Spark of Vengeance by Kathleen Kelly


The ride to my old sergeant’s house takes me the better part of a month. I feel like a coward, but I can’t face Kyle, my brother, and my president in the Loyal Rebels MC. We’ve spoken on the phone, and he asked me to come back, but I used my old sergeant as a bullshit excuse, said he needed some help on his farm. The truth is, he doesn’t even know I’m coming.

After my disobedience, Kyle is pissed. There’s no way I was going to let the scum bag who killed my sister and hurt my brother live. The rage on his face when I blew that bastard to kingdom come isn’t something I’m going to forget in a hurry. I know I need to have a sit down with him and the rest of the Rebels but not yet. I have to get my head on straight, find my path, and then I’ll be ready to face my MC brothers and my family.

So here I am, on the road, heading to my old Marine buddy’s place. The last I heard from Sergeant Thomas Trent, he was running cattle on his family’s ranch. We were close when we both served our country. I saved his life, and he saved mine on numerous occasions.

I pull into the local gas station, and an older guy comes out.

“Fill ‘er up?”

“Sure, man. You good to do it?” I ask.


I wait until he’s finished, and we both walk back into the gas station.

“You know where I can find the Trent Ranch?”

“Tom’s place?”

“Yeah, he’s an old buddy of mine.”

The old guy scoffs. “I doubt that. Tom’s got no friends. Not anymore, leastways. That’ll be twenty-three dollars and seventy cents.”

I hand over three ten-dollar notes. “Keep the change. Where did you say the Trent Ranch is?”

“I didn’t.”

I put both hands on the counter and lean over. “Well, how about you tell me now?”

The old guy looks me up and down. “The Trent Ranch is ten miles further down the road, take the first road on the left, then the second right, and keep going, you’ll find it. But you won’t find Tom there.”

“Why’s that?”

“Thomas Trent is dead.”

I rock back on one foot, shocked to my core. “Dead?”



The old guy frowns and shakes his head. “Not my place. Tom didn’t toe the line. He should have sold out, like the rest.” He moves out from behind the counter and walks to the back of the store where he loudly says, “His daughter, Beth, is looking after the place now. Not sure how she’s doing it on her own.”

He disappears through a door and leaves me alone in the gas station.

I shake my head at the closed door, take a jerky stick, and head to my bike. Thomas talked about Beth, a lot, his only daughter. According to Thomas, she can do just about anything a man could do.

I’ve come all this way, I might as well pay my respects and see if she needs a hand. The picture Thomas painted of Beth was that she was plain, hard-working, and a damned fine cook. Not exactly flattering.