Spark (MacKenny Brothers Series Book 1)

by Kathleen Kelly

  “You couldn’t knock?”

  “I did, you didn’t answer, so I came running to your rescue.”

  I give her my back and put on my briefs, then open a cupboard and tug on some jeans.

  “Why isn’t Styles here himself to tell me he’s being replaced?”

  She doesn’t answer, so I turn around. She’s no longer staring at me but out the window. It takes her a moment before she visibly pulls herself together, looks at me, and gives a tight smile.

  “I regret to inform you that U.S. Marshal Connor Styles was killed in the line of duty.”

  “Shit. I’m sorry. He was a tough old bastard.” She nods and looks downhearted. “You need a drink?”

  “Got anything cold?”

  “Beer and water,” I say as I walk away from my bed toward the fridge.

  “Beer.”

  I’m surprised. Styles never once had anything but coffee or water. Definitely never alcohol. Placing my gun on the kitchen counter, I open the fridge and retrieve two beers. Twisting off the caps, I offer one to her.

  “Are you here to tell me I’m free or to be the bearer of bad news?” I ask as I take a sip.

  “The bearer of bad news, I’m afraid.” She walks toward me, and I hand her the bottle.

  “Maria?” She nods. “I’ve been here for three years. I want to go home. I miss my brothers, they think I’m dead.” I look her in the eyes. “You need to talk to someone, let them know, I need this to end.”

  “Mr. MacKenny, you know as well as I do, you can’t come in until you testify. Right now, they think you’re dead, and you’re safe. If you rise from the grave, you’re putting your brothers in danger. I know you haven’t forgotten your sister, Heather.”

  The mere mention of her name causes me physical pain. My sweet sister, Heather, who always looked to me to make things right. Heather, who’s been dead for three years. My sister that I didn’t protect. Will my brothers ever forgive me if I come back?

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you… that is, I didn’t mean to…” says Maria in a softer tone.

  “It’s all right, Maria. It wasn’t your fault. Let’s face it, it was mine.”

  “Your sister’s death wasn’t your fault either. It was those scumbags at Zed Fluid Systems. You have to be patient.” Maria sounds sympathetic, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know they’ll say anything to get me to do what they want.

  I walk toward the kitchen table, pull out a chair, and sit down. “I should have known better. How much longer do I have to wait?”

  Maria takes a seat opposite me. “It’s not so bad here, is it? You have a job, friends, a home.”

  “I’m doing a menial job, earning minimum wage, and I live in the middle of fucking nowhere. As for friends, I have no attachments. I’m not endangering anyone else.”

  “And if you go home, don’t you think they’ll go after your family? You have to be patient, we’re working as fast as we can.”

  With one question about my family, I concede defeat. I will remain here, but I don’t have to like it. “Fine.” I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. “But I need more money.”

  “You said it yourself, you live in the middle of nowhere. What could you possibly want more money for?”

  I lean forward across the table, pinning her with a look. “I have over fifteen million dollars in an investment account. It’s my goddamn money, and I want access to it,” I say with conviction.

  “Mr. MacKenny… Maddock, you know we can’t. We’ve frozen your accounts, even your brothers don’t understand why and are continually serving us with legal documents to have it and all your assets released.” Maria matches my gaze, sighs, and continues, “How much do you need?”

  I haven’t had anyone call me Maddock in three years, even U.S. Marshal Styles always called me Eric, so I wouldn’t get confused.

  “In this town, this hell-hole, my name is Eric, Eric Hill. I don’t want you, God forbid, blowing my cover.” Maria nods but looks bemused. “I need to fix up an old Mustang for a customer. He doesn’t have the money to do it.”

  “Selfless, too? You really are the whole package, aren’t you?”

  Her words cause me to look at her and take her in. She’s in her early thirties, trim with a short blonde hairstyle, not unattractive but not something I’d usually go for. My girlfriend, Regina, is probably married by now. I have a lot to make up for after so much time has been lost.

