Spark Read online

  Book #1 of the WEB OF DESIRE trilogy

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  ALEATHA ROMIG

  New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of the Consequences, Infidelity, Web of Sin, and Tangled Web series

  COPYRIGHT AND LICENSE INFORMATION

  SPARK

  Book #1 of the WEB OF DESIRE trilogy

  Copyright @ 2020 Romig Works, LLC

  Published by Romig Works, LLC

  2020 Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-947189-44-7

  Cover art: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design (www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk)

  Editing: Lisa Aurello

  Formatting: Romig Works, LLC

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  2020 Edition License

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  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Synopsis

  SPARK – book #1 WEB OF DESIRE

  “From a little spark may burst a flame.” ~ Dante Alighieri

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  A simple ember to dried kindling can ignite a raging fire.

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  I’ve made my mark and proven my loyalty to a man, a city, and a way of life. That loyalty has provided me with all the spoils of success. For the longest time, that hasn’t included a woman at my side.

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  There is only one beauty that can bring my untapped desire to life.

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  I shouldn’t have opened the door. Cracking open the stone and striking the flint is my doing. What follows is hers.

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  With something so intense, will this spark lead to a blazing inferno? Will we make it out of the ashes before everything I hold dear is ravaged?

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  From New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig comes a brand-new dark romance, Spark, set in the same dangerous world as Secrets and Twisted. You do not need to read the Web of Sin or Tangled Web trilogy to get caught up in this new and intriguing saga, Web of Desire.

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  SPARK is book one of the WEB OF DESIRE trilogy that continues in FLAME and concludes in ASHES.

  Have you been Aleatha’d?

  Prologue

  Maddie

  Twenty years ago

  * * *

  Be invisible.

  It was my motto, my mantra, and my life.

  With my chin down, eyes up, and hands tucked into the pocket of the oversized sweatshirt, I leaned against the brick wall, watching the world around me. It was hard not to stick out in Chicago’s heat with the clothes I wore. Other people were wearing season-appropriate clothes such as shorts and tank tops.

  My sweatshirt covered a t-shirt—the two shirts I owned. It would be nice to take off the sweatshirt, but I didn’t have anywhere to store my belongings. The worn hiking boots upon my feet also didn’t work for the season, but my assortment of sandals was currently nonexistent. The same was true of my long jeans. I could cut them, but that wouldn’t do me any good when winter came.

  Looking upward, I peered at the green leaves hanging from the giant maples. Soon their time would end. They’d change their colors and lose their hold. That was my measurement of time, seasons and hours of light. The days were longer and the nights warmer in the summer. Soon they’d begin to shorten and cool. This would be my second winter living on the street, and the first one had taught me well.

  I tried to make myself smaller as the sidewalk around me bustled with people of all ages hurrying past. Chubby kids held tightly to their mothers’ hands, complaining about life’s unfairness. Men in uniforms went about their work. They weren’t police or military but deliverymen, plumbers, and carpenters wearing shirts sporting their names. Store owners swept the street outside their businesses as if they could clean away the filth.

  It was another day in paradise and I was part of the crowd.

  Not the crowd who lived in the rundown apartments or even those who had the luxury of avoiding this area of the city. I was part of the faceless society that lingered in the shadows.

  As the hot, humid late summer air refused to move, it was clear that Chicago had forgotten its nickname. For a moment, I pushed the hood of my sweatshirt off my head and stretched my neck to the blue sky, hoping for some relief.

  Catcalls and whistles came from two tall boys passing by, reminding me to do what I did, to cover my growing hair and slither back to where I was out of harm's way, where I wouldn’t be seen. It wasn’t only safety I sought—it was also invisibility.

  Safety was an elusive bitch but also a great teacher.

  She wrapped you in warm blankets and tucked you into a soft bed.

  She told you stories of princesses, princes, and knights on white horses.

  She filled your mind with dreams and your belly with food.

  She held you tight and chased away the monsters from under your bed and then, when you were content, she left you alone, cold, crying, and abandoned.

  She’d taught me that nothing lasted.

  Stepping back against the building, I kept my focus on the bins of fresh produce outside the corner store across the street. There were apples, bananas, and tomatoes. The truck had delivered them around sunrise, just as happened every day.

  It was the best part of this time of year, fresh, juicy fruit, straight from some farm. That was the way I pictured it in my head, like something out of a child’s picture book, a farm with green hills and an orchard with trees bursting with apples. In the morning, the sunlight would break through the morning mist, exposing a vibrant blue sky.

  My stomach rumbled.

