by C. L. Riley
Contents
Summary
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
A note about Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI)
Also by C.L. Riley
Also available
Acknowledgments
How to find C.L. Riley
Rowdy
A Scorched Souls Series Spinoff
By C.L. Riley
Copyright 2018 C.L. Riley
First Edition
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author/publisher. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of 250,000.00 (www.fbi.gov/ipr). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyright material. Your respect of the author’s rights is appreciated
Book’s inside design by Affordable Formatting https://www.facebook.com/affordableformatting/
Hells Guardian Rocker/Logo created by Vicki Adrian with All Cover Book Designs
https://www.facebook.com/groups/403436783460803/
Cover design by LJ Anderson with Mayhem Cover Creations http://mayhemcovercreations.com/
To anyone who has suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury or experiences a disability of any kind―you (we) are a force to be reckoned with; are worthy of deep and abiding love; are lights in an often dark world. So let’s keep those galaxies shining bright!
Without us, the world is simply grey.
Summary
Trina
I escaped to a small town on the Oregon Coast. My plan—disappear in the ashes of an arsonist’s rampage.
Plans never turn out the way they’re imagined though, and taking on a new patient was not part of mine.
I don’t do male patients. In fact, I don’t ‘do’ men at all. Not anymore. Not after him.
But something about the pain and confusion in Rowdy’s gaze speaks to my heart, stirring my spirit and breathing life into my withered soul. I’ve committed to stay, long enough to help him heal. In return, he promises to protect me, and I will leave a million dollars richer…if I survive.
You see, Rowdy isn’t just any patient. He’s the president of an outlaw motorcycle club. His life is filled with violence and danger, and he has enemies who will risk everything to exact their revenge.
What am I willing to risk to help one man I barely know?
If my past catches up with me, I’ll be dead anyway. So for Rowdy…I’ll risk it all, my heart included.
Rowdy
Discovering my entire life was based on lies, and then almost dying, should have been enough hell for one person to endure. But, in my case, the curve-balls just keep coming.
Busted body parts and a broken brain aren’t making my existence any easier.
The only light in my dark tunnel is Trina, the care provider who tries to hide her natural beauty behind sloppy sweatshirts and a strictly-business coat of armor. Her efforts are commendable, but she’s failing. Her shield is slipping, and I can see behind her tough exterior to the woman fighting to stay alive.
If she can get me back on my Harley, I’ll do everything in my power to protect her. Hell. I’ll do anything to protect her even if I never recover.
She might be a drill sergeant when it comes to her job, but I’ve seen too many tough girls tossed to the wolves and torn to pieces. No wolf will get anywhere close to Trina, not with me blocking the path.
You need to understand…she’s doing more than healing my body. She’s healing my heart.
BEWARE: Rowdy is a standalone, dark romantic adventure that may contain triggers due to violence and sexual situations. The material is for readers 18 and older.
This book features a number of characters from the Scorched Souls Series (Firetrap, Firefight, Firestorm, and Fireworks ) currently available in one volume, Scorched Souls: The Complete Saga. IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ Scorched Souls prior to Rowdy.
Rowdy
October 2015
Seal’s Cove, Oregon
Bones Richards, the man standing next to me, is my father; which means I’ve fallen for my half-brother’s ol’ lady. How fucked up is that?
I learned this life-altering information not even ten minutes ago.
Bones...my father, is president of the Soul Scorchers MC, my club’s former rival turned temporary ally.
In recent months, we’ve been forced to lay aside our differences, all because some deranged fire-fiend is set on destroying both clubs and taking Seal’s Cove off the map in a fiery inferno.
The arsonist, who calls himself Pyro, doesn’t realize he’s created an alliance of fuckers just as crazy as he is. We might not kill innocent civilians, but we won’t hesitate to put someone as sick as him in the ground. As far as I’m concerned, he’ll be rotting next to Ringo, my road captain gone rogue.
Pyro and Ringo—the two insane SOB’s will get exactly what they deserve, just as soon as we track them down.
That’s one reason I’m here, to pool resources; the other, to convince Olympia Olsen she belongs with me. Finding out Bones is my old man wasn’t on the agenda.
“Rowdy...you gonna pass out?” Bones asks, half joking. An attempt to lighten the mood, I’m guessing.
I’m relieved he didn’t call me son. I am not ready for that yet, not sure I’ll ever be.
“I could definitely use a shot of something strong,” I suggest, forcing a smile and avoiding his question.
