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Sorry for the delay of this chapter...life and writer's block got a bit in the way, but without further adieu...Chapter 28:
Chapter 28
Spot Conlon jerked suddenly awake as he heard the sound of thunder booming in the near distance. He floundered momentarily in the darkness that surrounded him, running his hands roughly over his face in the hopes of assuaging some of his disorientation. But upon giving another confused glance around the space, he fell tiredly back into his bed's brass headboard, again coming up empty handed. He had never been one easily startled from a deep sleep-especially not due to the thundering storms known to sometimes pass through on late summer nights. Yet, something had troubled his subconscious state enough to jar him into wakefulness regardless, and Spot was rarely wrong when it came to his instincts, sentient or not.
He passed his hands through his hair once more as he performed a much more detailed inspection of his room, hoping that he could not only identify the issue, but also speedily put whatever it was to rest so that he could then do the same. He noted that the brass double bed he and Kate shared appeared to be in the same spot they had moved it to four months prior-on the left side of the space parallel to the multi-paned window. Their communal dresser sat, unmoved, to the other wall, his cane lying sturdily against the far side of it. And the nightstand stood as it always had-littered with books and papers next to Kate's side of the bed. But as lightning again flashed brightly outside, illuminating the room in a stark white glow, Spot suddenly realized exactly what felt so off about the scene.
"Kate," he whispered panickedly as he noted the empty space beside him, jumping from the bed without a moment's pause.
Thunder again boomed overhead as he rushed out of the room, passing through the hallway and into the darkened living area, frantically searching for any sign of her amidst the shadows. But he immediately felt his terror subside as his eyes settled on her form standing in front of the bay window on the far side of the room. Her hair fell in messy curls down her back, her white nightgown directly contrasting the darkness surrounding her.
He took in a deep breath as he slowly made his way over to her stony form, narrowing his eyes in concern at the rigidness of her arms about her torso and the anxious distance in her gaze. He crossed his own arms over his bare chest as he came to stand beside her, turning his head toward her to gently murmur, "Anyone ever tell you that a thunderstorm's nothin' to be afraid of?"
Her bright eyes glowed in his direction when another stroke of lightning flashed within the space, her voice somewhat hoarse as she murmured with a half-hearted smirk, "Anyone ever tell you it's indecent to walk around the house shirtless? What would people say?"
He chuckled as she waved her hands around in mock horror, shaking his head at her wry response while moving to stand behind her. And gently, but purposefully, he ran his hands down her taut forearms, unlocking her limbs' steely grip to replace them with his own solid, but soothing hold. She leaned her back into him and tilted her head to the side invitingly as he gently squeezed her waist within his arms. He found himself unable to stop from brushing his nose softly over the exposed skin of her upper shoulder, placing his lips on her neck before jesting, "They won't say a damn thing if they wanna keep their teeth in their mouth."
He heard her light laugh in response, her hands folding securely into his grip along her waist as he added, "Besides, I'm pretty sure it's the improper stuff that you like best anyway."
Kate squeezed his hands gently, definitively murmuring, "It is."
And with that, she leaned her head further to the side, inhaling eagerly as he moved his lips up the base of her neck and settled them seductively against her ear. But as much as he would have delighted in ending their conversation there to instigate a much more physical correspondence back in their bedroom, he knew that something distressing must have roused her from his side in the first place. So upon temporarily taming the lustful want of her that he always felt simmering at some level within him, he pulled his face back before asking, "Somethin' botherin' you, love?"
Kate sighed heavily through her nose, straightening her head forward as she muttered, "Just have a lot on my mind and couldn't get to sleep." She paused, turning toward him and lifting her gaze to offer him an apologetic smile before she continued, "I'm sorry if I startled you. I tried to be quiet."
He shook his head as his lips formed into a gentle responding smirk before jesting, "Don't you know who you're dealing with here? Nothin' gets past me, doll."
She snorted lightly as she quipped back, "It was clearly foolish of me to underestimate you so."
