Rowdy: A Scorched Souls Spinoff

by C. L. Riley

  Seeing my friend, looking like a ragdoll and being brutalized, forced me to shutoff all emotions, going to a safe place in my head, the place where I spent considerable time as a child. And because his attempts to rattle me once again failed, he pulled out the big guns―his guests.

  Those big guns appear more than willing to inflict multiple methods of torture. I’m not certain I can enter my safe place if they get their hands on me.

  “Well hello, lovely lady,” the shorter of the two speaks first; his voice is oily and makes me feel dirty. Of the two, he is less physically intimidating, but my intuition argues that he’s the biggest threat in the room.

  “Say hello, Cheryl. It’s the polite thing to do, after all.”

  My eyes narrow at the doctor. His command pisses me off. The newcomers might scare me, but he doesn’t. I know he should, but I despise him. I wonder for what feels like the millionth time how Trina ever dated him.

  Shocking me, he walks over and slaps me. I gasp, reaching for my cheek.

  Okay, now the doctor scares me, or at the very least his unpredictability does.

  “I will repeat one time, greet our guests.”

  Overcome with humiliation, I nod. “Hello, a...nice to meet you.”

  The short, menacing one approaches. He runs his knuckles over my swelling cheek, and his gaze seeks mine. The same oily sensation returns, and I duck away from his touch.

  He raises his hand to strike.

  “Enough!” The bigger man moves faster than I would have believed possible, grabbing his partner’s wrist and stopping the abuse. “You are here to look only. We agreed. Leave her be. For now.”

  Without thinking, I scoot my chair back, away from them both.

  The oily man, my new name for him, turns to his much taller colleague. “Don’t ever touch me again, Demon.”

  So the big man is Demon. The knowledge brings little comfort. But his next words do.

  “Are you threatening me? I’m sure you didn’t intend to, but I’m afraid you did. We’re done here.” Demon glances at me, giving me a look I can’t decipher. I want to believe he feels sorry for me.

  “Of course not. You’re right. I’m overzealous. Forgive me.” Mr. Oily steps back without further acknowledging my presence.

  Dr. Martin leaps in front of them. “But I thought we were going to―”

  Demon doesn’t let him finish. “I said, we’re done. We will return. Later.” His accent is Russian, but with his olive skin and dark hair it is likely one of his parents is of Mediterranean descent. I’m guessing Spanish or Italian, though I can’t say for certain and am not sure why I care. Despite a thicker midsection than I prefer, he is shockingly good looking.

  I must be experiencing some type of Stockholm syndrome, latching on to the most handsome man in the room.

  He shoots one final glance my direction and shoves past my original captor, Mr. Oily on his heels.

  When the doctor follows them out, I let out a slow breath.

  Dex approaches, something he’s never done. “All is not as it seems.”

  “What do...?”

  He turns away before I can finish, and leaves me to ponder his comment and Demon’s strange expression.

  There is no question, Dr. Martin and Mr. Oily are eager to destroy me. The other two, I’m no longer sure what their intentions are.

  Rowdy

  “Tell me again what happened,” I demand, struggling to keep my anger in check. Boone rests a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off.

  “Trina won’t pick up her cell,” Olympia asserts, sending a spike of fear through me.

  The prospect, looking worried for his safety, repeats what he’s told us two times already, “She pulled up in a sweet Mercedes; we acknowledged each other, you know, with a look. She entered the house. In less than five minutes, she was out; got in the car and took off. She didn’t bother looking my way when she drove off.”

  Olympia is on the phone, firing off questions to whoever she just called. I’m guessing it’s her friend’s hair salon, where Trina’s Jeep remains parked out front.

  “Okay, I’ll tell him.” Olympia turns to me. “Jayde feels horrible. She says Trina was drying her toes and jumped up, refusing to finish. She basically begged Jayde for her car keys because she wanted to come here without anyone following her. Apparently she expected to catch you doing something. Jayde tried to talk her out of it, but Trina was insistent.”

