Spark of Time: MacKenny Brothers Series Book 5: an MC/Band of Brothers Romance

by Kathleen Kelly

  I send a smiley face and a kiss back.

  Looking at the photo, Charlotte appears happy. Her face always betrays her emotions, and I can’t detect an ounce of discomfort.

  Chase appears in the doorway with a glass in each hand. “What have you got there?”

  Holding it up, I move toward him. “Charlotte and Morgan.”

  “Ahh, did they wreck the surprise?” Chase holds out a mojito to me.

  “What surprise?”

  “We moved Charlotte into the house. This way, we’re all under the same roof and can take care of her better.”

  “What? But Charlotte was happy having her own apartment. She has two jobs and a life. Chase, she needs to learn what it’s like to be on her own, to stand on her own two feet.”

  “Well, that’s just it, she doesn’t have to now. Charlotte is part of the family, and we take care of our own.”

  “Chase, you should’ve consulted me first. It took years for her to feel comfortable in that group home, not to mention it took years to get her in there. The waiting list alone took forever.”

  “I thought this would make you happy. To have your sister under the same roof, to know she’s protected and loved by us… her family.”

  Sadness washes through me.

  He planned this.

  Chase knows I’d never leave him if it meant putting Charlotte in any kind of danger.

  Putting the glass to my lips, I gulp down half of it, nearly choking on the amount of alcohol in the drink.

  “Whoa! Take it easy there, honey. We don’t want you getting so drunk you have a hangover.”

  “And why not? It’s snowing, and we can’t go outside.”

  “We could do other things?” Chase suggests provocatively.

  My stomach rolls, and I can’t help the look of revulsion sweeping across my face. Chase doesn’t miss it. He raises his eyebrows and smirks as he takes a sip of his drink. Then he paces while nodding to himself.

  “I make one mistake, and you’re going to punish me forever?”

  “I need time. Please, Chase, just give me a little time.”

  He swallows more of his drink and looks me up and down. “It’s been a day. How long do you need? One more, two? A week?” Chase’s voice rises with each question.

  Walking backward, I keep going until my bare arms touch the ice-cold window. The coldness helps me get my spiraling emotions under control. “I love you, Chase. Your…” I look around the room, searching for the right words, “… outburst frightened me. Please, Chase, give me today to sort out how I feel.”

  “How you feel about what?” He takes another sip and grits his teeth.

  My hand instinctively goes to my face, and he shakes his head, one hand going to his hip, and then he looks up at the ceiling.

  “You said you’d forgiven me.”

  “And I have. But until the physical marks disappear, I’m a little…” Chase looks at me, “… scared of you.”

  His face dissolves into a mask of sadness, and tears fill his eyes. “I don’t want you to fear me, Belle.”

  And at that moment, I understand it’s exactly what he wants. Chase knows I don’t like being called Belle, and he’s doing it deliberately to provoke a response from me. Instead of repeating that I don’t like to be called that name, I smile and walk toward him. Reaching up, I cup one side of his face. “I’ll try harder.” Shivering from the cold, I wrap my arms around myself. “How about we start a fire, get some food, and watch a movie?”

  “You’re cold?”

  I nod.

  Chase moves toward the closet and pulls out one of his gray sweaters. “Here. It’ll be a little long on you, but it should keep you warm until the fire heats the room. I’ll light the one in here too.”

  Smiling at him, I take the sweater. “Thank you, honey. Do you need help?”

  “No, there’s enough wood. Why don’t you go find us something to eat?”

  Holding out the glass, Chase takes it from me, and I put on the sweater, then do a twirl.

  “Perfect fit,” I say, laughing.

  Chase nods. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

  “Good.” I take my glass off him. “Meet you downstairs?”

  Chase grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

  I kiss his cheek and leave the room.

  Isabelle

  Present Day…

  Chase kisses my cheek, pulls out of me, and goes into the bathroom. Tentatively, I touch my side and wince. He’s definitely broken ribs this time. Sitting up, I quietly pad out of the room and into the guest bathroom down the hall. I so badly want to lock the door, but it will only make him mad. I turn on the shower, step out of my clothes and under the cold spray of water.

