Page 15 of Sparrow

My instincts are screaming at me that this isn’t right, and that we need to get her the fuck out of here.

“Are you finished asking questions?” I snap when Orion still hasn’t answered me. “Because I’d like to get her out of there.”

He’s close enough now that I can see his dark eyes watching the cabin like he’s waiting for some sort of sign, and when he turns his gaze toward me his brow is creased. “Her dad’s a gangster.”

His voice is flat and emotionless, like he’s responding to a statement he doesn’t care about.

Like it doesn’t matter to him.

So why the fuck is that the sentence he grabbed onto?

“Yes, and he’s evidently not here to get her out of the situation, so I guess that leaves it up to us to play hero. Are you in or what?”

I know I don’t have to ask. I know for a fact that if I need Orion, he’ll back me up. I don’t know everything I’d like to know about his background or what happened to him, but his past molded him into an incredibly loyal person.

If you’re lucky enough to be amongst his chosen family.

A grin slides across his face. “A fight with the Iron Saints? I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

He reaches down and pulls a gun out of his shoulder holster, then shows it to me with an even bigger smile. “I did bring a gun. I figured there might be a fight.”

“Asshole,” I breathe.

Of course he brought a gun, because he did know there was going to be a fight. And later one, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll make him tell me why he thought that–and who that message was from.

Right now, we’ve got a girl to rescue.

We pause for a moment, our shoulders pressed together as we stare at the cottage in front of us and take the measure of the situation. The place is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, and though I understand why Arden did it, it’s going to make this fucking difficult.

“Light are gonna make it hard to hide,” Orion mutters.

“Yep.”

There’s only one guard, though, from what I can see, and he’s sitting on the porch like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He dials a number and puts his phone to his ear, listening intently, and I look over his body quickly. He doesn’t look like much. Jeans and a t-shirt. Ratty old leather jacket. Boots that look like they’ve seen better days, and the lines of a holster across his chest.

He isn’t wearing the Iron Saints branding, and that makes me wonder, but I put it to the side for later. Right now, I want him on his back, unconscious. I’ll worry about his clothes once we have Arden safe.

“One guy,” Orion says. “Doesn’t look like he’s worth much.”

I almost laugh. Typical Orion. Take a whole picture and whittle it down to only the most important information. One guy. Not worth much. And the part he isn’t saying out loud: He’s going to be easy to take down.

But I have rules.

“We take him out but don’t kill him. I don’t want a fight with the Saints over this. Put your gun away.”

He huffs quietly. “Put my gun away. Mars. Be serious.”

He flips the gun quickly so the nose is pointing back at him and the butt is out in front of his hand, a perfect weapon. When he notices me watching and shrugs.

“I didn’t bring a bat.”

He takes off without saying anything else and I race after him, but his head start and smaller frame gets him to the cottage more quickly, and by the time I get there he’s already nailed the kidnapper on the head and knocked him out. He’s standing over him looking at the man like he might shoot him anyhow, just for the hell of it, and I reach out and shove him away.

Just for the hell of it.

“No,” I hiss. “We’re going to have enough trouble with the Saints over this. I don’t want one of their men dead.”

“He’s not even one of theirs,” Orion says. “Look at him. Just a standard thug.” He shoves the man with his foot, then turns his head, surprise.