But with a swift kiss to the top of her head, he turned her around to face him, the lightning that flashed again throughout the room illuminating her pale face and emotive eyes. He lifted her chin with his index finger to meet his gaze, noting the worry that seemed to reflect throughout her pretty face before he said gently, "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind."
She sighed heavily again, her gaze falling away from his as she murmured, "I don't know-nothing particularly groundbreaking, which I guess is, in part, the problem." She brought her eyes back to his, pausing momentarily before saying, "I just-I feel like I'm missing something, Spot. Something important."
He narrowed his eyes down at her thoughtful gaze, considering her statement carefully for a moment, before asking, "About what happened to you all those months ago?"
She nodded, replying, "I can see some things so clearly, but others-" She exhaled, her eyes taking on a distracted glaze as she continued almost to herself, "I just want to sort this out-I want all the pieces to finally fit together so that I can take on whatever this mysterious thing hanging over me is." She paused before murmuring almost inaudibly, "So that I can finally be free."
Spot nodded in understanding, hearing the clear frustration in her voice and feeling the agitation in her stance. He had long been aware that her continuous, though necessary, concealment within the walls of the lodging house had been wearing on her. In all honesty, he was wholly impressed by the high level of composure she had mostly maintained throughout her stay to that point. If he, himself had been forced into a similar situation, he was certain that he would have cracked well before now. But Kate had somehow managed to keep herself mostly together, even with the heavy stressors that clearly hung over her head day in and day out. That wasn't to say that there hadn't been a fair amount of discord between them in regards to the strict constraints he had enforced for her safety. Kate's temper had flared on a multitude of occasions in response to the frustrating limitations of her situation. But, in the end, Spot had always been able to help her see reason again while also somehow managing to temporarily assuage the natural discomfort that came from her feelings of suffocation. He found that the best way to walk Kate back from that particular edge was to firstly, be aware of the small, seemingly trivial signs that warned of her impending explosion, and finally to affirm that her emotional turmoil on the matter was a warranted, understandable reaction. But he still felt himself aching for her every time it resurfaced, knowing that the burden she carried was not only unfair, but also utterly soul crushing.
He ran the back of his hand down her cheek in comfort, a rolling wave of thunder pulsing throughout the small apartment as he confirmed, "You're thinkin' through those weeks you were gone, tryin' to see what you missed."
She looked up at him, her eyes tired and laden with heavy distress before he continued worriedly, "And I can see how big a toll it's already taking on you. You know it ain't good to stay in those dark places for too long, Kate. That's how you get yourself trapped down there."
Her eyes fell from his as she nodded slowly, before muttering with a fair amount of defeat in her voice, "I just wish I could remember something of use-something that would actually produce some answers. And the more I think about it, the more certain I become that I have to be missing something vital in this whole mess-something that may tie all these awful things together." She paused, looking back toward him intently before murmuring, "But I just keep hitting brick walls and everything crumbles again."
He nodded once more, pondering on the eerie situation himself for several quiet moments as he pulled Kate against his chest in comfort. In the eight months she had resided in Brooklyn, very little had been added to the narrative that surrounded her drug-induced, involuntary five-week stay in Queens. Her sparse memories of the trauma had held some vital information, but in general, had been much too fractured and spotty to reveal any kind of whole picture from which to work. And though Jack's random interactions with Kate's mother had appeared to shine new light on the event, it mostly just produced a plethora of even more complicated questions that none of them had any way of answering.
Yet Spot also understood, and in some ways, appreciated the fact that Kate would frequently take on a more rigorous reflection of the events surrounding her kidnapping on her own. For, no one knew more about her family's inner workings or the time she had been away than Kate herself. But this analysis always came at a cost, one that Kate often did not recognize and that Spot had become more and more hesitant to pay into-especially if he was not made privy to the fact that she had delved into the issue independently again. Kate had always been a strong, intelligent woman, something that could both infuriate and endear Spot to her in the same breath, but when it came to issues involving her family and the abuse she had sustained less than a year prior, he found that she could not help but eventually devolve into an impressive state of self-loathing and anguish. And this often presented itself as a silent catatonia of sorts-one that Spot could see potentially blocking out even his attempts at reaching her if he were ever to arrive too late.