  “I’m a bastard, Ms. Lovett. It’s how I made my money, and it’s how I ended up here.” I raise my hands and look around the room, taking in my small mountain cabin which consists of one big open space. The only room with walls is the bathroom.

  “Yeah, right. I can’t swing you cash, but the American government confiscates cars every day from illegal activities. Write down the model and make, and I’ll see if I can get you parts.”

  It’s better than nothing. I feel like I’ve had a win and grin at her while lowering my hands. “Thank you.”

  She stands, placing her hand on her hip, exposing her gun and badge at the same time. Styles used to do that too, makes me wonder if they teach them to do it at marshal school.

  “Keep safe, maybe install an alarm system that lets you know if anyone opens your front door? If I’d been one of Zed’s hitmen, you’d be dead.”

  “I’m not normally home through the day,” I reply as I stand.

  “It’s the little things that can get you killed. Only takes one person, Mad-Eric, to recognize you, then everyone you know is in danger,” Maria says seriously as she heads toward the front door.

  “Isn’t it why you moved me across the country? No one I know would come here.”

  “Pays to be careful.”

  I nod at her, not wanting to argue. She opens the front door, waves at me, and

  walks out. I follow her, and the heat hits me like a wall.

  “Is it always this hot?”

  “Nah, we’re having a fucking heatwave. Drive careful U.S. Marshal Maria Lovett, the roads up here can be tricky.”

  She hands me her card. “I know you have all the regular numbers in case of an emergency, but if you need anything, you give me a call.”

  I walk to the edge of my porch as she continues to her car. Maria leans into the passenger window and comes out with a large yellow envelope. She walks it back to me, holding it out.

  “This is why you’re still dead. I thought you might like to see how your family is doing. The FBI keeps tabs on them. There are written reports on your brothers and photos. It might make it easier for you to stay here?” Maria smiles once more, then turns on her heel and goes to the car.

  I’m holding the envelope in my hand. I don’t even look up when she drives away. My brothers are inside—Kyle, Angus, Jamie, Sean, and Lochlan. Slowly, I walk back inside and place it on the dining table. I can’t look at it right now. Instead, I move toward my bed, strip off my jeans, and lay down.

  Kyle is the oldest and the smartest too. He’s head of the Loyal Rebels MC. All of us have been affiliated with the club, but Kyle wanted more for us. Growing up, I worked in the garage fixing bikes and cars. I remember when I turned fifteen, Kyle was twenty-two, and told him I was going to drop out of school and work there fulltime. He beat me until I was bloody and told me I was smarter than that. Kyle wouldn’t let me near the MC or the garage for three months. Told me I needed to find something else. He guided me, in his own way, toward accounting.

  I did the books for the club for a long time until the day came when Kyle again told me I needed to move on. Kyle isn’t ashamed of his club, fuck, he loves it. He kept telling me I could do better, and I did. Well, until my world fell apart.

  Angus is a year younger than me. He went into computers, a complete nerd in. He works for himself, but he’s into hacking for money. Angus is scary good. He can find out all about you from a thread of information. When they put me into witness protection, I warned them about him. Not his illegal activities, but that they could leave noth
ing for him to find.

  Jamie is so unlike all of us, not one for big cities or lots of people. He owns a small farm where he grows fruit, vegetables, and free-range chickens. I had no idea how much money was involved in organic. I used to do his books too—the crazy prices people will pay for organic food is mind-boggling. If you get him started, he’ll rave for hours about how insecticides are bad for you, and the hormones in meat will have you growing a second head.

  Sean is the most like Kyle—he’s street smart. He was always involved in fights at school, usually in defense of someone weaker than him. Sean abhors bullying and always defends the underdog. He went into the Marines after school but only stayed in for eight years. Said it was enough life experience for him. He came back different, harder. Sean is Kyle’s VP and handles security for the club when they need it.

