Breaking His Walls- [Spot Conlon love story]

Chapter 4- Spot Conlon

POV Ciara

We all look up to see a boy jump down from the throne.

"So you moved up in the woirld Spot. Got a river view and everythin." Jack says.

Davey, Boots, and I walk closely behind Jack and follow him towards the boy. Spot jumps off the platform and lands in front of us with a mischievous smirk.

Under his newsie cap, his sandy blonde hair sticks out a bit. It compliments his frosty blue eyes. 

Unlike Davey's, Spot's eyes strike me differently. These are cold. Stone cold. Not in the slightest inviting or friendly.

He is wearing a green and white checked shirt with bright red suspenders. Interesting outfit choice.

He holds a long black cane with a gold top. Oh my God, it's a pimp cane. 

I refuse to be intimidated by this punk, so I quickly cross my arms. Jack and Spot spit shake.

"Hey Boots, how's it rollin." he says tucking his cane into a loophole on his waistband.

"Here, I got a couple of real good shooters here." Boots replies offering Spot a few rocks.

Jack explained on our way over here that Brooklyn is notorious for using slingshots with rocks or marbles as ammo. With enough force and power behind the slingshot, it could do serious damage.

Spot nods taking them out of Boot's hand. He examines them closely and me and Davey take a few steps forward. 

I keep my arms crossed and plant a serious expression on my face.

"So, Jackie boy. I've been hearin things from little boirds." Spot says loading one of Boot's shooters into a slingshot.

"Yeah?" Jack nods.

"Things from Harlem. Queens." Spot continues as he pulls back the rubber band on his slingshot.

Davey flinches moving out of the way. I show no fear and instead roll my eyes. 

Spot lets it go smashing a targeted beer bottle across the docks. Davey looks absolutely terrified.

"All ova." Spot says turning his attention back to Jack.

"They're chirpin in my ear. Jackie boys newises playin like they're goin on strike." Spot explains walking across the dock.

His eyes meet mine. He looks me up and down carefully. Slowly.

I return his stern glance right back at him.

"Yeah well we are." Jack states firmly.

Spot leans against a few stacked crates. This time Davey speaks up.

"But we're not playing. We are going on strike."

Spot comes forward and gets in his face while offering him a fake concerned tone.

"Oh yeah, yeah?"

Their faces are inches apart and Spot looks like he's about to clock him in the side of the head. 

Spot is a little shorter then Davey, but it doesn't stop him from making Davey shake in his boots.

"What is dis, Jackie boy? Some kind of walkin mouth?" Spot asks continuing to interrogate Davey.

I've had just enough of this cocky "king".

"Yeah it's a mouth. But one with a brain. And if you got half of one you'll listen to what he's gotta say." I interrupt.

Spot cocks his head turning his attention to me. He glares at me with his stone cold blue eyes again. 

He's a few inches taller then me. He looks down upon me and leans down slightly to get in my face.

"Listen goirl. I's got a brain. And more den just half of one. So why don't you back up. Da adults are talkin here. Why don't ya go find some pretty dolls ta play with, eh?" Spot fires back.

Without thinking, I go to punch him square in the face. But he is quick. Almost too quick. He grabs my wrist and smirks.

"No dolls fa dis one? Gotta try a little harder den dat Princess." he says throwing me backwards into Jack.

Jack places a strong hand on my shoulder and pulls me further away from Spot and closer to his chest.

"Go on tell him." Jack mutters to Davey.

Spot takes a seat on the crates and folds his arms. He shoots Davey an impatient glare and  clenches his jaw.

"Well we started the strike, but we can't do it alone. So we've been talking to other newsies all around the city." Davey explains.

"Yeah. So dey told me. But what did dey tell you." Spot nods coldly.

"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon does. That you're they key."

I watch Spot's face soften ever so slightly as he nods. Davey is going after Spot's ego. Smart kid.

Davey continues, "That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsie in all New York. And probably everywhere else."

I look up at Jack who smiles at Davey's attempt to flatter Spot.

"And if Spot Conlon joins the strike, then they'll join, and we'll be unstoppable. So you gotta join us becau- well, you gotta." Davey stammers finishing his speech.

"Yeah dis kid gots brains," Spot smirks looking at Jack as if it explained why Jack brought Davey in the first place.

"But I got brains too... And more den just half of one." Spot says cocking his head to look straight at me.

He glares at me intensely mocking my word choice from a few minutes ago.

I roll my eyes at him. My eye roll is enough for Spot to take out his cane and hold it under my chin as if he were to teach me a lesson. 

Instead, it's just a tease and attempt to scare me. He takes it away and returns his attention to Jack.

"How do I know you punks won't run the first time some goons come afta you with a club?" Spot asks raising his eyebrow.

"Oh, right. We're the punks." I scoff.

Spot shoots me another glare and steps back over to me.

"Say somethin?"

"Nothing you would wanna hear... your highness." I say in a fake sweet tone.

"Dul go h-olc ort." he mutters back.

I scoff immediately. It's a classic Irish swear that's meant to wish bad luck upon someone. 

I didn't realize he's Irish. But hey, two could play at this game.

"Is ceann de's na h-óinseacha diabhail thú" (You are one of the Devil's fools) I snap back.

He turns away pretending to ignore me and gets back to business with Jack and Davey.

"How do I know yous got what it takes to win?" Spot asks.

"Because I'm tellin ya Spot." Jack answers.

"That ain't good enough Jackie boy. You gotta show me." Spot says and turns walking away from us.

"Some king he is." I remark loud enough for Spot to hear me.

"C'mon let's just get out of hear." Boots whines.

I follow the two of them off of the Brooklyn docks and turn around to watch Spot take his seat back on the top of his thrown. 

This isn't over.