But another flash of lightning brought him back to the present moment and the girl in his arms. Her head rested lightly on his chest, her eyes in a distant, seemingly disquieting place. So, gently, Spot squeezed her further against his body as he said, "Why don't we table this for tonight, alright? Maybe we can talk through some of it together in a day or two-see if that sparks somethin' different."
She looked up at him, her green eyes glowing in apprehension before murmuring, "I'm just tired of being stuck inside and forced into this standstill. I'm tired of having nothing to add-of not being useful."
Spot gently ran his fingers along her cheek and through her soft hair, offering her a small smile before stating, "You add more than you know-every day-just by bein' here with me."
And before she could respond, he leaned down, brushing his lips over hers in a swift, though meaningful kiss, reveling in the intense spark that the small act managed to pulsate throughout his body. He pulled back slightly, staring into her darkening eyes before more firmly tilting her head up to meet his lips again. Her mouth was warm, her lips well-trained and magnetic against his own as he deepened their kiss tenaciously. But she suddenly broke away from him, her eyes alight with provocation as she whispered, "I'm getting the impression that what I add is very much connected to the consistency of our shared time in your bedroom."
He raised his eyebrows at her assertion, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he countered, "If it's my bedroom, then why is my nightstand covered with all of your stuff? Come to think of it, why does my dresser only have two drawers with my things in it?"
She narrowed her gaze at him, appearing to be fighting against a smile of her own before rolling her eyes and muttering saucily, "Semantics, Conlon."
But as she turned to walk toward the hallway, he grasped her arm and spun her back to face him, feeling a need to more seriously respond to the underlying anxiety in her original statement. So, after pulling her body against his purposefully and securing her attention once more, he stated, "Even though you should already know this, I'm gonna reiterate it anyway because I've seen first hand just how easily you can convince yourself otherwise-especially when you've been delving down into those dark holes of yours." She squinted up at him curiously as he traced his finger down the line of her jaw, feeling satisfaction at the shudder his touch induced from her form. But he focused himself again before seriously continuing, "You aren't a bed warmer for me, Kate. And you sure as hell aren't some casual fling I'll come to and leave as I see fit. I know I've been with a lot of women over the years who've been those things to me, but you," he paused, staring steadily into her wide eyes as he moved his fingers through several strands of her hair, finishing, "You add so much more to my life than just a half hour of pleasure every few nights. You're mine and I'm not goin anywhere. And even if everything around us falls to shit, those two things will still hold true."
Her eyes searched his for several moments, the fog within them seeming to slowly dissipate into the clear, bright gaze he knew so well as she muttered, "Good."
And within the same breath, Kate stood on her toes and wrapped her arms securely around his neck, pulling his mouth back to hers while shifting her body to brush seductively against his scantily clad bottom half. He bent himself toward her much shorter form, exhaling in satisfaction as he grasped her face within his hands and moved his lips over her slightly ajar mouth, utterly intoxicated by her uninhibited physicality.
Truly, throughout the years he had known Katherine Moore, Spot had often found himself baffled by the sheer, otherworldly force that had always seemed to bring the two of them back into each others' paths time and again-one that had persisted even in the face of some of the more major setbacks that they had both endured in turn. But now, as he ran his hands down the sides of her abdomen and forcefully grasped her hips to his body, he was again reminded of the ever lengthening list of reasons that this outcome should have simply been an expected, if not totally unavoidable, eventuality.