  “What set her off?” Boone asks, thoughtful. “I don’t know a lot about nails and shit, but I’m pretty sure women don’t make a habit of leaving with their nails wet unless there’s an emergency.”

  Olympia looks up, grasping for an answer in the clouds. “What emergency would make her decide to sneak away? She had to have heard something or seen someone. And why didn’t she talk to us when she got here?”

  “Oh, fuck.” I run my hand through my hair at the same time Boone does. “I don’t know why she left the salon so fast, but I think I know what she saw.” I pause, shaking my head.

  “What? Come on, don’t leave us hanging,” Olympia snips, her own anxiety making an appearance.

  “She walked in and witnessed you working on my face. We were standing close. Don’t know what I said, but I think it was something about needing to tell her what happened.”

  Boone arches his brow. “Should I be worried?”

  Olympia grabs his arm and tugs him closer. “Shut up. You’re not helping.” She kisses the side of his mouth, earning a growl. “I was mending your brother, before Doc arrived.”

  “Only Trina saw our actions differently. We’ve been arguing all week. We hardly talk. She was already mad at me when she left for town. But I still can’t figure out what made her suspicious in the first place.”

  I didn’t need to ask, Olympia was back on her cell.

  “Let me.” I reach for the phone.

  “Be nice. It’s not her fault,” Olympia warns.

  “Oh, but it kind of is.” I take the cell before she can change her mind.

  “Jayde. Rowdy here. I need you to think back. Was there anyone or anything that might have upset my wife? Did someone come in and leave right away? Was she talking to anyone?”

  I pace while she questions her staff. She doesn’t leave me waiting long.

  “Uh huh. Yep. Makes sense. Fucking bitch. No! Not you, darlin.’ Let me know if Twila shows up again or Trina calls about the cars. Try to keep Twila there if she comes by. Someone will pick her up. We need answers she might have.”

  “Twila?” Boone growls. “You should have let me end the bitch.”

  “Yeah, I should have.”

  I can’t believe I’m ready to green-light one of my former lovers and a dedicated soldier. As much as I disapprove of Twila’s alliance with Crusher, she has been useful to the Guardians for years, since she was a teenager. But if she fucked with my ol’ lady, history no longer protects her.

  Olympia, the calmest of us all, finally says what we’re all thinking, “So, we know why and how she left, but where the hell did she disappear to?”

  Closing my eyes, I clench my teeth. I have a bad feeling. “I’m heading to Seattle. I’ll reach out to Demon and use his family if I need backup. Boone, please keep shit together here. I need to get my ol’ lady back.”

  Horror unfolds in my gut, clutching my intestines like a claw and tearing at my stomach lining. I’ve never felt such all-encompassing fear for someone’s safety. Trina complained about feeling useless. Now, furious with me, she’s gone to face her attacker.

  The idea she took off, believing I’m cheating with her best friend, is almost as horrifying as the thought of her in a room alone with the doctor.

  Almost.

  I press redial on my cell, leaving my third message in thirty minutes. “Trina, I love you so fucking much. Call me. Olympia was just patching up my face. There was a war in our kitchen, and Twila fucked with your head. You are the only woman for me.”

  “Reserve a private jet,” I shout the
number at the nearest prospect.

  It helps to have the business connections I acquired pre-MC days. I’m calling in a significant favor for this emergency flight.

  I need to choose my weapons very carefully and formulate the best plan I can while pretending like my newly stitched up arm and the gash on my face don’t hurt like hell. But I don’t dare pop another pain pill. Keeping a clear head could prove to be the difference between survival and Trina suffering at the hands of a serial killer.

  It feels like fate is conspiring against me. Adding to the feeling is the fact I’ve been unable to reach Demon.

  Without my VP’s help, once in Seattle I’ll go directly to Brain Matters and straight to their security team. Boone will take care of logistics when I’m in the air and put the Seattle Soul Scorchers on notice, just in case.

