“Thank you.”
It was Hillman’s turn. He turned his hand, one card at a time.
A.
A.
A.
The room gasped as Madeline’s eyes grew wide. Four aces would beat her four kings. The thing was, I’d thrown an ace away, so I knew Hillman didn’t have her beat. I wanted to reach out and reassure her. Even if I could, it would be hypocritical and short-lived.
Hillman flipped the last two at the same time: 8, 8.
“Aces high, full house,” the dealer said.
Everyone turned to me.
With everything in me, I wanted to fold, to allow Maddie this win.
Could I choose Maddie over Sparrow?
I believed I could, but not where money and Chicago were at stake. For Madeline this was a game; she said she played for her survival. If it was money she needed, I’d give it to her. Hell, I’d play her in poker for it if she wouldn’t accept the gift. I had no doubt that under other circumstances, Madeline Kelly was capable of kicking my ass at cards.
“Mr. Kelly.”
I didn’t draw it out. Instead, I turned my entire hand. 9, 8, 7, 6, and 5, all of diamonds.
“A straight flush.”
Chairs moved as the room erupted.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sparrow said loudly as he stood. “We will maintain order.”
I reached over to Madeline, but she was also standing. Her expression of elation was gone, replaced by what could only be construed as fear.
“I can help you.”
She straightened her neck. “No one can.”
I sat dumbfounded as she made her way through the crowd to Ivanov.
Why would she go to him?
There was no question by the Detroit kingpin’s expression, he was upset. With the volume and commotion of the room, I strained to hear what they were saying. The uproar won. That was all right, I didn’t need to hear his words. Ivanov’s body language alone had the small hairs on my neck standing on end.
The dealer was collecting the chips.
Sparrow and Mason came my way. “Good job,” Sparrow said. “Let’s go downstairs and get this figured out.”
“What about...” I looked over to Andros Ivanov still talking to Maddie.
“We have Sparrows here,” Mason said, looking at Sparrow. “Both Ivanov and Hillman and their respective crew will be escorted off the property as soon as we are secure.”
Our number-one job was keeping the boss, Sterling Sparrow, safe.
I looked from my friends to Maddie and back again. “I will explain this soon—I’ve tried already—but first I have to be sure of something. My gut is telling me something isn’t right.” I looked at Mason and tipped my chin toward Sparrow. “Get him downstairs.”
The commotion grew louder around Ivanov and his men with Maddie right in the middle.
Sometimes it’s safest in the middle of the fire.
Oh hell no. I couldn’t stand by any longer.
Ivanov’s voice came into range. “I told you what would happen if you lost.”
“Get the other spectators out of here,” I ordered, speaking to a Sparrow capo. “I want this hall cleared.”
“No, no, you didn’t say that,” Maddie’s voice cracked. “Andros, I’m sorry. I had a great hand. You saw it. It was dealt to me. I was so sure.” With each sentence her desperation mushroomed, causing the words to come faster and faster.
I walked closer, leaving Mason and Sparrow with other Sparrows.
“Please...don’t do this,” she said, holding onto his arm.
He reached for her hand and roughly pushed it away.
I moved closer. “Don’t touch the lady.”
Ivanov’s laughter resonated above the crowd noise. It wasn’t only his. Now Hillman and his men were circling the others.
“Lady?” Ivanov asked. “You have the wrong woman.” He eyed Madeline. “This one’s a loser.”
My fist came forward. Before I had time to think, it collided with his arrogant jaw.
“No,” Madeline screamed as her hands came to her lips.
Ivanov staggered backward as his arms went out. “Wait,” he demanded, holding back his men as they lurched forward, their eyes on me. “No, not yet.” He regained his position as he rubbed his chin.
“Get out of my club—now. Your invitation has expired.”
I knew the deep, commanding voice. It was Sparrow.
Fuck. He needed to get out of here.
“Your club? You think this club is yours?” Ivanov asked. “You probably think the city is yours too. You’re wrong. I have parts, and soon I will have it all.”
“Get the fuck out now,” Sparrow said, his words demanding yet his tone eerily calm, “and you will live to see tomorrow.”
“Come,” Ivanov said to the men gathered. “We’ll be back.” He nodded to Mason. “Better check on the man in the office. He was no longer useful to me.”
What?
Mason’s gaze met mine.
Was he talking about Beckman?
By the time I turned to Madeline, she was walking, her head down, following Ivanov’s and Hillman’s men as they exited the room.
“Madeline, stay here,” I said, ignoring the way Sparrow and Mason were looking at me.
Her head shook. “I can’t, Patrick.”
“Man,” Mason said, reaching for my shoulder, “whatever is happening, let her go.”
Ivanov stopped and turned to Madeline. “I told you that returning required a win.” His gaze came to me. “Keep her. Her usefulness is also done. I have the newer version.” His lips curled into a smile. “She’s something else...fresh, innocent, and even more beautiful.”
“No, Andros. I’ll do anything,” Madeline called out as Ivanov and his men continued to leave.
