Spark of Hope (MacKenny Brothers #3) - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,6

in the living room, and he goes running toward it.

I take the opportunity to lean into Mrs. Cartland. Bad breath, sweat, and ammonia hit my senses, but I don’t recoil. “He’s going to find your stash.” Mrs. Cartland stands, and I block her way. “We’re going to take it, and then I’m going to have Sean here, sit with you and watch you go through withdrawal and not let you get another hit.”

“No!”

“Where the fuck is Lola?”

“She’s not here.” She shakes her head from side to side.

Logan comes back into the room, and Sean pushes him back.

“Don’t hurt her. Mom, please tell them.”

I peer over my shoulder. “If you know something, now is the time.”

“David. It was David.”

“You shut your mouth,” yells Mrs. Cartland.

I grab her by the neck and walk her backward until she hits the wall. Then with my face an inch from hers, I hiss, “You tell me what I want to know. Now!”

“Stop it, I’ll tell you.”

With my lips turned down, I push on Mrs. Cartland’s neck and then step back. She makes a choking sound, and then Logan makes an animalistic noise. I turn around to find Sean holding him off with one arm.

“Relax, kid. I didn’t hurt her.” I smirk. “But I will if you don’t give me what I want.”

Cutter appears behind him and gives me wide eyes, knowing full well I won’t hurt a woman.

“Dave was talking shit about Lola a couple of nights ago. They used to date. It’s him you want.”

Sean lets his hand fall and steps into Logan’s space. “Does David have a last name?”

“David Tucker.”

“Where can we find him?” I ask.

“He hangs at the bar on the corner of Long and South.”

I nod. “Right, let’s roll.” I look at Logan. “You’re coming with us.”

“He is?” asks Sean.

“No, I’m not,” states Logan as he crosses his arms over his chest in some sort of defiant gesture.

“I need him here,” says Mrs. Cartland loudly.

I point at her. “You need to straighten out.” Walking toward Logan, I push him toward the front door. “Kid, you’re the only one who knows what this David Tucker looks like.”

He stops, turns around on me, and shouts, “I’m not going.”

“Kid, you don’t know me, but your sister is in trouble.”

“Lola can take care of herself. She always has.”

Cutter grabs the kid by the back of his neck. “Logan, is it? This is Kyle, and we do as he says. Why? Because he’s the President of the Loyal Rebels MC, and Lola, well… Lola belongs to him. So, get your skinny, white ass outside and do as you’re fucking told.”

Cutter walks the kid outside, and I address Sean. “What do we do with her?”

“Look at her, man, she’s wasted. She’ll be lucky if she even remembers we were here.”

“Fuck you,” mutters Mrs. Cartland.

I look around the small house. It’s filthy, and even though Cutter has pushed things over, it doesn’t make any different.

“Call a prospect to come and babysit her.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “The kid doesn’t deserve this. Do you remember Dad?”

Sean shakes his head. “No. I remember Da. He was the real parent.”

Our parents were alcoholics, and Da was our grandfather, who stepped in to take care of us long before they were killed in a car accident.

Sean pulls out his cell and walks outside.

Spinning back, I look at Lola’s mom. “I’m sending a brother to keep an eye on you. I’m also going to put the word out that no one is to supply you anymore.”

In a quiet voice, she says, “You can’t do that.”

“I probably should’ve done it a long time ago.”

Turning, I walk out the front door, pull down my shades from the top of my head, and climb on my bike.

Logan’s on the back of Cutter’s bike and doesn’t look impressed. The scowl he’s sporting could cut steel.

Chuckling, I start my bike and pull away from the curb.

Kyle

It’s late, and the kid, Logan, glares at me from across the shitty table we’re sitting at. It has a wooden top with initials of patrons carved into its surface, and it’s sticky to touch. Being Sunday night, there’s a steady stream of customers coming and going. Most give us the once-over and steer clear.

Sean has a glass of what appears to be vodka in front of him, but I know it’ll have only water in the tumbler. I’ve been nursing a beer that’s gone warm, and Cutter, well, he’s at the pool tables making a mint. He’s a shark. I learned long ago not to