with the impending sunrise.

I slip out of his bed and dress silently. Before I leave, I search his small apartment for a piece of paper to write my number on. I don't find any paper, but I do find a black permanent marker. I use the marker to write my phone number down on my tie, along the thin strip that isn't crusted with my cum. I bunch it up and stuff it into his hand so he won't miss it when he wakes up, then I find the leather jacket he usually wears and slip a small tracker into the pocket, hiding it in a tear in the lining, just in case.

"Sleep well, Little Sparrow. I'll see you soon," I whisper into the dark.

SPARROW

I sit bolt upright, using my hand to shield my eyes from the late morning sun and fighting off the kind of sleepy confusion that will have you thinking you missed the school bus even though you're thirty. Something feels off, and it takes me at least a minute to realize that I wasn't alone when I fell asleep, but I am now.

"Xaviaro?" I call out in a raspy voice. I'm met with silence, and I frown, bringing both hands to my face to rub the sleep from my eyes. There's something soft balled up in one of my hands though.

I blink and unravel it, the fog finally clearing from my mind as the details from last night all come rushing back to me. Xaviaro on his knees for me. Xaviaro weeping when the sub drop hit him like a ton of bricks. Xaviaro in my bed, holding me close, offering to kill for me.

He would kill for me, but couldn't be bothered to wake me before leaving? I grumble at that, rubbing the silky material between my thumb and forefinger. I flip it over and realize there's something written there in black marker. A phone number. Xaviaro's phone number.

I reach for my phone and enter the number, saving it under the name Good Boy before typing out a message.

SPARROW: You left without waking me. Do it again and there will be consequences.

I hesitate with my thumb over the Sendbutton. Will there be an ‘again' with Xaviaro? Should there be? The answer to that one is simple. He's a distraction and he's more than likely to get in my way. This whole thing is dangerous enough as it is without letting things get complicated. But…

A desperate ache pulses inside my chest. What I shoulddo and what I wantto do are two very different things. I want to track Xaviaro down right now and order him to his knees again just for the thrill of it. I want to take him apart and then hold him and soothe him again. I want to taste him and own him.

This thing between us is pure gasoline, and all I want to do is light a match.

I hit Send, then toss my phone onto the bed while I shuffle to the bathroom to take a piss and crank on the shower. I strip out of my underwear and get in without waiting for the water to warm up. I learned the first week I moved in here that the water heater is broken, so there's no use waiting.

I shiver under the stream of cold water, using the unpleasant feeling to focus my mind. One Reaper is down, but I've got three more to go, and now I have the added challenge of staying under Xaviaro's radar at the same time. Or, at the very least, figuring out a way to keep him from interfering.

Step one, I need to do some digging to work out where I'll be able to get to my next target without walking right into the lion's den, a.k.a. the clubhouse. Although… maybe there's something to be said for that angle. They feel safe there, which means their guard will be down. I can definitely work with that.

I finish my shower as quickly as I can, drying myself off and slinging the damp towel over my shoulder as I stride out of the bathroom to start a pot of coffee. As I fill the pot with water from the sink, I notice the peeling laminate floor along the cupboards and the mold growing unimpeded along the back edges of the counter. I wait to feel a wave of longing for my old place—expensive and pristine, the best a trust fund could buy—but the feeling doesn't come.

Thoughts of that life feel more like something someone else told me than memories of my own. When I read my own obituary months ago, nothing about it felt like a lie. Seth LeBlanc died the same night his brother, Benny, did. I reach up and run my fingers over the sparrow on the side of my neck, and a slow grin creeps over my lips.

Little Sparrow. I hear Xaviaro's voice purr the affectionate name in my ear. Deadly Little Sparrow. The thought fills me with the same confident thrill I felt as I plunged my dagger into Velcro's throat.

With a huff, I give in to the rising urge to check my phone for a text back. I abandon the half-filled coffee pot in the sink and cross the small space to pluck my phone off the bed. Sure enough, there's a message waiting for me.

GOOD BOY: Yes, Sir.

Of course he uses proper punctuation in a text. My smile widens, a heated, charged feeling sparking along my skin as I read the text a few more times before dropping my phone again without responding.

Three more men to deal with, and then I'll be free. Then… who knows? Maybe I'll have time for distractions.