Rowdy: A Scorched Souls Spinoff

by C. L. Riley

  That gives us just enough time to play, pack, and for me to propose.

  Trina

  I was well aware the second Rowdy slipped out from under the covers, leaving me and our blissful cocoon behind.

  Unable to relax with him gone, I’m up and ready to investigate his current emotional status, which I’m certain is floundering with thoughts of future retribution against my former abusers.

  On some level, I was subconsciously aware of his battle to find sleep in spite of my own peaceful slumbering. I am still his nurse, after all. And according to him, I am also his girlfriend, ol’ lady, and queen. Titles I’m happy to claim. But...

  I want to be his wife.

  That rogue thought has me pausing at the bedroom door, shocked by its intrusion.

  Marriage is something I’ve never been especially keen on. Not that I am opposed to the idea in general. But either way, it doesn’t matter, because I can’t picture Rowdy as the marrying type. Just trusting him to be committed to our new relationship is already utilizing most of my faith.

  Considering his past relationships with model-gorgeous women like Twila and Olympia, I’m nowhere close to experiencing complete confidence in my ability to keep a man like Rowdy interested forever. So no, I’m not expecting a proposal anytime soon, definitely not with all the other crazy stuff we’re dealing with.

  Now that he knows my history, he’s out for blood. I’m supporting his quest whole heartedly, as long as he stays safe and out of trouble.

  What’s happening to me and my former pacifist philosophy? I can’t believe I’m condoning violence...murder even.

  But in Dr. Martin’s case, a jail cell would be too kind.

  My uncle, on the other hand, needs a serious reminder his behavior was repulsive and unacceptable, though I’m not on board with forfeiting his life. To my knowledge he hasn’t killed anyone, and I want to believe he’s put a stop to his perversions after the hit to his reputation and wallet because of what he did to me.

  Redemption isn’t on the menu for Dr. Martin. No way in hell. The man is beyond help.

  There is no cure or remedy for his type of sickness...a sickness that is soul deep, its dark tentacles choking the light from every organ, corrupting him completely. He needs to be put down like a rabid dog before he takes another bite from some unsuspecting woman.

  With that thought spurring me on, I backtrack and grab my old cell phone. I’m not leaving the room, even for Rowdy, until I turn it on and see what information I can glean from my messages.

  It takes forty-plus minutes to wade through the texts and voicemails.

  Most are from my co-workers and Cheryl, and there are several from the dear doctor himself. I’m absolutely amazed none of his messages are threatening. Strangely, they’re quite the opposite; him checking on my wellbeing, expressing his concern, etc. etc. Same with the others, everyone is worried and begging me to reply.

  For the first time, since leaving Seattle, I wonder if I did the right thing.

  Maybe I should have stayed and taken my chances with the police or tried harder to find more convicting evidence. But then I wouldn’t have met Rowdy, and there’s a possibility, a strong one, I’d already be six feet underground or in some research lab, under my employer’s scalpel.

  I can’t prove it, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if those ultra-secure research labs are being used for something illegal and gruesome, all in the name of medical advancement. I wouldn’t put anything past my former employer.

  Like other murdering scumbags, he’s no doubt found a way to justify his unjustifiable behavior―a way to convince himself his actions will somehow benefit mankind.

  “Sicko,” I mutter to no one, suddenly eager to join Rowdy.

  Being alone with thoughts about Dr. Martin flings open the door for fear and humiliation to barge back in like they have exclusive rights to set up shop in my head.

  Its true Rowdy and Olympia’s unconditional acceptance of my past experiences helped erase my self-loathing and shame, for the most part. But I’m smart enough to realize, years of mental and emotional anguish won’t just vanish in one night, no matter how profound the night was.

  As for fear, it’s not going anywhere anytime soon, at least not until my most recent perpetrator has stopped breathing. And that fear will no doubt place me in a stranglehold, if I allow it to.