“Make sure they are escorted off the property,” Sparrow was saying.
“Please, you promised,” she pleaded, her voice growing louder.
“And you promised me a win.” Those were his last words.
My attention went to Madeline as I tried to make sense of what happened, what was happening. In the few minutes since the last game she had crumpled. I went to her as she leaned forward sobbing as if she’d been hit in the stomach.
Standing taller, she looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. “I told you I had to win.” She looked at me, Mason, and Sparrow. “Please, if you can, stop him. I have to go with him.”
“Maddie, you don’t understand who he is,” I said.
She nodded. “I do. I know exactly who he is.”
“Patrick, what—?” Sparrow began.
“I’ve been trying to tell you—”
Madeline’s gut-wrenching wail stopped my reply.
I reached for her arm. “I’m going to tell them.”
“I-it doesn’t matter,” she muttered, sobs hiccupping her words. Mascara and tears covered her cheeks as blotches filled her neck and chest. “Y-you don’t understand.”
I reached again for Madeline’s arms, no longer caring about Sparrow and Mason. “I understand you’re my wife. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Patrick,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I have to go with Andros.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do. He has my—” Her glassy green eyes stared up at me. “Patrick, Andros has our daughter.”
Thank you for reading SPARK. Patrick and Madeline’s story continues in FLAME and concludes in ASHES. You’re not going to want to miss a moment of WEB OF DESIRE. Download Flame and Ashes today and BINGE.
And if you haven’t read WEB OF SIN, Sterling Sparrow and Araneae’s story, begin the completed trilogy today by downloading SECRETS, free on all platforms.
If you haven’t read TANGLED WEB, Mason/Kader and Laurel’s story, begin the completed trilogy today downloading TWISTED.
The final trilogy in Sparrow Webs, DANGEROUS WEB, Reid and Lorna’s story, is releasing soon with DUSK, DARK, and DAWN. Check for the final trilogy on your favorite retai
ler.
Copyright © 2019 by Charity Ferrell
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at www.charityferrell.com
Cover Designer: Charity Ferrell
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Proofreader: Virginia Tesi Carey
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
1
Chloe
Every day, without fail, my hot neighbor tells me good morning.
And, every morning, I tell him to fuck off.
Today will be no different.
“Good morning, Chloe!”
The abrupt sound of his voice cuts through the morning air and slices away my good mood. His deep voice brims with authority and masculinity, and I clench my jaw in irritation. His voice and I share a love-hate relationship. It makes my panties wet, but I wish it belonged to someone who wasn’t an asshole.
I rush down the stairs, my coffee mug clutched in my hand, and speed-walk toward my car. I pause on my way for what I give in to every morning, and my pride flips me off the second I cast a glance in his direction.
I can’t restrain myself. His voice demands attention, as if he were a king, and shamelessly, I need to worship the view of him. He’s standing in his daily spot on his porch—shirtless, no doubt another device to make me miserable. It’s fall, and the weather is peaking in the low sixties. No sane person hangs out on display this time of year. I’m curious if he’ll carry on his half-naked greeting when winter hits.
Fingers crossed his balls freeze off, and he learns his lesson.
Gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, the drawstring loosely tied, putting his six-pack on display. My pride then rolls in its grave when my thighs clench together under my pencil skirt as my gaze falls to the deep V disappearing beneath the waistband. His chestnut-colored hair is a tousled mess, as if someone were pulling it all night—which wouldn’t be a shocker to the world. There’s been a regular cycle of women coming and going from his home.
He’s Blue Beech’s favorite bachelor. It’s unfortunate the people who worship him don’t know what a terrible person he is. This crazy-attractive man has done nothing but ruin my life and reputation.
My cheeks blush when he confirms he caught me checking him out with a mischievous smile.
“Fuck off!” I yell when I pass him.
He ignores my response and whistles loudly as if I’d catcalled him back. “Looking professional today, babe. I prefer today’s skirt to yesterday’s. It’s tighter. Shorter. Sexier.”
Arrogant prick.
I grip the door handle and stop before getting in. It’s a dangerous game to play with him, but I can’t stop myself. “I don’t care what you prefer, jerk. I don’t dress to please you.”
Mental note: buy fifty of the skirts worn yesterday and burn this one.
I slide into my car while ignoring his laughter, slam the door shut, and situate my bag and coffee. I hold my hand up and flip the bird when I cruise past him. He only laughs.
Kyle Lane, the man I’ve despised since sophomore year of high school, moved into the house next door three months, six days, and twenty hours ago. The jerk wore out his welcome within five seconds.
Correction: he was never welcome in my neighborhood.
If I had known the world’s biggest jackass was shacking up next door, I’d have burned it to the ground. Being around him is the equivalent of menstrual cramps.
His irritating morning game began our first day as neighbors. He scared the shit out of me the first few times, and I made a fool of myself—tripping, spilling my coffee on my white blouse, spraining my ankle once.
