Of All the Things that I Don't Know (Spot Conlon + OC)

Chapter 14

When Jack Kelly had first raised his hand to me a year into our relationship, something inside of me forever changed. It had been the first time in my life that I had felt utterly powerless to defend myself, and surprisingly, my failure to fight back had little to do with his overpowering strength and size. It had been the horrifying revelation that someone who expressed such affection for me would so easily demonstrate the opposite. My inability to compute that thought alone had been enough to halt any struggle I might have put up against Jack's first few blows. And, consequently, that had been all he needed to take complete and violent control of me, a reign of terror from which I was still feeling the traumatizing effects.

So, when the opportunity to lay my own hands on the newly reinstated Manhattan leader had presented itself one cold afternoon in Brooklyn, weeks after my involuntary sentence had commenced, I made the most of it. It had been surprisingly easy to slip past Mary in the apartment and then move on toward the common room where the newsies had jovially gathered. But what had truly been invigorating was the shocked glaze that Jack's deep brown eyes had slowly taken on as he caught sight of me over the throng of people. The mixture of horror and disbelief radiating from him as he registered that I, Katherine Moore, was indeed the one smiling at him from the entryway had certainly been gratifying. And as I made my way to the center of the room, I saw Spot slowly turn as well, but his face had been anything but surprised. He had shaken his head, a frustrated glare in his eyes as he had moved to the periphery of the crowd. It had been the closest I had been to Spot in weeks, momentarily causing me to lose my focus, but I quickly shook off his harsh gaze, flicking my eyes back to Jack.

A sudden hush came over the room as Jack whispered, "Kate, oh my God...what are you doing here?"

And, that had been enough of an introduction for me to reach up and aggressively slap the look of shock off his ridiculous face. I had reveled in the all-encompassing rush that my fists connecting with his body had given me, an injustice finally righted in my eyes. But truthfully, my intentions had been much more far-reaching than simply giving Jack the beating he so amply deserved. It had been another attempt, in an already very long list of endeavors, that I had hoped would finally force Spot to release me.

I had found that the Brooklyn leader had a much higher tolerance for disobedience and disrespect than I had originally assumed. He had completely ignored my first few acts of rebellion, maintaining his distance without a thought, and he had barely batted an eye when I had instigated a physical altercation with one of his newsie underlings, simply allowing Rummy to drag me back to my dreaded prison cell of a room. The subsequent schemes I had developed to secure my banishment from Brooklyn had yielded more of the same, filling me with an even firmer drive to ensure that I got the outcome I so desired.

And, several nights prior, as I had lain uncomfortably awake in bed for what seemed like the hundredth time, a different thought suddenly struck me, one that I was almost certain Spot would find exceedingly difficult to ignore. I had heard some of the younger Brooklynites jabbering away about Jack Kelly's forthcoming visit, an attempt to not only reinstate Manhattan as an ally but to also announce Jack's re-ascent as leader. Thus, any chaos that I could cause during this momentous event would surely be an embarrassment on Brooklyn, one that Spot would have no choice but to deal with.

And now, as I sat in Spot's attic room, against the wall that I had been aggressively thrown toward a half-hour before, I knew that my plan was playing out exactly as I had hoped it would. Spot's sharp order to "get me the fuck up to the attic so he could deal with me properly" had been the reaction I had been waiting for all these long weeks. It meant I would finally be free of him, a finite end to our storyline at last.

"No way she'll get away with it this time."

I perked up as I heard the newsie stationed outside my locked door mutter this sentiment derisively. The following scoff confirmed that he was not alone.