Not even nine months prior Spot would have laughed at the idea that he, the womanizing, invulnerable Brooklyn leader, would have ever allowed any woman to induce an emotional response from him, let alone convince him to spend the rest of his days by her side. The handsome features and effortless charm with which he had been gifted had allowed him no shortage of attention from beautiful women throughout his adolescence and early adulthood. But, he soon deduced that even if the pursuit of these women had proven to be initially intriguing, any intimacy that resulted had immediately depleted this fascination. And it wasn't that he had set out with the premeditated intention of leaving every time he found himself drawn to someone, but each encounter continued to result time and again with the same response from him. Thus, as the years went on, he had felt resigned to the fact that he, Spot Conlon, must have never been meant to be with anyone permanently after all.
It had never occurred to him that there had been an inherent pattern in the types of women he had habitually sought out, or that he might require something different from a potential partner. His instincts had consistently pulled him to the meek, demure members of the opposite sex, his intrigue originally bolstered by their clear admiration of his commanding air and the ease with which they had eventually become swayed by his romantic pursuit. But in the end, he had tired of each and every one of his conquests for the very reason that he had been drawn to them to begin with.
That was until he had become more intrinsically acquainted with Katherine Moore.
Originally, her formidable presence had set his teeth on edge-mostly due to his inexperience in dealing with a woman that did more than flutter her eyelashes and coo over his brawn. Kate had possessed a sharp mind, a searing wit, and had never been hesitant in wielding either. And although Spot had initially felt slighted by her clear disregard for his well-known-and respected-reputation, he had also been pulled to the strangely invigorating feeling of normality that her company offered him. She had not been interested in settling on the charming, though distant, facade that Spot had habitually projected onto anyone that vied for a closer look. Instead, Kate had seemed to wholly focus her energies on uncovering the multitude of layers well beneath the surface-some of which Spot had not even been attuned to himself.
Kate had posed herself as a challenge, but in ways so far beyond the enticing, romantic pursuit in which Spot was already so well-versed. She had pushed him to show more, to transcend to emotional connectivity and openness levels he had never thought possible for himself. And he had responded to her summons, time and again, not just for the sake of meeting the challenge, but also because on some level Spot had always known that Katherine Moore had been worth the investment, tenfold.
He needed her unbridled spirit and spontaneity for the same reason that she needed his untouchable self-assurance and objectivity. Both had been damaged by families that had neglected not only their specific nurturing needs, but also-and in some ways more importantly-a cultivation of their individual potential for exceptionality.
Thus, when Spot had been forced to face his apprehensions and holdups head on with Kate's help several months prior-lest he lose her for good-he had finally come to fully appreciate the remarkable and rare kind of woman he had been lucky enough to secure by his side. And, once his boys had reached a comparable level of familiarity with her, it hadn't taken long for them to see it too.
Spot remembered the disconcertion that had filled him several months prior, when he had happened upon a lively discussion in the downstairs common area regarding his present state of commitment with Kate-but of the utmost concern-what that meant for his reputation.
He had been on his way out to the market for the weekly grocery run, passing by the poker game in the common area without a thought, when a comment from one of his boys had stopped him dead in his tracks.
"So, fellas, what's the story with this girl Conlon's been all over tha last few months? I mean, I ain't been gone but a year, an' all the sudden the line a dames waitin' outside his door's all dried up. Has he lost his edge or somethin?"
Scout, the fifteen year old who had asserted the jarring sentiments to the room of about six other boys, had most likely been relaying his thoughts from a place of honest curiosity. Several years prior, he had been one of Spot's more gifted birds until he had suddenly needed to take a leave of absence. Spot had been sorry to see him go, but had also understood the short explanation Scout had offered regarding several pressing family matters that needed tending. And the Brooklyn leader had been all the more pleased that Scout had come back the previous month requesting to rejoin his brood. But, even as this logical stream of reasoning had passed through Spot's mind, he had still felt jolted and offended by Scout's uninhibited statements.
However, as Spot had strode to the opening of the common area with the intent of giving Scout a not so subtle reminder of his place in Brooklyn, he had again been shocked into stillness when he had heard a few of his boys immediately come to his defense.
"You clearly ain't met Kate then," Boxer had said as he had looked over his cards at Scout, smirking before adding, "'Cause if ya had, you'd know that Spot's finally found a girl well worth stickin' with."
