Rowdy: A Scorched Souls Spinoff

by C. L. Riley

Unaware of my struggle not to snap, or aware and ignoring it, Demon continues, “I think Trina’s gonna be good for you,”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Because she isn’t gonna take your shit.”

  I can’t help but grin, remembering her reaction to my cat-bashing behavior. She’d been up in arms, ready to read me my rights and haul me in, all for insulting a couple of cats, one of them a stray that’s no longer a stray.

  Fuck. What was I thinking? I don’t want one cat let alone two.

  After witnessing her valiant defence of the felines, what I do want is to know everything about Trina Templeton. Demon needs to start talking.

  “You gonna to tell me anything about her? I know you suggested I let her explain her situation, but give me something here. What is she hiding from?”

  Demon shuts his laptop and I do the same, waiting for him to enlighten me.

  “Don’t know much except she’s got some stalker following her around, dropping threats in the form of notes and fucked up phone calls. You already know I met her about a year ago, not far from Gig Harbor. Skip had that heart hiccup and ran the van off the road. She helped, and I said I’d be good for a favor. I never expected her to collect, but I was curious about her and dug up what I could, just in case. I didn’t go deep, just basic shit.”

  “Okay, go on then. Spill what you’ve got,” I press, my impatience getting the better of me.

  “She works for a place called Brain Matters. Its founder is an ex-college, football jock turned hot shot doctor who specializes in traumatic brain injuries. I figured she’d be a good resource for you. I even considered calling her first, not long before she reached out to me. Must be fate.”

  Considering fate hasn’t been too kind to me lately, I’m not sure I like his explanation.

  “That’s it?” There must be more.

  “My family did a little background checking too. Her parents died in a car accident when she was twelve. She was pawned off on some aunt, finished high school, and went into nursing. She was a top performer. When I met her, she was working for University of Washington Medical Center’s emergency room. Started at Brain Matters the Monday after we crossed paths. No criminal record. Never married. No kids. Nothing else to report.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard,” I tease the big Russian, enjoying the way his eyes narrow. “Now we need to find out more about this stalker. I don’t want to take any chances.” I don’t mention how happy I am to hear she’s not married.

  “Don’t want to take any chances with what?” a soft voice asks from behind.

  Demon chuckles, surprising me. He’s not known for being overly friendly, and his fondness for my nurse is out of character...way out of character.

  He shocks me even more with his next statement. “We were just talking about how it must be fate that brought you here.”

  “Really?” She tilts her head and shoots me a curious look.

  I shrug, unsure what to say.

  The cats choose that moment to wander in. Scrooge winds around Trina’s ankles until she bends over to pick him. Fur-face hops up and plops on top of my laptop.

  “Hey, not on the computer.” I push her off gently. She stretches on the table instead.

  She? He? I’m still not sure and don’t intend to look. I guess I’ll know for certain if she starts popping out mini-fluff-balls that meow.

  “You guys hungry?” Trina asks, yet another surprise. I expected her to scold me again about being an ogre to the cat, not offering to feed us.

  Demon, never one to pass up an opportunity to eat, pats his thick middle. “I could use some calories.”

  “Good. So could I. Should I whip up something?” She glances between us like she’s not certain who is in charge.

  “How about we order in tonight and negotiate your job duties and salary while we eat.”

  She flashes a sweet smile that for some reason sends a burst of unexpected warmth winding through me. I guess I can’t fault Demon for his behavior. I’m obviously just as bewitched as he is.

  ”Do you like to cook?” I ask, trying not to make too much out of my body’s response to her simple smile.

  “Actually, I do. I’ve always been a meat and potatoes kind of girl. So I stick to the basics.” Her cheeks flush, and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  “We like meat and potatoes just fine, don’t we, Rowdy?”

  Seriously, what has gotten into Demon?

  I raise my brow and nod. “Yep...I like a good home cooked meal anytime, anywhere.”

