Spark of Hope (MacKenny Brothers #3) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,21
replies a man near the door.
He’s wearing dark gray dress pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, and shiny black dress shoes. Compared to the others who are in jeans and T-shirts, he stands out.
I crack my knuckles and stare at him. “I believe it’s time for introductions,” I say, staring at the man. “I’m Kyle MacKenny.”
The guy smiles and nods. “We know who you are. Kyle MacKenny, thirty-five, spends most of his time at the Loyal Rebels compound but does have a house that was left to him by his grandfather, Kyle MacKenny, his namesake. You have five brothers, two of which you have brought with you.” He moves around the table and stands opposite me, placing both hands on the back of a chair and leans forward. “You did have a sister, who was killed in a car bomb incident.”
“I’m feeling all warm and cozy, thanks for that. How about you tell me who you are?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “The one thing I don’t understand is we came to you when we first set up in this area, offered you friendship, and you turned us down. But here you are wanting to be friends?”
Pushing back my chair, I stand and place my hands on the table and lean toward him. “From what I can gather from my Sergeant-at-Arms, we have been friendly. And that’s as friendly as we want to get. You stay out of our business, and we’ll stay out of yours.”
The man flicks a glance at Wheels and grins. “So, you’re not here to talk business?”
“I’m here because one of us is missing and another is dead.”
“You think we did this?”
“Right now, I’m not sure. What I want is to talk to Cristiano.”
The man looks behind me and nods at someone. I don’t turn around. I want this fucker to know he doesn’t scare me. The tension in the room has a life of its own. I sense my men and the others becoming hyperaware of each other. Without having to speak, I know my men are starting to select their targets and communicating silently with each other. It’s at that moment I hear the unmistakable sound of a switchblade being opened and closed.
Fucking Cutter.
We all turn to stare at him. He’s staring at the guy opposite me, casually opening and closing his blade, smiling like he’s already killed him.
“We said no weapons.”
Cutter’s smile turns into a grin. “This isn’t a weapon. It’s a pig sticker. I left my gun at the door.”
Angus walks back into the room and sits next to Sean. “Immaculate facilities if you fellas need to go.”
It’s enough for the tension in the room to drain away. The guy opposite me chuckles, and I glance at Cutter, who puts his knife away. A door behind me opens, and a man dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and an ornate gold brocade vest enters the room. He immediately goes to the head of the table and sits.
“Carlos, did you offer our guests refreshments?” he asks.
“No, Cristiano, I was waiting for you.”
Cristiano looks at me. “Sit. Can we offer you a coffee? It’s my own special blend. It’s exceptionally good.”
“Sure, why not?” I sit back down and gaze at Carlos. “I take mine black.”
The man scowls at me and leaves the room.
“I’m sorry I am late. Traffic,” Cristiano offers by way of an explanation.
We both know there wasn’t any traffic. This was all about a show of force. Cristiano was letting me know that he’s more important. He arranged the meet to be on his turf, at his time and showed up late, so I’d know who was calling the shots. The thing Cristiano doesn’t know about me is that I don’t play games. If push comes to shove, I’ll wipe them all out, war be damned.
“Can we get down to it?”
“Of course,” replies Cristiano as he straightens his vest and leans back in his chair. “How can we help?”
“Someone has been taken from us. We retraced the route of the van that was used, and they came here first.”
He raises his eyebrows and taps his perfectly manicured finger on the table. “Here! They came here after they took this person?”
“No, they were here before they took her.”
“Her?” He leans forward and clasps his hands together on the table. “You do all this for a woman?”
Wheels answers for me, “She’s one of us. We look after our own.”
“As do we. But we don’t have women in the firing line.”
“She wasn’t. She was taken from