  I’d been watching the store for over an hour. The owner was a crotchety old man who spoke briskly to his patrons while shunning the likes of me. I supposed he and his wife worked hard. The two of them were there every day except Sundays. On that day, the store was closed with grates covering the windows. The couple’s routine was always the same. One worked inside while the other kept a watchful eye on the sidewalk. This time of year, he would spend his day with a broom in hand. In the winter, it would be a shovel.

  There were other options to fill my empty stomach, soup kitchens and the like. I hated their lines, their questions, and their feigned attempts to help. As a multiple-time foster-system failure, I’d wasted enough time listening to their sugary tones that did nothing more than coat their pious judgment with sweetness.

  Being left without a family and a home didn’t make me less than them. I didn’t want their pity or their handouts. Each encounter strengthened my resolve: one day I would not only survive, but I’d overcome.

  Today wasn’t that day.

  Nevertheless, I wasn’t looking for handouts; I was looking at opportunity in the form of produce in the bins. If an apple would drop to the concrete, the owner would throw it away.

  Why not reallocate it instead?

  My gaze kept focused on the polished red fruit. I didn’t know why, but there was something about the apples I couldn’t shake.

  As if divined by God, the sun’s rays shone down, reflecting upon their shiny ruby skins and calling to me, even from the other side of the street.

  An hour passed and then another.

  After a while the hung
ry stomach succumbs to its state, forgetting to grumble and growl.

  The sun was high when a woman with a small child in tow asked something of the owner. Nodding, he’d led the paying customers inside. It was the break I’d been waiting for, my chance to procure my own breakfast-slash-lunch.

  My gaze darted from side to side as I hurried across the street, weaving in and out of parked cars and delivery trucks.

  One apple would feed me.

  One would fit into the pocket of my sweatshirt without notice.

  One could easily disappear.

  My steps stilled near the bin. Hunger roared back to life, twisting my stomach. Saliva formed as I imagined my teeth piercing the firm red outer skin as the apple’s juice coated my tongue.

  One.

  A second one.

  I reached for one more.

  “Hey, you thief!”

  As the third apple fell to the concrete below, my feet began to move.

  I weaved in and out of people, turning down one alley and then another. Perspiration dripped beneath the heavy sweatshirt as I continued to run.

  The heavy beat of footsteps sounded farther and farther behind. Though I was breathing heavily, my youth and agility gave me the speed and distance. The shout and pursuit had not come from the store owner or his wife but from a policeman. I’d been too focused on my bounty to realize he was near. A beat cop, he was at the bottom of the police totem pole. Thankfully his beer belly reduced his athletic ability.

  Turning the corner, I nearly collided with another policeman, a younger officer, speaking into his shoulder. The chase was on again.

  This one was more difficult to outrun; however, hunger was a strong motivator.

  It wasn’t only the loss of the apples that would occur if I was caught.

  Incarceration would follow, and worst yet, reentry into the foster care system.

  If I listened to the counselors, they’d say it also meant a roof over my head and three meals a day. I supposed that depended upon the foster parents. Nevertheless, in my experience, the negatives outweighed the positives.

  With my pulse pounding, I ran down a different alley. The stench of trash overflowing the dumpsters was my friend, hopefully warding off my pursuer. Ducking behind a large metal container, I leaned forward, catching my breath.

  “Hey,” I tried to scream as a hand came over my mouth and my arm was tugged backward. My mind raced with possibilities. Whoever had me wasn’t a policeman, yet no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t break his hold. My hood slipped from my head.

  “Shh.” The warning came with a warm breath to my ear.

  Though my boots tried to stay steadfast, I was pulled backward until we slipped through an opening in the brick wall, leading to a dark space.

  “Don’t talk,” the boy’s voice whispered. “Nod if you’ll stay quiet.”

  My head bobbed as the sound of footsteps echoed from beyond the dumpster, the one blocking the opening. Slowly my captor’s hand released me and I turned to see the space around me. My eyes adjusted to the lack of light as the room came into view. The space wasn’t large, although the ceiling was high enough for us to stand. I continued to take it in, knowing that with an old sleeping bag upon stacks of old newspapers along the far wall, this was obviously where this person slept.

  With trepidation, my gaze met my assailant’s.

  The fear that had been building within me was replaced by something I hadn’t felt since my life imploded. There was something in this tall boy’s eyes that gave me the unfamiliar sense of safety.

  “What do you want?” I asked, painfully aware that he was male and I was female.

  “I was just trying to help you,” he said with a grin. “It was a lame move for the pig to call for backup. Hell, it’s just a couple apples. Or did you steal something more valuable?”

  I’d almost forgotten the apples. My fists came to my hips. “Right, I have the Hope Diamond concealed under my shirt.”

  “Damn, I was hoping for food.”

  “Is that why you pulled me in here, to take my apples?” I asked.