  “Uh, do you mind if I take a quick shower before our food gets here?” Again, she glances between us, holding Scrooge close to her chest and reminding me of a scared little girl, not the feisty, confident female from earlier.

  This latest observation tells me Trina Templeton is a woman of contrasts. I have the urge to get up and bundle her in my arms, because in spite of her bravado and tough outer shell, she’s soft inside...and definitely afraid of something or someone. I’ve been around enough to know the signs.

  “You don’t need to ask to take a shower,” I say instead of following my urge to hug her. “You’ve got plenty of time before the food gets here. We haven’t ordered yet. Why don’t you take a look at the menu and then take your shower. Your private bathroom is stocked with the essentials, but if you need something specific, we can pick it up.”

  Stiff from sitting so long, I struggle to stand. Gritting my teeth, I try without success to ignore the sudden surge of anguish caused by my movements. I’m prepared to open the cabinet drawer and grab the menu, when my left knee buckles.

  Down I go, hard.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I clutch my leg to my chest, swallowing a pitiful groan.

  My surgeon is supposed to remove some hardware from my knee at the end of the month. I’m not sure they should take the metal out ever.

  “Here, let me help you up.” Trina is already at my side, no longer the timid girl. “How long have you been in the same position without stretching your leg?” She doesn’t make any effort to censor the reproach in her voice.

  “Too long,” I growl back, feeling like a naughty school boy, facing his teacher.

  “Hey, Mr. Tough Guy, you don’t need to give me an attitude. I’m here to help. You have to take better care of yourself.”

  “Whoa...hold on a minute. You’re the one flinging attitude. I’m just trying to get off the floor.”

  “And I’m trying to help you get off the floor and evaluate your pain level.”

  “Demon...?”

  He doesn’t need any clarification. He’s seen my leg give out more than once and knows the drill. A second later, he has me on my feet and then lowers me into the chair. There is no way I’m letting Trina break her back trying to hoist me up.

  I recline, eyes closed, struggling not to moan in front of my nurse, which is ridiculous. She’s the one I should feel comfortable complaining in front of, but my ego and desire to impress her keeps me quiet. I have no doubt I’m wearing an ugly grimace that serves as a signal to my suffering.

  “All right, Macho Man, you don’t fool me. Your face is all scrunched up and you’re ready to pass out. I’m here to help, so it’s time to get real. I can’t help you get better, if you won’t let me.”

  Again Demon shocks me, siding with her. “She’s right. Everyone knows you’re a badass, but it’s time to let someone else run the show.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I finally blow.

  Demon is on my nerves and has pushed me too far. He needs a reminder of what I’ve been through. Trina calling me Mr Tough Guy and Macho Man doesn’t help my mood either.

  Who says shit like that?

  I launch into my rebuttal, making sure to glare at each of them. “Ever since that asshole blew up Rex’s, someone else has been running the show, which is my life, by the way. First, the hospital, then the rehab center, and now, apparently, you two. You have no idea what I feel like. I try to tell you, but you don’t listen.<
br />
  “Go back to Eugene, Demon. I’ll deal with Ms. Templeton. If we can’t come to an agreement, I’ll pay her for her trouble and let you know.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Trina stares down at me, fists resting on her hips. “And what exactly do you expect me to agree to? Just how much are you willing to pay for me to put up with your rudeness?”

  “You get me riding my Harley and feeling like my brain doesn’t belong to someone else, and I’ll pay you a million. Is that enough for your time and trouble?”

  Her mouth gapes and her eyes widen. As pissed as I am, I struggle not to laugh, maintaining my stony expression.

  Demon’s face mirrors hers. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so bewildered.

  “A million, as in a million dollars?” she squeaks before collapsing into the chair next to me. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The words are out of my mouth before I think to edit them. “How about you don’t say anything except you’ll take the job and help me recover? Once you’ve committed, we’ll order our food and work out the details. As for my pain level, when my knee goes out, it’s without question a solid ten.”

  “A million dollars?” Trina repeats.

  “Boss?”