Feeling faint isn’t something I’d ever admit to, but his announcement hit hard enough to send my mind reeling, dragging along some seriously fucked up emotions. I guess I’m not doing a very good job of hiding my inner turmoil.
“I’ll drink to whatever we’re drinking to,” Tinker, one of the Soul Scorchers’ prospects, seconds my proposal, unaware of the tension.
He removes his brain bucket, shaking out his hair. “I guess I should ask first if you two are done with your private Pow-Wow. Your meeting-of-the-minds cost me fifty-bucks at the Bikini Babes Barista.”
My dad shoots him a harsh look I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of.
“Hey...I’m just here for my shave.” Tinker raises his hands, a sure sign of surrender, and glances toward Rex’s Barbershop.
From what I can see through the front window, the chairs are full. It seems the place is an established hangout. Leg is already inside, eager to collect on his wager.
Bones’ expression relaxes and he smirks at his prospect. “Shouldn’t be making bets you can’t win. Now your pretty-boy hair is gonna be all over
the floor, waiting for a broom.”
Tinker groans. “Shit. The ladies love my luscious locks.” He makes a show of flipping his hair like he’s starring in some chick-inspired, shampoo commercial. “What will they grab on to when I’m between their thighs—?”
The ground rumbles, silencing Tinker.
“Get back!” I bellow too late.
There’s a rush of heat that hurls me backwards as Rex’s Barbershop explodes. The blast creates a massive fireball that blooms into a billowing mushroom of smoke and flames.
Sailing through the air, like I’ve been launched from a cannon, I am acutely aware I’ve exhausted all nine lives and then some. I’m finally going to meet the black-robed—Collector of Souls—star of my childhood nightmares.
That haunting image dances through my mind when I hit the ground with such brutal force at least one rib cracks from the impact; another has no doubt punctured a lung, making me gasp and gurgle. Fading screams and the stench of burning flesh assault my senses, and my stomach coils.
Just when I think the worst is over, and I might avoid the Grim Reaper and his scythe one more time after all, my body is smashed beneath a hailstorm of rubble.
Someone’s severed hand lands nearby, but there’s no time to think about raining body parts and who they might belong to. A steel beam plunges toward me.
I raise my arms, trying to block the inevitable blow. My elbows and left wrist shatter first, right before the beam slams against my head and then pins me completely.
The flash of blinding light and what I swear is the Reaper’s chilling laughter is all I remember before I’m sucked into a black abyss.
Trina Templeton
October 2015
Seattle, WA
Doctor Martin is my idol.
Celebrities, movie stars, and musicians are nothing but eye candy and do absolutely zilch for me that way. It is men who save lives that are my weakness. Give me a shiny stethoscope over expensive chocolate any day of the week.
I’m one-hundred percent serious when I say Dr. Martin (Gregg, to me) is my idol. But even with the betraying stars in my eyes, I promise, I’m not totally obsessed, just a little overzealous when it comes to Gregg.
I guess I should explain at least a few reasons why my boss has earned my undying admiration and devotion.
Gregg...God, I love using his first name, is making extraordinary strides in the medical community and bringing the latest information about head injuries, the causes of and possible cures, to the general public.
As a former college football star who suffered a career-ending concussion, he went on to finish medical school and has become the undisputed expert on all things Traumatic Brain Injury related.
Six months ago, he hired me as a rehabilitation nurse.
Recently out of school and having only worked in an emergency room setting, I turned in my resume, doubting anything would come of my efforts. But even when the odds are against me, I’m not one to give up.
Unwilling to let fate get in the way of an opportunity to work at such a prestigious clinic, I took matters into my own hands, dropping by and forcing an introduction with the good doctor himself, making sure he took a second look at my credentials.
My boldness paid off.
A week later, I became Dr. Martin’s newest protégé at Brain Matters, his exclusive, state-of-the-art treatment facility, in Seattle, WA.
Brain Matters’ methods are considered revolutionary and combine physical healing with psychological supports, and an added spiritual component, for those interested. We use the most recent evidence based practices to help patients recover from brain injuries, adding a human touch to an often overlooked and misjudged population of people.
As if being a medical guru with a noble cause isn’t enough. Did I mention Doctor Martin is a very attractive, extremely wealthy man, with two bestselling books to his credit?
He makes my heart race and my lady parts zing, and I’m not the only woman on our team who has succumbed to his charm and charisma.