  This is the last time.

  A sob escapes me, and I hold my hands over my mouth to silence myself. Using a washcloth, I pump the liquid soap onto it and wash myself from head to toe. Bending is hard, but I want no trace of that monster on me. I wash my hair, brush my teeth, and let the cold water soothe me. It’s funny what you can get used to. Three years ago, if you told me I’d get used to cold showers, I’d have laughed at you. Even on the hottest of days, I could never have had a cold shower. It always started out hot and got gradually colder, but now—I chuckle to myself—I don’t remember the last time I had a hot one. I need the cold to keep me sharp, to listen to the distinct tones in his voice, and to see the slight quirks in his face to avoid the beatings if I can.

  Everything sets him off now.

  Where once he cried and begged for forgiveness, now it’s all my fault.

  His favorite line, look what you made me do.

  Stepping out of the shower, I wipe myself down and dry my hair. At least this time he didn’t hit my face—there’s no bruising. Chase smartened up over the years, and he learned that if he didn’t hit me in the face, then no one will know. If he broke my arm, which he’s done three times, he always took me to their family doctor, who never asked me questions. It didn’t matter, anyway, I was well versed in the lie—I fell down the stairs.

  A door slams downstairs, and this signals that he’s left the house. With a towel wrapped around me, I walk back to our bedroom and pull out the suitcase from under the bed that is already packed. Next, I go into the walk-in closet and dress. My ribs burn, and my leg throbs, but I’m happy.

  Chase is predictable.

  After a beating, he’ll go to his family’s estate to talk to his father or his sadistic brother, Mason. They’ll assure him it’s all my fault. He’ll stay for a while, and then he’ll go to his mistress’s home and spend the night.

  One day, I followed him—after I went to the family doctor, Harry Turnstone, who informed me I had gonorrhea—to a townhouse down by the marina. She was pretty, younger than me and, he clearly wasn’t practicing safe sex.

  Thankfully, his doctor contacted him and asked him to come in for a physical. Chase noticed I was taking antibiotics, but we never discussed it. Occasionally, I do a drive-by of the townhouse. He seems to change them out every six months or so. The current one has been there for three months.

  Doctor Turnstone assured me he’d had a conversation with Chase and that he was no longer practicing unsafe sex and had gotten treatment for his ailment.

  The rich and famous get away with everything. They buy themselves out of any circumstance. I don’t even have to lie to the doctor, for he doesn’t want to know. He’s been looking after the Kelly family for years. It turns out Chase learned all his bad behavior from his father. A woman should be seen, have children, and no voice at all.

  Children.

  It’s the reason I’m running. Chase wants to have children, at least two, but he’d prefer four. Once upon a time, a husband and children were the fairy tale, now they are the nightmare. Having children with a monster would surely only breed more monsters? If Mason and Chase are anything to go by, I’m pretty sure I’m right.

  Morgan, though, has been an ally for the past three years. Even now, she’s helping,
but not in a way that can be tied back to her. She arranged it, so Charlotte got accepted into an exclusive camp for adults with disabilities. I told Chase that I’d arranged it, but I’d never have gotten Charlotte out of the house without Morgan’s influence and money to help pay for it.

  When Chase and I moved into this house, I thought we’d take Charlotte with us, but Chase said she should stay at the family home. It was his way, again, of controlling and keeping me dependent on him.

  Pulling my hair up into a ponytail, I don’t even bother to brush it. The suitcase has a week’s worth of clothes inside it, fake IDs for Charlotte and me, and all my toiletries. I have a penchant for an expensive skincare line that’s only available from Switzerland. Once I’m out of it, that will be the end of it, but until then, I’m taking it with me.

  Staring down at my engagement and wedding ring, I frown. I’ve never liked either of them. With no remorse, I take both off and leave them on my bedside table. I thought about selling them, but the diamond will have a serial number etched into it, and he’d be able to track the sale.