  I laugh at their still-stunned expressions. “Order your damn food, you two. And then, Trina, take your shower. I’m hungry.”

  There. How is that for taking charge?

  Trina

  A million dollars...?

  I am going to be a freaking millionaire!

  Maybe.

  First I need to get Rowdy riding his motorcycle safely and come up with a plan to combat the complications from his TBI. If he cooperates and follows the program I put together, I will be one rich woman.

  Hell yes!

  Tilting my head back, I take extra time rinsing out the shampoo, giving myself permission to rejoice over my good fortune. I wish I could call Cheryl and share the news, but I don’t dare. She’d ask too many questions, which in turn, might put her in danger if Dr. Martin ever connected us and went after her for information.

  “Screw him,” I say from under the streams of water.

  I am so not letting that perverted, murdering scumbag spoil my first real happy moment since the incident.

  This is my time to celebrate, and I’ve never been more grateful for my murky recollections, courtesy of whatever drug cocktail he spiked my wine with. I’m certain the lack of concrete memories is what keeps me halfway sane and able to flash an occasional smile.

  Besides those unlikely reasons, how can I not be energized with Crude Element pumping through my hot pink iHog speaker dock—last payday’s treat to me.

  Shag Steal’s deep, raspy voice sounds surprisingly clear coming from the fuchsia pig, and along with the water’s perfect temperature and my adrenaline-fueled anticipation of future riches, I am, dare I say...feeling aroused; a miracle in itself.

  The longing for even a self-stimulated orgasm has been buried for months, four to be exact. Mid October, until now—February 13—has been the longest I’ve gone in years without at least touching myself.

  I have never been promiscuous and have had only two partners, but damned if I didn’t enjoy experimenting with a variety of toys and indulged in some pretty risqué personal fantasies, prior to Dr. Martin.

  This morning I found myself fantasizing about Rowdy while I floated in that weird space right before sleep. Imagining his big hands slipping into my hair, fisting a handful, and then drawing my mouth towards his was as far as I made it before conking out.

  Now...maybe I’ll go ahead and finish the fantasy.

  Why not? I need to do something to calm my crazy-self down. My energy needs an outlet...a release, and I’m more than positive a good orgasm, after four months without, will do the trick.

  As if to confirm my decision, I notice what should have been obvious.

  The showerhead is detachable and has what appears to be a handful of settings that alter the water pressure.

  Jackpot!

  Without further delay, I snatch the device and adjust the pressure to strong before targeting the jet streams into one, powerful rush of water. Unsure how long I’ve been in the shower at this point, I need to get moving.

  The last thing I need is Rowdy checking on me.

  Just the image of my new patient slash employer does the trick, sending a fresh batch of tingles winding down my wet skin where they cumulate between my thighs, blooming through my core, and making me hot and needy.

  I lift one leg and place it on the tub’s side and use the water flow to stimulate my swollen clit until the sensation is more than I can bear. I move the showerhead down and then back to my throbbing pleasure center.

  Repeating the sequence, it doesn’t take long for the inner pressure to build.

  Oh. My.

  With the image of Rowdy thrusting into me from behind, his hands gripping my hips and his teeth sinking into my shoulder, I am driven closer to the rapture I seek. A second later, I’m spinning out of control.

  My pelvis grinds against the jetting water while a keening moan erupts from somewhere deep inside me as I cry out in orgasmic bliss. The climax seems to go on and on, and I have to brace myself to remain standing while I ride out the final waves.

  The detachable showerhead is going to get a lot of use while I’m in residence. Now that I’ve rediscovered the art of self-stimulation, I intend to simulate this experience often. I have allowed Dr. Martin too much power over me and my sexuality. No more!

  Jamming the handheld back in its holder, I realize too late how wobbly and weak my legs are.

  I teeter and start to crumple. My arms flail as I fight to regain my balance. It’s too little too late, and I hit the tub’s bottom with a thud. My post orgasmic glow is replaced with searing pain in my left hip.