  Lochlan was Heather’s twin. He must have felt her loss more than any of us. Lochlan is good looking. We all look alike, but Loch has higher cheekbones and fuller lips. When I last saw him, he was trying to find himself, whatever the fuck that means. Loch has always used his looks to get by in life. He went into modeling, and I’ve seen his picture a few times in magazines since I’ve been trapped here. He’s been smart. When I last checked, he was an ambassador for many high-profile brands. I suppose he’s found his calling.

  That’s my family, the MacKenny clan. Our father was a proud Scottish man who drank too much and loved our ma too much. Dad and Ma were out one night. Both of them had too much to drink, and he drove into the path of a truck, killing both of them. It was our grandfather, Da, who looked after us from that day forward. He was a better man than our father. Family always came first. If you pick on one of us, you deal with all of us. Growing up, I always felt protected, loved, and part of something bigger. If I didn’t have my brothers, I had the MC.

  Holding up my arm, I look at the tattoo on my forearm. It’s a take on the Victoria Cross. My grandfather received for his efforts in the Scottish military. It’s a cross with a circle. Within it are the words, In Memory of K.M., our grandfather, who taught us what family was all about—to love them no matter what—we don’t all have to be the same, and we need to find our own paths, no matter where they may lead.

  He was a tough old bastard, but he loved us, and when our parents died, Da stepped in. He didn’t even think about it, he just did it. I always felt Kyle, being his namesake, made it his mission in life to guide us after Da died. Da would have been proud of him.

  The tattoo is one of the things they wanted me to get rid of, but all of us boys have them. I wasn’t giving it up. It keeps me tied mentally to my family, and when you’ve been away from them as long as I have, sometimes, it’s all the comfort I have.

  I close my eyes, thinking about family and the choices we all made and drift off to sleep where I dream of Heather, alive, and I am with them all again.

  When I awaken, darkness has fallen, but the heat hasn’t abated. I go into the bathroom, shower in the darkness, cooling off in the process. I emerge feeling refreshed. Flicking on a light, I find what I need to wear to go back to the garage and head into the kitchen. The coffee pot is ready to go, so I hit the switch, and my eyes catch on the yellow envelope.

  I walk toward it, wanting to see but not wanting to know. They all continued without me, and although I want that, I also want to be a part of their lives, but I’m not. I’m here in the mountains far away from them.

  I undo the clip and reach in, pulling out a wad of papers and pictures. Kyle is on top. He’s sitting on his Harley at a set of lights, not smiling, looking determined. On the back is a woman with long blonde hair and not much else. He always did like the slutty-looking ones. The paperwork attached to the photograph gives me a rundown on his life. There’s nothing there I didn’t already know except that they seem to think the woman, Lola, is a permanent fixture in his life.

  Next up is Sean. He’s staring into the lens, giving them the bird. Clearly, he hasn’t changed, except for more tattoos. He’s the epitome of a biker—dark glasses, a bandanna around his head, and a beard. The report on him claims he’s involved with illegal trafficking of guns, but as yet, they haven’t proved it, and they won’t. He’s too smart for them. No one in our family has spent more than a night in jail, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Not to say we don’t bend the law, we do, but we don’t get caught.

  The next picture is of a man with a hoodie pulled over his face. He has gloves on, long sleeves, and jeans. It could be anyone, but the paperwork says it’s Angus. I wish I could see his face better. Whatever Angus is thinking is always right there for the world to see. He’s an open book—every emotion or thought process goes across his face. You can actually see his mind working by his expression. There are two written sentences about him. ‘Computer specialist who works for himself. Possibly a hacker for hire but nothing can be proven.’ That’s it. I wish there were more.

  Next comes Loch, with a photograph obviously taken at a professional shoot. He’s staring into the camera, looking cocky and arrogant. A woman is clinging to him, and he has the barest of smiles on his lips—must be for some ad campaign. The file on him reads, ‘International model currently in Italy. No ties or connections to the Loyal Rebels MC.’ This whole sentence makes no sense to me. Kyle, his brother, is the President of the MC. You can’t get more tied to the MC than that.