"Ain't no broad out there ever been good enough for Spot ta settle on before-not even this one." Scout had quickly replied, his voice full of skepticism. But before Boxer, or any of the other boys could respond to his second challenge, Scout had confidently continued, "She's the one that used ta go with Kelly, right? The one Spot's been knowin' for years?" Scout had looked to the room for confirmation, continuing after he had secured a few nods, "So, if she's so special, why'd it take so long for Spot ta settle in with her, huh? Ya ever thought that maybe he's with 'er now 'cause he just can't pull 'em in like he used to?"
But again, before Spot had been able to intervene, he had heard an unexpected voice assert a strong defense of the Brooklyn leader's legitimacy. Sinker, one of the oldest and toughest boys in Spot's ranks, had sighed irritably before saying, "Ya clearly ain't got a good handle on Spot either, Scout."
"I've been knowin' Spot for years," Scout had replied defensively, scowling at Sinker's unimpressed stare.
But Sinker had scoffed,shaking his head as he had asserted, "Well then you should know that it takes 'im a while ta make a decision. Like with the strike all them years ago-Spot had ta be sure about it before he joined up with Kelly n' them. He don't just throw himself willy nilly into shit. That's part a' why he's been the leader a' Brooklyn as long as he has."
Scout had squinted toward the brawny Brooklynite, still appearing unappeased by his response as he had muttered, "Well, what the hell's that gotta do with him and this Kate girl?"
"Jesus, you're thick." Spot had widened his eyes in further surprise, watching silently as the usually subdued Tops had tossed his cards aside and continued, "Spot don't settle-he decides. An' sometimes it may take 'im a while, but when he knows, he knows. Just like with tha strike, just like with stayin outa that shit between Harlem and Queens-and just like when he decided you could be his bird." Tops had paused, to stare poignantly at Scout before he had continued, "So, he ain't settlin' with Kate-he just finally decided that she was worth more than all them other broads combined. And as far as I can tell-she is."
"And God help anyone that gets in between Conlon and what he's decided, am I right?" Boxer had said with a chuckle, as all of the boys had nodded in amused agreement.
Thus, Scout had finally shrugged in concession and said, "Then I guess she really must be somethin after all."
The fact that Spot's boys were so unapologetically sold on Kate's role in Brooklyn-a standing that went notably beyond her relationship with Spot even-perhaps should not have been so surprising to him. Truthfully, Kate had taken it upon herself to develop an identity and rapport with the Brooklynites well outside of Spot's long-standing relationships with them. And this premeditated cultivation that Kate had put great time and energy into executing had clearly been a thoroughly successful campaign. Though Spot had personally considered the extra safety nets she had secured for herself as an exceedingly helpful benefit-one that Kate was readily aware of as well-really, Kate had been driven to connect with his tight-knit Brooklyn brood for the simple fact that it was just her way.
She had of course quickly comprehended Spot's role within this large, somewhat motley crew of boys that he had amassed over his years as leader, while also easily ascertaining the varying reasons that Spot had chosen to place his confidence in each and every one of them. And from this innate precedence that Spot had sturdily set, she had seemed to extrapolate a place for herself within which not only to exist, but also to thrive. However, it wasn't until he had been called in to mediate the aftermath of a conflict between several of his boys that he had truly seen the necessary function she had so naturally filled within his domain-almost as if she had been meant to exist there, as she was, all along.
He had just walked into the lodging house from a double shift at the docks one evening when he had heard raised voices wafting down the stairs from the bunkroom. He remembered rolling his eyes in irritation, hoping that the boys would be able to sort whatever the conflict may be out amongst themselves without involving him. The boys had been known to get into heated arguments over missing money, poor poker hands, and just the general irritation of sharing a small space with a multitude of other people, but these spats had very rarely required Spot's intervention. However, as he had begun to slowly ascend to the second floor with every intention of ignoring the rabble, a resounding thud had shaken the ceiling just above his head, several loud grunts and yells accompanying the clatter, and thus, necessitating Spot's immediate involvement.
