Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
GHOST
SPETTRO
I crunch a butterscotch between my teeth violently, grinding every last shard to sticky, sweet dust, then reach for another one. I’ve lost track of how many I’ve had, but this is the last one in my pocket, so I switch to pacing after I demolish it just like the last five or so.
I don’t know why I’m so fucking nervous.
I’ve had guns held to my head on more than one occasion, looked into the eyes of cold-blooded predators without blinking, and walked through a packed clubhouse full of Sleepless Reapers without breaking a sweat, but meeting up with my own brother has my hands shaking and my heart stuck on sprint.
I press my palm against the center of my chest to feel the wild thud of my pulse against my sternum, like a bird trying to escape a cage.
It all happened so fast last time, I didn’t have time to overthink it or worry about it much, but my mind is racing now with all the what-ifs.
What if he’s pissed or hurt that I can’t remember him or our childhood?
What if he’s disappointed by the person I’ve become?
What if I’m disappointed after all these years of his face being the only thing that gave me a shred of comfort?
“Spettro, hey.”
It’s only because of the years I’ve had to practice playing it cool and keeping my emotions in check that I don’t startle out of my skin at the sound of his voice. I stop pacing and turn to face him, shoving my hands into my pockets so he won’t see how shaky I am.
I don’t know if I unknowingly picked up my style from him or if it’s just a coincidence, but a small laugh escapes me as I look him up and down and realize we’re matching from our motorcycle boots to our ripped jeans, all the way up to our leather jackets and plain white T-shirts underneath.
Sparrow smiles back at me, and I can see all the same nerves and wariness I’m feeling reflected in his expression.
It’s surprisingly comforting to know I’m not the only one shitting myself right now.
We both hesitate for half a second and then step towards each other at the same time.
I take my hands out of my jacket pockets, my leather gloves in place as usual, and I pull him into a hug.
This one is much more brief than the one we shared at his apartment, but it sinks down into my bones just the same, making me ache for a home I never missed before.
We break apart and I catch him quickly wiping the back of his hand across his cheek as he turns his head slightly away from me and nods towards the entrance to the large park behind me.
Middle Park is two square miles of green space in a sea of buildings and traffic jams. I’ve called benches here home more than a few times over the past seven years, when I couldn’t get enough cash together for a month of rent or couldn’t find a place that was willing to overlook my lack of legal employment or ID.
“Hope this is okay?” he asks. “I thought it might be less awkward to talk and catch up if we don’t have to sit across a table and stare at each other while we pretend to drink overpriced coffee.”
I chuckle and nod. “Yeah, it’s great. I’m already sweating my ass off though.”
I shrug out of my jacket, and he does the same as we head into the park.
There are plenty of people here on a warm summer afternoon, but it’s big enough that it doesn’t feel crowded.
We walk down the jogging path, staying off to one side so we won’t get in anyone’s way, and for a few minutes, we just listen to the birds and get used to existing in the same space.
“I still can’t remember anything,” I say eventually, hoping to sidestep any uncomfortable moments where he asks me if I remember this or that from our childhood.
“Nothing?” he asks.
I start to shake my head, then stop. “Mostly nothing. I remember the night I died in perfect fucking detail, and a few weeks ago I had this flashbulb memory of the night I fell in with the Reapers. Sometimes I get a small sense of knowing, like when I saw your sparrow tattoo and felt like it must have been my favorite bird, but… yeah, mostly nothing.” I clear my throat.
“I’ve remembered your face all these years, I just didn’t know who you were. ”
He’s quiet, and I get another one of those feelings, that sense of knowing again that’s untethered from anything concrete.
I think this has happened more than I’ve realized over the past seven years.
I'm just noticing it more now with my brother here, when I’m trying so hard to remember anything.
But there’s a small sense of who I used to be, the life I used to have, buried in the back of my mind.
“We were really close, right?” I squint a little, trying to grab on to the elusive wisps of my thoughts. “And our parents kind of sucked?”
He sputters a laugh. “Yeah. They weren’t abusive or anything, but I’d call them neglectful. We spent more time being raised by nannies than by either of them. And, yeah, we were close.”
He bumps his shoulder purposefully against mine as we walk.
