"You fucking heard her," he snapped. Even if Alejo hadn't, Sparrow knew he would know what the request had been. Get the fuck out. Sparrow turned to see him, saw the beginnings of a protest on his face. Sparrow knew that look well. Too many people had worn that face with Sparrow, right before they'd lost their lives. Sparrow didn't have time for these assholes. After seeing the look on Sparrow's face, Alejo scurried out the door. Wise.
Sparrow crouched down beside her. "Don't fight back. That's not the message we're sending here." He reached out and grabbed her jaw, just a little too hard. "The message is helpless." He squeezed his fingers to a bruising force around her jaw.
"Later, when you come back, we can fight." Sparrow had not, during the event, enjoyed being a forced cage fighter. Maybe if it had been voluntary, if he'd wanted to do it. But he hadn't. He'd wanted the fuck out. Now that he had a choice, Sparrow wanted nothing more than a fight, nothing better than fists pounding into flesh and teeth latching in and tearing at skin and muscle. Bones crunching. Sparrow lived for that.
But Marina wasn't that kind of fighter. She was more like the doll you kept on the shelf. Rough sometimes, but never so much you broke her. A broken toy was no fun. And Marina had her uses, uses that weren't the ugly mess of them now.
"Did you think," he said, dropping his hand away and standing up. "Did you think, when you were a kid and you took my hand. Did you think that when I said play, I meant this?"