  Loving someone the way I love Rowdy, along with how I’m starting to care for my new friends, makes me a target, vulnerable to fear’s debilitating devices. I have more than Cheryl and Scrooge to lose now, and those two were already two too many.

  I shiver, tossing the old cell phone toward the bed. It lands near my pillow.

  Fuck fear!

  I’m going to give Rowdy a gift I’ve withheld. This is a gift I’ve never given willingly or knowingly, but it is one gift I can’t wait for Rowdy to unwrap.

  I’m about to kneel before my king and show him exactly how much he means to me.

  Rowdy

  Trina gazes up at me, and I’m undone.

  She licks her lips and reaches for my swelling cock, which is exactly where I want her hands and mouth most. But for some reason, seeing her on her knees reminds me of all the women before her, club girls who would do anything to please me and earn my approval.

  Shocking myself, I shake my head and pull her back up, placing my hands on either side of her face. Her cheeks are flushed, and she has difficulty meeting my gaze.

  “Hey...” I bring my mouth inches from hers. “Don’t you dare feel embarrassed. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. And because of that, I want this...us to be different.”

  She finally raises her eyes. “I don’t understand. I want this too. It’s all I can think about, making you happy.”

  “You do make me happy, more than you fucking know. It’s because of that you deserve something better, something special.”

  Now it’s my turn to lower myself onto my knees, the water still raining down on us.

  Looking up, I soak in her expression. She looks baffled but intrigued.

  I take her hands. “Girlfriend, ol’ lady, even queen are not good enough titles for you.” I clear my throat, unexpectedly nervous. “What I’m trying to say and not doing a very good job is...will you, Trina Templeton, be my wife? I want the world to know you’re mine.”

  She gasps, her jaw dropping; at the same time, she pulls her hands from mine to cover her mouth before blurting, “Are you serious?”

  “That isn’t how you’re supposed to answer my question, but I’ll answer yours anyway. I’ve never been more serious.”

  “Yes!” she actually squeals. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  “Today?” I ask with a grin, waiting for her to protest my impulsiveness.

  “Today is good,” she agrees, shocking me yet again.

  The water, after staying warm for so long, decides to turn frigid, causing us both to laugh. Considering how much I want her back on her knees or bent over, ass in the air, it’s probably a good thing we’re being shoved from the shower.

  Once we’re out and wrapped in towels, I growl out words I never believed I’d say to any attractive, naked woman, especially the woman I love, “No sex until after you say, ‘I do.’”

  “But—”

  “No buts, sexy lady. Please, put on some damn cloths until I can make an honest woman out of you.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with my badass biker?”

  My answer has her jaw dropping all over again. “Oh, trust me, I’m still the same badass biker. I’ll make sure you get reacquainted with that Rowdy once you’re wearing my ring. In fact, I think another spanking is in order.”

  She shivers under my lingering gaze, clearly stunned by my reply.

  Giving her a taste of what’s to come, I close the distance between us and tug her towards me. Without another word, I plunder her mouth like a pirate stealing treasure.

  It takes only a second before she’s biting my bottom
lip and sparring with my tongue. But it is me who pulls back first, ending our duel. We’re both panting.

  “Go put on some clothes. Now.” If she doesn’t walk away, I’m afraid I won’t be able to deny my desire another second.

  She stares at me, drinking me in, her eyes dark and dangerous.

  Just when I think she might ignore my command, she drops her gaze and her towel and spins away, making sure to sway her hips as she walks out of the bathroom and across the gym.

  I keep my gaze glued to her bare-assed, runway performance, all the way to the exit.

  She stops there and looks over her shoulder, shooting me a look filled with promise. When she winks and blows me a kiss, it’s my turn to gape.

  She smirks and disappears through the door, leaving me wondering how fast we can get our ceremony over with. I can’t wait to see my wife back on her knees.

  Trina

  How did I avoid Las Vegas for so long? And why didn’t I take Cheryl up on one of her multiple invites to use her air miles to travel here?

  Glancing at Rowdy—crap, I’m getting married—it occurs to me why.