  From there, I have no fucking clue.

  Trina

  Walking into my loft for the first time in over three months is strangely uncomfortable. It no longer feels like home.

  It appears exactly how I left it; at least that’s what I think at first.

  I expect Scrooge to meow, voicing his disapproval over me spending another long day at work.

  God, I want my cat. I want my husband more, though.

  A searing stab of guilt plunges through me, cutting through my fatigue, and making me confused all over again.

  The ten-hour drive was spent with me analysing every detail from what happened at the beach house. I don’t want to believe what I witnessed.

  Looking back, I realize I should have confronted them right then, demanding answers. They would have been shocked to see me, giving me an advantage.

  Besides, whatever is going on, Rowdy had clearly mentioned telling me about it. They both alluded to sharing their secret. Now I’m left wondering if what I saw is what I think I saw.

  With more questions harassing me, I wander through the place I once considered my sanctuary. I’m in the kitchen when I realize I never left my place this spotless, organized always, but never this clean. And the day I fled, it was a mess. Someone has been inside and polished the place up to perfection.

  My bet is on good ol’ Greg, Cliff, Dr. Asshole, whatever name he’s using.

  One thing is consistent about him, he’s never been one for dust or clutter. I learned of his clean obsession my first week working at Brain Matters.

  Just knowing he has been here is enough motivation to make the visit quick. I was mostly curious and stalling before our meeting.

  I called hours before the deadline and was treated to a video call, featuring my former employer holding a knife to Cheryl’s throat.

  Like every villain before him, he threatened to kill her if I attempt to bring anyone along. Unlike other bad guys, he didn’t simply reference law enforcement but made it clear should he detect any person anywhere near me, he’d kill Cheryl without hesitation.

  Glancing down at my cell, I study the address he texted.

  The location is outside the city, on Mercer Island, where some of Seattle’s most affluent reside. I’ve only been to his downtown condo and had no idea this property existed. He’d made sure to inform me how he purchased the place for us to enjoy together.

  As brilliant as the man is, he’s delusional. I suspect his own head injuries may have affected his thinking. Perhaps after I kill him, I can examine his brain.

  Why am I thinking like this?

  Since Twila confronted me earlier, my thoughts have become increasingly random, worrisome, and morbid even.

  One thought is consistent. I don’t want to die. Not yet. I need to tell Rowdy I love him first.

  He’s called several times. I know he’s left messages too. The last one was about an hour ago. I’m afraid if I listen, I’ll give in and reveal my intentions. I can’t risk Cheryl’s life by including Rowdy.

  Dr. Martin promised to release her, citing the only reason he took her was to use her as bait in order to bring me home.

  Other than the blade at her throat, she appeared healthy enough. She looked like she had been eating and sleeping, and he went so far to assure me he hadn’t violated her sexually. He was, after all, saving himself for me. He vowed I could stay awake this time.

  Lucky fucking me.

  Before I can change my mind, I power off the phone. The temptation to call Rowdy is almost unbearable, and I’m sure I’ll answer if he calls again.

  I’ll sacrifice myself if I have to, but I’m not letting Cheryl die because I tried to save my own ass. Greg may be nuts, but he’s a serial killer that hasn’t been caught. He’ll be watching to see if I follow his rules.

  I should have told Rowdy and the guys about him sooner. I’d been too afraid for myself, and because of the delay, others have been raped and murdered. If becoming a madman’s sex slave will save lives, I’ll comply. It’s the least I can do after failing so miserably.

  Along the way, I’ll earn his trust and ensure he dies too. He’ll never hurt another woman after me.

  Dr. Martin

  I hover outside the door, watching my captive sleep. She’s not faking, I can tell by her steady breathing and the occasional snore.

  My anticipation has reached a nearly uncontainable level, and my inner vampire is salivating at the sight of Cheryl’s long legs. I’ve drugged her, ensuring she doesn’t get any ideas about interrupting my reunion with Number 23.