“So, I left home, developed a drug habit, and basically died, and you were left to pick up the pieces?” My throat tightens as it really hits me how much he must have gone through during those years I spent lost in a drug haze, being used and abused by the Reapers.
“Yeah. I handled it super well though. I faked my own death, paid a famous hitman to turn me into a trained killer, and moved to Wildcliff to start murdering the Sleepless Reapers who I knew were with you the night you died. Or whoever died, I guess. Shit, did I murder the wrong scumbags?”
I choke on a laugh. “It doesn’t matter; they all deserve it.”
“They do,” he agrees solemnly.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything,” Sparrow says without hesitation.
“I hate how much it hurt you to think I was dead, but I’m glad that whoever you buried got a proper funeral. I’m glad he had someone to cry over his casket and mourn him. Most of them didn’t, and when I was lying there dying in that ditch, I didn’t think anyone would mourn me either.”
He reaches over and squeezes my arm briefly before letting go. “I’m glad too. Everyone deserves to be mourned.”
We’re both quiet for a few beats, and then the mood lightens inexplicably and we share a smile.
“Do you think vigilante murder is genetic or what?” I ask, and we both chuckle again.
“Could be. Xav let me know that Lorenzo approved our plan, by the way. So, once the time is right, we’re good to go.”
“Alessio told me. I’m keeping an eye on the group chat, so I’ll know as soon as they have a date for their next big blowout.” We both fall silent again and keep walking. “Shit, we’re like coworkers trying to find something to relate to each other about that isn’t work.”
“Shut up. No, we’re not. We’re brothers.
” He bumps my shoulder again. “We just need to figure out what we have in common now aside from a lust for vengeance and hot mafiosos to play with.” He speeds up just a little and turns to face me, walking backward without breaking stride as a wicked smile spreads across his lips.
“Alessio is such a sub, right? I have to know if I’ve been right about this whole Moretti inner circle. ”
My eyebrows shoot up. “The whole inner circle?”
“Except for Salvatore, so far. I thought for sure his husband, Dante, was the Dom between those two, but it just goes to show, you can never be sure about somebody. I’m holding my breath to see if Lorenzo is in the sub club, but with Declan MIA and possibly dead, the world may never know.”
I know some of the names he just spouted, but that was a lot of gossip and information to get all at once.
“I’m going to need a hell of a lot of backstory on all of that.”
“See, there’s something we can bond over. These guys are more interesting than a soap opera.”
“I’m not sure it meets the requirement of not being about work though, does it? I mean, technically neither of us work for the Morettis, but still.”
“Fair enough. I’ll fill you in anyway.”
“Obviously.” I let out another laugh. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Of course you can,” he says again with a slightly exasperated chuckle. “You don’t have to keep checking in like that. Just say whatever’s on your mind. I’m sure I can handle it.”
I nod, and we round the corner to a more secluded section of the park, surrounded by tall trees with a long stone tunnel that the jogging path winds through. We stop right outside the tunnel, and I turn to face him.
“I’m itching to take out the Reapers once and for all, but I’m kind of fucking terrified too,” I confess.
“For seven years, the only thing I’ve thought about is getting my pound of flesh from them and making sure no one else will suffer at their hands the way I have.
I haven’t dated, aside from casual, pre-arranged encounters with subs I never played with more than once.
I haven’t had a job other than breaking into penthouses to steal overpriced knickknacks.
I don’t have hobbies or friends. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all my time once they’re gone. ”
“Honestly, Spet, hard same.” Sparrow gives me a flicker of a grin.
“I’ve been so fucking focused on revenge for so long that I don’t have the first fucking clue what I’ll do when I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder, watching for Reapers.
” His eyebrows furrow and his gaze lingers over my shoulder for a few seconds. “Speaking of which…”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Reaper? I mouth, and Sparrow nods, his gaze staying fixed just behind me, his body language subtly shifting from relaxed to alert in an instant.
He gives an inconspicuous tilt of his head towards the tunnel, his eyebrows going up an inch in a silent question.
I smirk in response and start towards the tunnel without glancing in the direction of the Reaper.
As soon as we’re in the shadows, I shrug my jacket back on so my hands will be free, and my brother does the same.