  I would have missed out on experiencing all this glitz and glamor for the first time with him, my future husband.

  Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions.

  I should be asking something more related to my future. Like why am I marrying a man I’ve only known for a few months? A man who has spent a majority of his life at the helm of an outlaw motorcycle club, a man I have nothing in common with.

  Okay. That’s not true. Not entirely.

  We have plenty in common when it comes to sex. And we both want to see the same horrible doctor burn in hell. We live well together, without any major conflicts when it comes to basic household stuff, and he no longer hates cats.

  Oh, and I do love him; so much my heart seems to swell in his presence. He’s the first man I’ve ever trusted with my secrets. I believe he would do anything to keep me safe.

  On the flipside: I’ve never once been on a motorized two-wheeler of any kind, not even a scooter. I’m still scared of bikers in general, minus Rowdy, Demon, and Boone; that’s only because I’ve gotten to know and trust them.

  The fire in Rowdy’s eyes when I shared my past abuse was a good indicator of his dangerous side, a side he’s worked hard to keep hidden from me. The way he pummelled Crusher in the surf was more evidence of the “other” Rowdy.

  As his wife, I will be forced to take a primary role in the biker hierarchy, where danger is served up for dinner. Succeeding in that role, as the president’s ol’ lady, is one of my biggest fears.

  Yet even with all our differences and my insecurities, there is an unavoidable, unshakable feeling we are two puzzle pieces that somehow fit together to form the perfect picture.

  Intruding on the mostly serious nature of my inner debate, a vision of peanut butter and jelly hijacks my thoughts, making me giggle and affirming my opposites attract theory.

  “What’s so funny?” Rowdy lifts his dark shades and raises a brow. “Most first-timers to Vegas don’t laugh at the view.”

  “Peanut butter and jelly...they complement each other, just like we do.”

  “And that’s funny, how exactly?” The hint of a smile softens what might otherwise sound like snarky comeback.

  Olympia, seated next to Boone, across from us in the limo, waves her champagne glass, sloshing the expensive liquid over the side. “Men. I swear. She’s about to marry you. She realizes this is happening fast and is wondering if you two have enough in common to make it last. The good news, just like Boone and I discovered, opposites often make the best couples.” She gives me a satisfied look, as if she just translated a foreign language.

  At first Rowdy doesn’t say a word. Instead he leans over and brushes his lips against mine. He lingers and whispers into my mouth. “I’ve never been surer about anything. If you need more time, I’ll wait.”

  Ignoring the fact we have two guests just a few feet away, I press my lips against his, fisting his cut to pull him closer. The kiss starts off soft, sweet even, before turning fierce. My body responds instantly, and I shift onto his lap.

  “There’s the MGM Grand. One of my hangouts, during those college breaks,” Olympia announces. Her words interfere with my ability to ignore her presence.

  I lean back, but not before nipping Rowdy’s bottom lip, which elicits a growl from him that sends another heat wave, coursing through my center.

  Unwilling to break our connection completely, I respond to Rowdy’s “if you need more time” offer with a question of my own, “How soon can we get married?”

  “We’re headed to the Marriage License Bureau now. Unless you want to stop by the hotel first?”

  “I think we should avoid the hotel until we’ve said our vows.” I shoot him a punishing look, making sure he knows just how much I dislike the whole waiting game.

  I must not look too threatening because a crooked smile and a hand squeeze are his only response.

  Olympia glances between us, missing nothing. One thing for certain, my new friend isn’t only a good listener; she is extremely observant, just like the men she is so close to.

  Rowdy, Boone, and Demon are always on high alert in public. Even when they appear relaxed, they’re aware of their surroundings and maintain a level of vigilance that reminds me of trained military personnel. I have no doubt, even with his remaining physical challenges, Rowdy is as lethal as his half-brother and closest friend.

  Instead of feeling scared. The idea of all that restrained power inside the man I’m marrying makes me shiver with longing.