Initially, I ignored him, assuming it’d last a few days, but here we are—three months into me possibly being on my way to prison for neighbor homicide.
Kyle does it for his sick entertainment.
The man gets off on making me miserable.
I brake at a Stop sign and scrub my hands over my face while taking a deep breath. If there’s any day I don’t want to deal with his bullshit, it’s today. I’ve been dreading this day, stabbed it on my desk calendar with a red pen as if it’d declared when I’d die.
But there’s no avoiding it.
My office is on the second floor of the building.
I pass crowds of people and separate offices on my way there. To dodge the curious stares often filled with pity, I take the stairs in favor of the elevator. Cardio isn’t my favorite morning routine, so my ass had better thank me for it later.
“Nuh-uh, nope. You turn around before I drag you outside and shove you in the trunk of my car, and we take a paid vacation until tomorrow,” Melanie, my assistant, declares when I shuffle into the office, resembling a frazzled mess.
I drop my keys in my bag. “I’m not running from my problems.”
“Maybe you should. Running from your problems is better than committing murder.”
I groan. “Oh my God, I’m not running away or killing anyone today.”
She raises a brow. “Though, tomorrow, it’s a possibility?”
I signal to her computer with my coffee while passing her desk on the way to my office. “Work on a new résumé. I’m firing you.”
She flips her shiny blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t dial my number when the new one is lame and won’t help you bury a body.” A smile dances on her lips when I glance at her.
“I appreciate your loyalty, Melanie. You’ve earned yourself another week of employment.”
“And I appreciate yours for not firing me after the six hundredth threat.” She swivels her chair and looks at me. “Are you taking calls today?”
I shrug—an attempt to fake indifference. “Yes. I doubt anyone will call.”
“More reason for us to haul ass out of here.”
I sigh. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
But please don’t.
I have a bag of mini Snickers, plenty of coffee, and a flask if worse comes to worst to survive this day.
She salutes me. “Sounds good, boss. I’ll be on Pornhub, so please don’t need me.”
I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile while shaking my head. “One of these days, I’m going to fire you.”
“And that will be the worst day of your life.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter before disappearing into the solitude of my office.
I shut the door, collapse in the uncomfortable chair behind my desk, and vacantly stare at the stack of papers in need of editing. This office is what I’ve wanted for years, what I’ve worked my ass off for. I’m the editor in chief of The Blue Beech Register. The number of scandalous stories in our small town is that of Sesame Street, but it’s given me a job, experience on my résumé, and the opportunity to move up in the field.
“What the fuck, Chloe?”
I hear the very familiar and very pissed off voice in the reception area outside my office, and my back stiffens in my chair. His tone is the opposite of what it was this morning when he was hanging out, half-naked, on his porch.
I toss the pen in my hand on my desk, preparing myself for the incoming shitshow when my office door flies open.
I need that flask, stat.
I straighten myself, squaring up my shoulders, and scowl at the man taking residence in the doorway. “Excuse you. Who do you think you are, barging into my office?”
Melanie is definitely getting fired.
The next task on my to-do list is hiring a secretary who hates my neighbor and won’t mind taking a crimin
al charge for kicking him in the nuts.
The walls vibrate when Kyle slams the door shut as if he owned the place, and he stalks the few steps until he’s directly in front of my desk. He spreads his feet and crosses his arms across his broad chest. “Your neighbor. Your proclaimed enemy. The man whose dick you’ve wanted to ride since sophomore year.”
Oh, this motherfucker.
“True. True.” I sneer at him in repulsion. “And you wish.”
He stares me down, and his tone turns serious-slash-pissed again. “Word is, you’re poking around about Lauren Barnes’s assault, so you can publish about it in your pitiful paper. What the fuck?”
I’ve been dreading this conversation. I knew he’d come roaring in here, prepared for war, and he wouldn’t understand my reasoning for writing the details of what happened to his best friend’s fiancée.
“It’s a story worth reading,” I reluctantly answer.
Kyle’s hands move from his chest to his pockets, and he shuts up long enough for me to appreciate the sight of him in his police uniform. I’m positive they’re tailored to fit every inch of his tall, muscular stature. His hair is now brushed, and a light scruff scattered along his cheeks complements his stupidly handsome face. A small cleft rests in the center of his chin, and he has cheekbones any Real Housewife would beg their plastic surgeon for. The early morning, shirtless view of Kyle is nice, but, damn, so is this. I hate my attraction to him.
My eye-fucking assault breaks when he starts bitching again.
“It’s a desperate attempt to publish something scandalous.” He says the last word dramatically. “It’s bullshit. Stick to your boring stories about food drives and petty crimes and keep your mouth shut about anyone close to me.”
I wince at his insult but compose myself. “It’s not a desperate attempt. The man was running drugs in this town, harassing women, and assaulted your best friend’s fiancée and his father. They’re giving him a slap on the wrist because his family is loaded, and that’s bullshit. I’m a journalist, Kyle. Reporting these stories is my job.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 22