  Shaking his head, he gestured toward the opening. “I mean, you can go if you want. Good luck.”

  “Wait.” I turned completely around in the small space. When our gazes again met, I noticed his dirty cheeks and how they made his blue eyes and blond hair more prominent. “Tell me why you pulled me in here.”

  He shrugged his broad yet skinny shoulder. “I’ve seen you around, and well, like I said, the cop was lame. I wanted to help you.”

  “First, I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.”

  Without a word he again gestured toward the door.

  This makeshift room wasn’t the Hilton or even a Motel 6, but it wasn’t bad once I became accustomed to the stench from the dumpster “If I stay, what will you do? What do you want?”

  Stepping back to the dirty sleeping bag, the boy sat, crossed his legs, and looked up at me. It was a simple move that without words told me he wasn’t a threat, at least not right now.

  He tilted his head. “I didn’t save you for a reward. But now that you’re here.” He nodded toward my sweatshirt. “I’d really like one of those apples.”

  A smile came to my face as I looked down at how the apples were obviously within the front pocket. Reaching into the pocket, I pulled out one with each hand. They didn’t vary a lot, but one was bigger. I lifted the larger one and handed it his direction. “Thank you for saving me.”

  He reached for the apple and grinned a friendly smile. “Thanks for the food.”

  I nodded toward his make-do bed. “Do you mind if I have a seat too?”

  “Not at all.” He scooted to one side.

  A hum escaped my lips as I bit into the apple. It was as firm and juicy as I’d predicted. When I turned, he was still looking at me. Wiping my hand on my jeans, I lifted it to the boy. “Hi, I’m Maddie.”

  He took it and we shook. “I’m Patrick, welcome to my place.”

  Again I stared at the space. “I like what you’ve done with it.”

  Pink came to his cheeks as he took another bite. “It’s not much, but it’s mostly dry. And the dumpster out there keeps other people away. Not the mice and rats, but that’s what that is for.” He pointed.

  In the corner was a piece of dirty plywood.

  “You’ve got everything you need.”

  “How about a friend?” he asked.

  There’s no way to describe the feeling of security, and I knew it wouldn’t last, but with this boy, I felt safe, and for the first time in two years, in his space, I felt at home.

  Patrick

  Present day

  A con.

  A fake.

  A phony.

  A thief.

  I could spot one from across the room. Forget that. I could spot one from thousands of miles away with nothing more than a picture or post on social media. That ability had kept me alive from a very young age. Life was a great teacher, and I’d learned my lessons well.

  With time and tenacity, I had overcome what many couldn’t or didn’t. Between the GI bill and some help from a friend, I had more than life’s lessons. I also had an education. The degrees in business and finance supplemented the accumulation of my experiences. Together it allowed me to excel at many things. My interests and abilities were vast; however, it was watching, analyzing, and understanding people that I kept honed. That simple tool of observation kept me at the top of my game.

  In my life, my world, the consequence of losing was death.

  Currently, my sights were set on an exquisitely beautiful woman. There were countless reasons why she’d garner my attention or that of any red-blooded male. Of course, those reasons were in my mind. Yet my attraction was focused on more than her appearance.

  Even from this distance I knew she wasn’t exactly what she appeared to be.

  While the alarm bells were ringing, I couldn’t look away.

  Working as I did with my associates and those who w
orked under me wouldn’t be possible if I wasn’t able to read expressions and anticipate reactions. If a person was being genuine, each reaction varied by some degree. It didn’t matter if the person was male or female, rich or poor, educated or not, or even intelligent or not.

  No, education didn’t equate to intelligence. The streets were full of people with intelligence—street smarts—who may not have seen a classroom since a very young age.

  Appearance meant little. Beauty was most often simply a veneer. Some of the darkest, coldest hearts I’d encountered were covered by the prettiest of packages.

  I supposed I could qualify in that regard.

  While I’d been a skinny, starving kid, that was in my past.

  Though taking me on a tortuous long road, fate had ultimately been kind.

  A desperate decision landed me in the right place with the right group of guys. Those guys were now men, and together, we ruled this city. Some referred to what we did as the underground or organized crime. In some respects, they were right.

  We were incredibly organized.

  And we dealt in many activities that some would consider crimes.

  One could either ignore the existence of this world or flourish within its realm. For better or worse, I was a piece of Chicago’s puzzle, part of the Sparrow outfit.

  Sterling Sparrow’s name was on the buildings, respected in high society, and whispered in the dark alleyways. Nevertheless, the saying was true: no man is an island. Success at the level of the Sparrow outfit wasn’t accomplished alone. It took a trusted team.

  It took men capable of looking death in the face, washing blood off our hands, and coming back for more, all while appearing refined. Maintaining our wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing appearance was part of our success.