He had rushed the rest of the way up the stairs, pushing through the bunkroom door as he had yelled, "Hey! What the fuck did I tell you boys about fightin' in here? Knock it the fuck off!"
And after having spotted the ball of violent chaos consisting of his boys Striker and Boxer, he had aggressively strode over and separated the heated fistfight, irritable that it had still continued in spite of his harsh warnings.
"What the hell is wrong with the two a' you?" Spot had hissed as he glared at each of the boys in turn, before pushing Striker aside to focus his attention on the brawnier, older boy, continuing, "Especially you, 've been here longer than almost everyone else. So you know this shit ain't acceptable."
But the remainder of Spot's lecture had fallen dead on his lips as he had heard a soft womanly voice assert solidly, "Spot, it's not Boxer's fault."
The Brooklyn leader had whirled around to face a disheveled Katherine Moore, her hair in disarray and her clothes mussed and smudged. He had stared speechlessly at her as she had continued, "He was just trying to defend me-albeit with a lot more force than was probably called for."
Spot had continued to meet Kate's unreadable gaze as he had intently demanded, "And what exactly were you defending her from, Boxer?"
He turned his steely stare toward the still huffing Brooklynite, noting the glare within Boxer's own gaze as the bulky boy had muttered, "Alls I know is that I was walkin' past the bunkroom and I seen Kate tryin' ta talk to this trash over here." Boxer had paused to spit in the direction of Striker before saying, "An' this little piece a shit called her a few names that ain't proper no matter where ya say 'em. Then he pushed her up against that wall and threw 'er on the floor. An that's when I couldn't help but to come at him. Ain't nobody treats Kate that way-at least not while I'm around ta see it."
Spot had felt his skin prickle in mounting rage as he had set his jaw harshly and turned his dangerously still stare to Striker's defiant stance, hissing, "You put your fucking hands on her?"
The room had become eerily silent as the rest of the boys had watched the tense scene unfolding, a sliver of fear seeming to pass through Striker's still confrontational stance before he had muttered quietly, "I caught 'er diggin' through my stuff, Spot. You know I got every right ta defend my property. An she ain't got no right to go through it."
Spot had heard a quiet murmur of contempt echo within the throng of boys surrounding them as Striker's addition had settled more fully into the Brooklyn leader's cognizance. And almost instantly Spot had felt his boiling urge to throttle Striker lame significantly tempered. The boys' right to defend their things had been a long standing and well-known rule of the lodging house for as long as Spot had been leader. But what had been an even more intractable tenet of Brooklyn-one that was often grounds for an immediate expulsion from the lodging house-was stealing or tampering with another Brooklynite's possessions. And while Spot had known with undeniable certainty that Kate was no thief, the fact had remained that neither he nor any of the other boys had been in the room with she and Striker, and this had very much tied his hands in being able to speak out in her defense-especially considering the gravity of the crime with which she had been accused.
Thus, Spot had found himself taking a step back from the now triumphantly smirking Striker in order to quickly reevaluate what he and Kate's next best step should be.
However, before Spot had been able to assert any further thoughts on the matter, he had been surprised to hear Kate's steady voice declaring, "Your half truths certainly paint you as a convincing victim, Striker. I'm almost impressed by this clever accusation you've thrown my way to boot." She had paused, meeting Spot's tempered gaze only momentarily before she had pushed forward even more harshly. "But unfortunately for you, I'm well-versed in all of Brooklyn's rules, and your right to defend your things expired the moment you started taking half the younger boys' daily wages as a fee for your supposed protection."
Another round of murmurs had broken out amongst the room full of boys, reflecting a growing level of reverence and awe in the face of Kate's fearless stand against Striker. Spot had felt his own eyes widening in impressed wonder as the beautiful, fierce girl had stepped closer toward Striker to state passionately, "You should be ashamed of yourself, Striker. Not just for this ridiculous attempt to frame me, but for the bigger crime of taking advantage of the boys that should be able to trust you the most. We're all in this together, we're all struggling for one reason or another, and the fact that you attempted to manipulate and profit off of those struggles is appalling. The whole point of the few rules we do have around here is to create a space of trust-and as far as I'm concerned-what you did to those boys is even worse than stealing."