  With Morgan’s help, I’ve squirreled away a sizable amount of money. It’s under the name of one of my fake IDs. I just have to get out of Chicago to access it. If I tried to do that here, someone would recognize me.

  Picking up the suitcase, I walk downstairs and out of his house of hell.

  One of the house staff is there, and he smiles at me. “Mrs. Kelly, do you need something?” He gestures to my suitcase.

  “I’m donating old clothes to the homeless shelter down on Clifton Avenue.”

  “I could take it for you?”

  “No, Juan, I could use the distraction.”

  He nods knowingly like everyone else attached to this fucking family. He knows what they are capable of, and he knows he can’t do anything to help.

  I parked my Mercedes out front, a birthday gift from Chase. I wanted a red one, and he got a silver one, as they are better for resale. Just another one of Chase’s justifications for giving me what he wants and not what I want or need.

  The drive to the dealership takes only twenty minutes. We had previously talked about me selling it, so they won’t think it strange that I’ve decided to go through with it. Pulling into the lot, one salesman strides out, waving and grinning.

  “Mrs. Kelly, so lovely to see you!”

  “Hello.” I point at the car. “Do you remember we were talking about selling the Merc?”

  “Ahh, yes. But if you don’t mind me saying, you’d get a better deal if you took it to a dealership and traded it in.”

  “Not interested in getting another car. I just want to offload it and be nicer to the environment.”

  “It’s in your name?”

  “Sure is!”

  He nods and puts his hands on his hips. “I think we said thirty thousand?”

  “No, we said forty, and she’s worth more like sixty, so don’t screw me over.”

  He chuckles. “Fair enough. Forty it is. You’ll take a check?”

  “No, I need cash.”

  He raises his eyebrows and rocks back on his heels. “We don’t keep that kind of cash on the premises.”

  Glancing at my watch, I’ve got just over an hour to get to the airport and catch my flight. “How much do you have?”

  “I can ask?”

  “You do that.”

  He turns and walks inside. I open the trunk and pull out my suitcase. Rolling it inside the dealership, I can see him talking to a man in an office at the end of the building. I keep going until I’m in the doorway.

  The man behind the desk doesn’t stand, but he motions to the salesman to stop talking. “Mrs. Kelly?”

  “Yes.”

  He pushes his chair out from behind his desk and stands. “Salvatore Agostino, owner of this establishment.” He holds out his hand.

  Leaving my suitcase at the door, I shake his hand. “Did he tell you what I’m after?”

  Salvatore flicks his eyes to his salesman. “Leave us and shut the door.”

  The man gives me a tight smile and does as he’s told.

  “Is there a problem?” I ask.

  Salvatore sits and points to a chair. “In my experience, a woman only sells her car for cash if she’s running. Are you in trouble, Mrs. Kelly?”

  “N-No. Just trying to do my part for the environment.”

  “By selling your Mercedes C Class for much less than it’s worth?”

  “Yes, it’s a gas guzzler.”

  He leans forward and steeples his finger together on his desk. “I’ve had dealings with your husband.”

  “Oh, have you?” Internally, I’m panicking. If he phones Chase, this will all have been done for nothing.

  “Yes.” Salvatore peers into my eyes, and I squirm under his scrutiny. He sits back and says, “I have twenty-five K in the safe. If you give me a forwarding address, I’ll make sure you get the rest.”

  “But I live here in Chicago. Everyone knows that,” I reply with a smile.

  Salvatore cocks his head to the side. His eyes feel like they are piercing my soul. “But not everyone knows that Chase Kelly likes to hurt women. I do.”

  He stands and walks to a print on the wall. He takes it down, revealing a safe. Salvatore puts in the combination, opens it, and pulls out the money. He places it on the desk in front of me.

  “If you let me, I can help you.”

  My chest tightens, and my throat burns, but there’s no way I can trust him. It could all be a ruse, and this man could turn me over at any moment.

  “I’m just trying to do my bit for the environment.”

