Page 46 of Sparrow

Could we be this happy forever? Could we… learn to live outside the darkness that has always colored our lives?

The sudden roar of motorcycles interrupts the thought and the mudslinging stops as quickly as it started. Everyone turns to the parking lot, where I see ten or fifteen motorcycles pulling in. And they don’t belong to us.

They belong to the Iron Saints.

We didn’t invite them to this night because they’re not part of our town. Sure, they’ve set up residency here but that doesn’t mean they belong to us. Sooner or later we’re going to find a way to kick them out again, and until we do, we’re not going to make them feel any more welcome than we have to.

But now they’re infringing on our town’s traditions, and that’s not okay.

Mars goes striding past me, his eyes on their leader and his jaw set, and I realize this is about to get ugly. Arden shows up at my side, her chest heaving with her breath, and I take her hand and walk after Mars.

If he’s going to confront those men, I’m going to back him up.

He stops right in front of me and I pull up next to him, then shove Arden behind me. I don’t want her out of my sight, but I also don’t want her involved in whatever’s about to happen. The Iron Saints came here for something, and I don’t think it’s good.

Behind me, I can feel the Oaks gathering, ready for the war we’ve been anticipating.

And behind them, I know the townspeople themselves are gathered. When Bear appears next to me, furious, I don’t say anything. He has as much reason as anyone to hate the Saints. On his other side, though, Gunner steps up, then Gabe, and then Cameron, and I hope to God Cam told Sammy to keep her fucking mouth shut.

The last thing we need is her reminding the Saints that they already lost this battle once.

We stand there for several seconds, violence coloring the air and my mind racing through all the things I’ve seen about the Saints that makes me suspicious. Their midnight activities. The fact that they’re moving so many supplies.

Arden in a cottage on their fucking property.

I don’t like them and I’m sure they’re up to something, but I don’t have enough proof yet to go to anyone. And I’m not going to say anything until I have enough to get them kicked out of town.

But if they came here looking for a fight…

Well, that’ll do it, too.

Mars clears his throat like he’s about to say something and I stiffen, getting ready for the first punch. But then I feel something shift behind me, and I hear a gasp.

Arden.

I spin before I think about it, and see her just in time to take in a pale face, closed eyes, and her knees collapsing on her. I surge forward and catch her in my arms, her slight frame fitting neatly against my own, and then I gather her in and tuck her against my chest. God, she’s fucking small. Too light. Too fragile.

And not conscious.

I forget everything else around us, forget the Saints and the rain and the mud and the town, and start running.

Because my girl just fainted, and I need to get her the fuck out of the rain and into someplace warm and dry.

So I can make sure she’s still with me. Because none of this matters—none of it—unless she’s okay.

Orion

Imay not look like I follow rules, but when it comes down to it, I’ve always lived my life by a set of guidelines. When I was a kid and still living under my father’s house, they were the rules my father made up. Strict and unbendable, they centered on me and my mom always doing exactly what he told us to, and guessing what he might want when we didn’t know for sure. Our only job was to obey him and keep him happy, and if we didn’t do that–if we stepped out of line–then God help us.

The punishments were almost as bad as the tension of knowing when they were coming.

Once I left, the rails that kept my life on track changed. They were still about survival, of course, but no longer moved along someone else’s idea of what that meant. Out on the streets on my own, I got to make my own rules. Decide for myself what safety and security meant, and how to achieve them. When I was running with the syndicate I had to follow their rules, of course, but even then it was my decision.

I needed food and money, and the syndicate provided those if I followed their rules.

Coming to Hawke’s Wood meant a different set of guidelines, more friendly ones, but through it all, no matter where I’ve been, one thing has been true: When it comes down to it, rules are most important when you’re in a life-or-death situation. Those are the times when logic and intent have to rule the day, because thinking clearly is how you get yourself out of a bad situation alive.

Right now, with Arden in my arms, her head slumped against my chest and her form completely limp, I try every trick in the book to get my brain to kick in and give me the cold, logical facts about how to get her to safety quickly and easily.