Page 11 of Sparrow

I’d been born to parents who were both lawyers, but public defenders in New York don’t make much money, and we’d had only a small apartment in a building that didn’t cater to nice people. I didn’t understand rich people yet.

Hell, I still don’t. But I’ve seen enough vacation homes at this point that I do understand that some people spend money like it’s fucking water, without thinking that they could do better things with it.

This compound was deserted for years, though, when that family decided they no longer liked the mountain, and everyone in town had thought it would fall into disrepair and destroy itself over time.

Instead, several months ago, a new MC moved into town and invited themselves right into the compound.

I have no idea whether they paid anyone for it, but they certainly didn’t ask the residents of Wood what they thought of having a second MC within their jurisdiction. If they had, they would have been told we didn’t want them. The Black Oaks were our MC and there’s not room for another gang in such a small town.

Especially one that likes to make as much trouble as the Iron Saints do.

They’ve been interfering with town business ever since, and were called out two months ago for stalking one of our own and then taking a contract to hit our sheriff.

Bear Hawke.

I scan the main house as I sift through those memories, my eyes sharp on the lights in the windows. It’s midnight and there’s not a lot of movement in there, but I can see shadows crossing the windows every so often. Ten or so bikes are sitting in front of the house, so a good number of their people are home, and given their history I’d expect a party, but I don’t hear any music. Just the creepy sort of stillness that accompanies people holding their breath like they’re waiting for something.

Or like they’re doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

I narrow my eyes and creep forward, ducked low over the ground and moving quickly enough to get to the next tree. I go to another, and then another, until I can see the figures in the house more clearly. They’re definitely not having a party. And there are definitely only a couple of guys in there.

That’s strange. I haven’t kept a firm count but I know they have at least twenty guys in their organization, and they somehow manage to pack them all into that house most nights.

Where the fuck are the rest of the guys?

And where’s this girl the text was talking about? Is she in there with them?

Something moves in my peripheral vision and I swing around, already defensive, but see that it’s not close to me.

Instead, it’s at one of the outbuildings. A tiny cottage that sits several hundred yards from the main house. The place looks like it belongs in a storybook, with its wraparound porch and gingerbread-house-style roof, and I’ve always wondered why the fuck the owners of the place built a second house and made it so tiny.

Right now, there’s a man standing on the porch lighting a cigarette.

A moment later, he turns and shouts something at the house, and I see a twitch of the curtain in the window. A face, eyes large and hair puffed out around it as she looks out into the night.

A girl.

She doesn’t look like she can be more than twenty, maybe twenty-one, and I’m close enough to see that she’s absolutely beautiful. Wide cheekbones and large eyes. A rosebud mouth pursed into an expression that tells me she’s intentionally biting her tongue rather than answering whatever the man just said. She looks other worldly, the light from the room behind her highlighting chestnut-colored hair and pale, freckled skin.

But something about her face looks fragile. Delicate, like her bones are pushing too hard against her skin and she’s about to break. She looks like she’s made of glass rather than truly human.

I guess the stress of having been kidnapped will probably do that to you.

Because there’s no doubt in my mind that this is the girl I’m searching for. Young, beautiful, and with that expensive cast to her skin that tell me she’s probably worth a lot of money to someone.

So why the fuck is she in Wood?

And why haven’t her people paid whatever the syndicate is asking, to take her home and keep her safe with them rather than holed up in some tiny cottage up on a mountain?

“You planning on telling me what you’re doing?’

The voice is so close, so loud, that I nearly yelp in surprise. I jump and hit my head on a low-lying branch, then whirl in the next move, my fists up and ready to punch whoever is right behind me. And then I see Mars, standing there looking at me like he’s just caught me doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

Which I am.

Because I already know that girl in the cabin needs a hero, and I’ve never been that sort of man.

“What did you do, follow me?” I snap.