  I put the pieces of paper and photographs on top of each other as I read through them. The last is Jamie. He’s at a farmers’ market. He’s smiling as he holds out an apple to a customer. He looks happy, certainly more so than the rest of them. The paperwork reads, ‘A farmer who rarely comes into contact with the other members of his family.’ This I find hard to believe. Jamie is the one in the family who never forgets birthdays or special events. He’s the recordkeeper.

  I pull the photographs out of the pile and place the paperwork back in the envelope. I position them beside each other and stare at my family.

  I’ve been gone too long.

  I miss them.

  Standing, I toss the envelope into a drawer, but I leave the pictures on the table. I glance at them one last time and then head into work.

  Eric

  It’s been three days since the old man, Mr. Lake, had his heart attack. I’ve been working nights, and today is my day off. The heat feels never-ending as I drag my sorry ass out of bed. Walking into the kitchen, I absently turn on the coffee maker and stare out the window to the valley below. I’ve never been one for the countryside—big cities are all I’ve ever known. I have to admit there is a soul-calming beauty to this place. The seclusion is enough to drive me insane, but if I had someone to share it with, I could settle here for a while. But the urge for the city and the pace of it will always be my first love.

  The coffee maker clicks off, and I pour myself a cup and sit at my dining table, sipping it. The photographs are all still here, and although I don’t get visitors, I should put them away. If a U.S. Marshal can walk in here unannounced, so could anyone else. Maybe she was right. I should put in some sort of alarm system.

  My phone starts to buzz, and I pick it up. It’s Theo. Great. I have two days off, and I’ll be damned if I’m going into work today.

  I hit ‘answer’ on the phone. “Yes.”

  “Eric?”

  “Yes, Theo, it’s me.” Annoyance colors my tone.

  “Eric, the Mustang, it has to go.”

  “We promised the old guy we’d take care of it. You have plenty of fucking room, so what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t do charity work. If you want to work on this, you’re going to have to do it on your own dime.”

  I pull the phone away from my ear and groan. I can hear his mumblings as I try and get myself together. The ‘stang isn’t in anyone’s way. Theo wants the all mighty dollar, and I guess he knows the old dude doesn’t have any.

  I place the phone back to my ear. “… not that I’m not sympathetic to Mr. Lake, but if I do it for one—”

  �
��All right! I’ll take care of it today, even if I have to get it towed here. Will that satisfy you, Theo?”

  “You know, Eric, you can be a surly fucker.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. Theo is annoyed at me.

  “Theo, I said I’d take care of it, and I will. Is that all?” I ask with irritation in my voice.

  “Yes. One day you and I are going to have a sit-down and talk about your attitude,” says Theo cockily.

  I sigh. It’s too fucking early in the morning to be butting heads with him. We both know how much money I bring in. He’s not going to fire me, but from time to time, he finds it necessary to exert his supposed superiority over me.

  “Not today, Theo, it’s my weekend. See you later.” I click off and drop the phone on the table. It falls next to Loch’s picture. Sadness wells within me as I stare at my family. I remind myself it is for them that I keep away, for their safety. I gather the photographs and walk toward a cabinet of drawers. I open the top one, flick through them one last time and place my memories inside.

  I go back to my coffee, finish it, and head for the shower.

  It’s ten o’clock by the time I finish the few chores I have around my house, and I’ve decided the best course of action is to see if Mr. Lake has room at his home for the Mustang. I could bring it out here, but my shed isn’t big enough.

  The trip into town doesn’t take long. I pull in front of the hospital and walk through the doors toward the reception desk. My mind is elsewhere, and I walk straight into a courier, sending his parcels flying.

  “Jesus! Man, I’m so sorry.” I scramble to help him pick up his deliveries. “I had my mind on other things.”

  “It’s all right. I guess if you’re in a hospital, you have bigger things to worry about.” He smiles at me with understanding on his face. I don’t have the energy or the inclination to inform him otherwise, so I give him a nod.

  As I hand him the last envelope, he gives me a strange look.