  To make matters worse, the door bursts open, and Rowdy is staring down at me, eyes filled with concern and something else I don’t dare speculate on.

  Gasping, I cross my legs and cover my breasts. “Get out! Oh my God! Why are you in here?”

  He doesn’t leave, but at least he has enough decency to turn away and face the door.

  “You’ve been gone for a long time. Your dinner is getting cold.”

  I don’t answer right away. I can’t.

  Finally, the pain in my hip recedes to a dull ache, but a rush of embarrassment quickly takes its place. My face is engulfed in imaginary flames as I consider the worst possible scenario.

  How long was he standing outside the door? Did he overhear my get-reacquainted-with-a-orgasm-episode?

  I can’t remember if I called out his name in the throes of passion. Damn it! I might have.

  “Do you mind leaving so I can get dressed?” I somehow manage to mutter, unable to hide my shame.

  “You sure you can get up on your own?” A thread of humor winds through his question.

  How dare he? This is so fucking un-funny. I feel my eyes moisten as tears threaten to make an unwelcome appearance.

  “Out!” I order, my voice shaking. “No matter how long I take, do not come back in here. Do you understand?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll put your food on a plate. You can heat it up whenever you’re done in here.”

  The way he says “done in here” leads me to believe he is well aware of my little tryst with the showerhead.

  I silently scold myself. Why oh why, with everything I’ve gone through, didn’t I lock the door?

  I always lock the door when bathing at home. But n-o-o-o, here I am, in some strange man’s house, and I practically throw out a welcome mat.

  “Come on in and watch me try out the turbo jets?” I snip to myself.

  “I thought you wanted me to leave?”

  Pushing up, prepared to stand, I groan. Why is he still hovering outside the now-open, bathroom door?

  Cocky jerk.

  “What don’t you understand about get out? And yes, you’re right. I wanted you to leave, yet here you are, a few
feet away. Is there a reason?”

  He has the nerve to laugh. “Just wanted to make sure you got to your feet in one piece.”

  I grab the nearby bar of soap and hurl it.

  “Whoa! You almost hit me. I swear I only wanted to help. Wouldn’t want you to sue me for a dangerous bathroom experience.” His deep chuckle reverberates through me, somehow sending a signal to my lady parts. Parts I believed had been well satisfied just minutes ago.

  Most confusing are the overwhelming feelings he’s triggered, feelings that scare the hell out of me.

  So rather than respond to his last comment, I sit again, on the side of the tub, and hang my head, waiting for him to leave, though there’s a part of me that wants him to stay and make my fantasy our reality.

  At last the bedroom door closes with a click, confirming he is gone for real this time.

  My stomach chooses the same second to release an obscene growl, putting an effective halt to any further analysis or inner debate.

  For now, I’m stuck here. Rowdy’s home is mine for the unforeseeable future. I might as well enjoy my waiting Chow Mein. I’ll simply pretend nothing but bathing happened in the bathtub. There’s no way to know for sure he even heard me. Maybe I didn’t scream his name, maybe I did, maybe more than once.

  It doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things. I can’t erase my actions, and I have to stay in Seal’s Cove until Dr. Martin is behind bars.

  In the meantime, I am very motivated to earn a million dollars.

  Just as important is the truth Rowdy is trying so hard to hide. Behind all his projected confidence, there’s a hurting, perhaps desperate man who needs my medical know-how. And there is no question I am a sucker for a patient in need, particularly one I can actually help.

  Plus, I want to know Rowdy’s story...more like, I need to know, because whatever magic he wields, it’s working on me.

  I’m hooked.

  For the first time since my assault, I’m interested in the wellbeing of a man. That interest alone is monumental and reason enough to keep me here.

  The oceanfront view doesn’t hurt either.

  Rowdy

  “Ten more. You can do it!” Trina cheers, reminding me of my over-the-top gym teacher in middle school. “That’s it. Push through the pain. I promise. You’ll thank me later.” She paces around the equipment, watching my movements and encouraging me when I falter, which is more frequently, the longer I continue.