  Somehow aware of my reaction to his closeness, he shifts, ensuring I feel how hard he is. When I try to squirm off his lap, he chuckles before whispering in my ear, “Thought you were angry, my impatient queen. Should have known you were thinking about how soon you can get back on your knees.”

  Taking a deep breath, I fight to steady my nerves. The images his words conjure are almost enough to make me beg. I’m suddenly desperate for the release Rowdy can provide with just a flick of his fingers or twirl of his tongue. Riding his cock like a cowgirl sounds like the perfect finale to his faultless foreplay.

  “So, Rowdy...” Boone clears his throat, obviously impacted by our sexual showdown, “we should drop by the Vegas Soul Scorchers’ compound. It would be good for public relations between our clubs. We can give them a good reason to party.”

  He’s got to be kidding. I turn narrowed eyes his direction.

  Boone meets my gaze. “Tomorrow night, of course. Tonight is all about the wedding and honeymoon.”

  Olympia slaps his arm. “Don’t torture Trina. This is her day. Club business can wait for once.”

  “Babe, I said tomorrow night.” Boone grabs Olympia’s hand, the one she just hit him with, and kisses her palm.

  “If I’m able to stand tomorrow night, we’ll consider it. You gotta remember I’m an injured old guy, and my younger, future bride is going to be keeping me very very busy.”

  Boone shakes his head, and Olympia takes the opportunity to jump in and point out more Vegas landmarks, successfully lowering the sexual tension in the limo a few degrees and forcing me to look at more than my now grinning groom.

  By the time we reach the licensing building, we’re laughing and enjoying Sin City in all its garish glory.

  Rowdy

  Our afternoon fun and joking has been replaced by a sense of quiet expectancy. Even Boone, who has been tormenting me about getting married before him, is a statue beside me as we wait for my bride-to-be to walk the isle. Olympia appeared moments earlier, a smug smile in place.

  I’m guessing she’s proud of her work.

  I told Olympia to spare no expense on Trina’s dress, hair, jewelry, and makeup, because all that girly stuff was on me. I’m sure Olympia made good use of my money.

  The two of them spent the early evening hours hidden away in our hotel suite. Olympia took control, big surprise, and insisted Boone and I ma
ke ourselves scarce, kicking us out to play the tables or sightsee while she readied Trina for our late night ceremony in one of Vegas’ many chapels.

  Glancing around, I’m again surprised by the chosen chapel’s decor. Rather than gaudy and loud, the place resembles a quaint country church.

  I would have been satisfied saying “I do” on the corner outside. Because anyplace Trina wants is good enough for me; all I want is for her to feel special, like the queen she is.

  Not only did I hand over a gold card, I gave Olympia permission to organize the ceremony as long as Trina approved of her ideas. I hope my former flame didn’t push Trina in a direction she’ll regret later. So far, everything she arranged appears spot on, simple and classy.

  The chapel-provided pianist and Marriage Officient interrupt my thoughts, entering the room from a side entrance. Once they’re in position, the first notes of the traditional wedding march cut through the anticipation-laced silence.

  My heart rate accelerates, and my eagerness to see Trina makes me feel like a nervous school boy at his first dance, sweaty palms and all.

  No woman has ever turned my insides upside down the way she does. My ol’ lady is strong, intelligent, feisty as fuck, and sexy as a siren. The emotional battle scars she wears only make her stronger. I hope as her husband I can help her see and accept herself the way I do.

  The double doors swing open, and I understand then just how busy Olympia has been behind the scenes. She clearly enlisted Boone in Trina’s grand entrance. I’m not sure whether to be pissed or proud of Olympia.

  Those thoughts vanish instantly. I’m too mesmerized by my bride to care who is crashing our ceremony.

  Seated side saddle on a customized Harley Dyna Super Glide is Trina. Two brothers from the Vegas Soul Scorchers’ chapter keep the big bike balanced by the handlebars. Another brings up the rear, holding up the train of her gown.

  I can’t help but notice the bike’s extras and custom work, but after that initial, fleeting look, I have eyes only for the woman I’m about to marry.