  I approach the bed and stare down. With great care I brush a wayward strand of hair from her face.

  She truly is a fine specimen.

  Keeping my promise to Trina may prove too difficult. I wonder if she’ll keep hers.

  My watch beeps, alerting me it’s almost 1:00am. My soulmate will be arriving shortly. I have Dex watching the monitors, streaming video from around the property. No one can get through the gates or over the massive stone wall without my permission.

  The wall is more than four-feet thick and eight-feet high, it is also remarkably decorative while featuring spiked, iron arrows across the top, making it a visual masterpiece and the first line of defence for my impenetrable fortress.

  Both entrance gates open only at my command or via Dex, and each is manned by a security team of three. Every team member was carefully scrutinized and vetted before being selected.

  They are well-armed and trained to subdue any would-be enemies in a variety of innovative and painful ways. Should someone manage to get past them, I have six, extremely obedient Dobermans, patrolling around the clock. They are controlled by a whistle and will kill if instructed to.

  I even own a personal helicopter with two helipads at my disposal, allowing me to escape if all else fails, or allowing another chopper to land if I need an extraction. I’ve prepared for every conceivable attempt at infiltration.

  If that’s not enough to brag about, the mansion includes a fully-functioning, belowground, nuclear shelter, stockpiled with supplies and created for comfort. I could live safely for years inside the shelter if necessary. But as much as I appreciate my security measures, I am most proud of my playroom.

  My cock jerks, imagining which apparatus I will introduce Trina to first.

  I turn back to Cheryl. I’m already undoing my pants when my phone chirps.

  “Fuck!” Dex wouldn’t call unless it was urgent.

  Marching from the room, my belt swinging, I tap the screen. “Is she here?” Trina always was prompt. I wouldn’t put it past her to show up early.

  “No, it’s your other guests. They did say they’d return, correct?”

  “They’re supposed to call first. I don’t want Brandon anywhere near here when Trina arrives. That asshole will ruin everything. Notify the gates not to allow either man entry. But inform them I will be in touch.”

  I hang up and return to Cheryl.

  My watch beeps again. I have ten minutes to slam my dick into the woman I’ve avoided touching for three weeks. I have to use her now. Once Trina arrives, I’ll be faithful.

  I’ll play with her alone.

 
Demon

  “Черт,” I growl in Russian. Hell isn’t a strong enough word to describe my displeasure over Dr. Martin’s dismissal, especially now that I know for certain he is Trina’s abuser and the fucker my prez wants in the ground.

  My cousin snaps, “убей его.”

  Pulling away from the massive gate, I narrow my eyes, tempted to backhand him. The smaller man stares out his window. He is vibrating with what I’m sure is a combination of lust and rage―the sick fucker.

  I grind out the answer to his “kill him” command, “You want me to kill your college buddy, sure thing. Once we find a way in that doesn’t get us killed, I’ll get right on it.”

  What I don’t say is how I plan to end him too.

  I’ve confirmed what my family suspected, and now I’ve been given the go ahead to deal with the situation.

  My second cousin has always disgusted me, and now I know why. He’s a sadistic, woman-hating, psychopath. Both he and Dr. Martin need to be eliminated for the wellbeing of women everywhere.

  It’s too bad, considering each man is a genius in his own right. Through their unethical and illegal methods they’ve made medical advances that could help others. But the reason for their research doesn’t include any altruism. Their individual experiments were merely a cover for their perverted and twisted desires.

  I’m surprised they didn’t join forces sooner, but each remained independent of the other except when my cousin was recruited to help Dr. Martin. Although their research and subsequent murders were committed separately, they had indeed “played” together in the past, according to our findings.

  I shake my head, revolted by the image triggered at the thought of them playing.

  Our family might be mobsters, but we don’t make a habit of molesting and killing women or children, nor do we condone other family members that kill to satisfy their personal cravings. For these reasons, my cousin won’t ever play again.