  Salvatore nods and opens a drawer in his desk. “This is my personal number. If you ever need anything, Mrs. Kelly, please use it. I’m no friend of your husband’s. The car I’ll scrap and sell for parts. No one will know you sold it to me. I’m sorry I only have twenty-five thousand.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “I’m a husband and father. My family is everything to me. It’s outrageous that the Kelly family gets away with everything they do. Your husband frequents a brothel that I own. More than once, he’s damaged some of my merchandise. I’m sure he inflicts worse on you. Men like that are abhorrent.”

  It’s then that I realize this is Salvatore Agostino, head of the Abruzzi crime family. They run most of the illegal activities in and around Chicago. Chase has had business dealings with them but nothing public.

  “Thank you.”

  “I meant it when I said I’d send you the rest of the money.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “No, there can be no trace. He’ll find me.”

  I put the money in my handbag.

  Salvatore nods, walks around his desk, and opens the door. “Do you need a ride?”

  I look at my watch and nod. “If it’s not too much of a problem?”

  Salvatore clicks his fingers, and a short, large-set man walks over. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Mrs. Kelly needs a ride. See that she gets to the airport, unharmed.”

  Standing, I grab my suitcase, but the other man waves a hand at me. “I’ve got it. I’m Tony. If you’ll follow me?” Then he looks at his boss. “Don’t forget to ring Emily, she wants to talk about dinner tonight.”

  “Have plans changed?”

  Tony smiles. “Ring your wife.”

  Salvatore chuckles. “Get going.” He looks down at me. “Good luck, Mrs. Kelly.”

  “Call me Isabelle.”

  He nods and closes his door.

  “Come on. This time of day, we should make it to the airport in fifteen minutes.”

  The flight from Chicago to Las Vegas takes just over four hours. I flew on my real name. Next, I caught a flight to Miami under one of my fake IDs. I ditched the ID into a trashcan and pulled out another one and rented a car. I’m tired, and I smell awful, but I have to keep going. Charlotte is waiting for me in a hotel room in Jacksonville with Brandon.

  The drive to Jacksonville is nearly five hours long. With an
extra-large coffee, I hit the road. Every police officer I see sends a bolt of fear through me. The Chicago police owe the Kelly family a great deal. They donate to all their causes and appear to be upstanding members of the community. By now, they will know I’m running. They’ll be searching for me everywhere.

  I’ve rented a red Charger with cruise control. If I stay on the I-95 and keep my speed to a minimum, I shouldn’t attract any unwanted attention and be there by morning.

  It’s a seedy motel. The type of place you’d only stay in if you were hooking up or hiding from someone. Charlotte and Brandon should be in room fifteen. I rap my knuckles on the door, and within moments, it flies open, and Charlotte is in my arms, crying and squeezing me tight.

  “You’re here!”

  Stroking her hair, I whisper, “Yes, Lottie, I’m here. But could you loosen your grip a bit? My side is a little sore.”

  Opening my eyes, Brandon is standing there with a lopsided grin on his face.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” He winks at me. “I told Charlotte she’d have to move in with me.”

  Charlotte leans back and swipes a hand across her face. “I told him you’d be here.”

  “And you were right.”

  “Come on, Charlotte, let’s let Isabelle inside before someone sees us.”

  Not letting go of me, Charlotte drags us inside. “You smell bad.”

  Laughing, I say, “Yep. I need a shower.”

  With a hand pressed to my side, I sit on the edge of the bed. The room has shag pile carpet, and the walls all look like they could do with a good scrubbing.

  “Is the bathroom clean?”

  Brandon holds his hand out flat and twists it from side to side. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Not a resounding recommendation.”

  “Charlotte, why don’t you start the shower for Isabelle?”

  Looking from Brandon to me, she nods and reluctantly lets me go.

  “How bad?” asks Brandon.

  “I think he broke or cracked a couple of ribs.”

  “Let me look.”

  Pulling up my shirt, Brandon dabs my ribs. I wince a couple of times, and he shakes his head.