Spot remembered feeling a strong simmering in his body at her stirring words and genuine outrage. And this feeling had only seemed to echo even more clearly about the room of Brooklynnites, many of the boys nodding in approval at Kate's staunch declaration of not only her belief in Brooklyn values, but also her keen intent to uphold them at all costs.
So, after shooting Kate an emotionally charged stare, Spot had turned his attention to Striker's now pale face, growling, "Give me one good reason I shouldn't beat the ever living shit out of you before I throw you outa Brooklyn."
But Kate had again surprised Spot by quickly countering, "I've got something else in mind as far as a punishment goes-of course with your permission, Spot." He had snapped his gaze back to the green-eyed girl's shining one, noting the smirk that had grown on her face as he had nodded his ascent, motioning for her to elaborate.
"Washroom duty for a month. Every day, under my supervision," Kate had stated clearly, raising her eyebrows in challenge toward Striker. "And if you prove that you can meet a Brooklyn level of trustworthiness, then maybe you can keep living here afterward."
"What? No fuckin' way! I'll take the beatin'!" Striker had all but yelled in protest, turning alarmedly to face Spot and say, "She ain't got no right to pass any judgements or hand out any consequences in here. She ain't Brooklyn!"
"She sure as hell does and she sure as hell is," Spot had said without so much as a breath passing between the two of them. "And if you can manage to convince her that your sorry ass is worth keepin' around, I may consider lettin' you stay on after all."
And as Spot had guided Kate toward the door to exit the bunkroom, he had turned sharply once more to add, "One word of trouble from you and you're out. I wanna be able to eat off of those washroom floors by the time you're done."
Spot had shot a threatening glare at Striker, who had immediately fallen into a sullen silence at the unexpected turn out of he and Kate's confrontation.
And, shockingly enough, after no more than a week of his sentence under Kate, Striker had come to a surprising level of respect and closeness with her, even going so far as to make a public apology to both Kate and all of the boys in the lodging house for his wrongdoings. She had seemed to possess the uncanny ability of not only commanding the boys' respect, but of also imparting an appropriate level of compassion when necessary-of seeing past their actions and into the real reasoning behind them. Thus, she had won over each and every one of them with her genuineness, fierce loyalty, and all of the other combining factors that had formed her into the person she was. She had been their go to confidant on matters that were troubling them, and she had in turn, created a safer and somehow more connected brood of boys for Spot to lead at the end of each day.
And, in direct contrast to every other romantic entanglement that Spot had instigated, he had found himself becoming more and more committed to and affected by her-fascinated and steadied by her presence while also stirred and enticed by her passion. For, in their relationship, he had found that the quiet, seemingly insignificant moments they shared were just as important and arousing as their emotional and sexually charged ones.
It had been four months since he had moved back into Mary's apartment-four months since Mary had insisted that he and Kate settle into the larger room together while she took the smaller one. Four months of feeling more alive than he had ever felt in his entire life up to that point. And it had had everything to do with the fact that he had finally allowed himself to truly be with Kate.
So he kissed her hungrily as thunder boomed again around them, relishing in the taste of her skin as he led her into their room and quietly shut the door behind him-utterly intoxicated by the feel of her body against his as he pushed her legs apart and guided their bodies together in sync. Because, undeniably, theirs was a connection that could neither be taught nor learned-a fire of attachment that transcended all levels of touch and thought until it could no longer be ignored.
And the heavy rain beat upon the building surrounding them, thunder crackling loudly overhead as he possessively adulated her body with his own, shuddering delightedly as her breathless whisper touched his ear, intonating over and over again, "I'm yours, Thomas Conlon, I'm yours."