The fact his IQ is off the charts doesn’t hurt either. Believe me, I’ve participated in numerous lunch-hour conversations about him and why he’s single when so many women want to become the next Mrs. Martin.
Gossiping about a sexy millionaire doctor who runs a world-renowned clinic is a great distraction from the day-to-day, not-so-glamorous challenges of the job.
At the moment, I’m the lucky woman across the dinner table from him.
I realize I may sound fixated on my boss, yet I’ll say it again...I’m not obsessed, more like infatuated, and in no way ready to become Mrs. Martin, regardless of the tempting title. But I will confess, getting to know my idol outside work hours has been a definite bonus. Tonight we’re on our third date, and I’m eager to see where this deeper connection leads.
It’s important to point out; even with all his successes, surprise, surprise...he’s not perfect. The one area my employer seems to fall short in is relationships.
Engaged twice, no children, he has dated several women in our office—a mega, professional faux pas.
I realize with his failing relationship record and ill-advised, office romance habit, I’m being reckless, but it’s hard to say no to the boss, especially when he’s all the other things I just mentioned, which happen to be the very same things I want in a future partner.
So, here I am, wondering if I might be that special someone who will last longer than a few weeks. We’ve had fun and share mutual goals and dreams. I’d say we’re off to a solid start.
Before I can analyse our situation further, something I’ve been doing a lot of lately, he returns from his kitchen with two, very full glasses of wine. Should I accept, this will be my third. I know I need to stop, considering I’m scheduled for an early shift tomorrow.
“Are you ready for dessert?” His gaze locks with mine and he raises a brow, turning what should be an innocent query into a question loaded with innuendos.
I tilt my head and take a long look at my superior before glancing down. I’m overcome with discomfort.
Dessert?
Is he really hinting at what I think he’s hinting at?
He better not be.
For me, three dates is way too soon to sample the sweets.
Geez! What the hell am I thinking? Sample the sweets...?
With that unspoken question, it hits hard just how woozy I’ve become. My vision is blurred, and my tongue feels heavy and thick, which makes no sense. I’ve only had two glasses of wine, something I do on a semi-regular basis.
“I think I’m ready to head home. Can you call a cab?” I want to get as far away from my employer as I can...sooner rather than later, and my current condition makes accessing a ride share app impossible, leaving me at the mercy of Dr. Martin. Calling him Gregg no longer feels comfortable.
The way he continues to stare sends another spike of suspicion through my foggy brain.
Adding to my discomfort, his mouth switches from a mischievous smile into a devious smirk, right before morphing into a cruel sneer that speaks volumes about his intentions.
“Don’t fight it, Trina. You won’t remember anything tomorrow.”
What is going on here? What happened to my idol?
Somehow understanding my silent questions will go unanswered, I struggle to stay upright but am starting to slump, unable to support my weight. My head feels abnormally heavy, like a bowling ball is propped on my neck.
“Ah, poor thing. Let me help you.” He leans closer, reaching for me.
I shrink away from his towering form, but I can’t make my legs move. I’m trapped in my chair, the same chair I reclined so comfortably in while enjoying a delicious meal and meaningful conversation.
How did I miss the fact my perfect guy is a sociopath?
I guess this explains his unsuccessful relationship attempts. Or...maybe, hopefully, I’m simply dreaming and none of this is real.
“You should see yourself, Trina. My most confident nurse reduced
to a shivering little lamb, waiting for the slaughter.”
He moves nearer. His face now inches from mine.
This close, I can smell the sharp tang of his sweat as he transforms from a modern-day Dr Jekyll to the animalistic Mr. Hyde. The expanding under-arm-dampness stains his designer shirt, offering more evidence of my terrifying new reality and slamming the door on my it-is-only-a-dream-theory.
“No-o-o-o...” my plea comes out distorted, but his next words leave no doubt he heard and understood just fine. I realize now he has no intention of stopping his abuse.
“No? Did you say, no? I don’t believe you said no, Trina. In fact, I’m quite certain you said yes. Yes, you want me to fuck you. Yes, you want my cock in your ass. Yes, you want to choke on my cum. Yes, you want me to slap you...”
I try to scream but can no longer open my mouth. I’m paralysed, only my eyes and ears seem to be functioning, and those abilities are fading fast.
“You have something to say? Speak up, darling. I can’t hear you.” He chuckles, the sound comes out as menacing and lacking any sign of the earlier mirth we shared before he underwent his radical transformation.
