EDGE OF ASHES
Sons of Ash Motorcycle Club
by Brynn O'Connor
Copyright © 2014 Brynn O'Connor
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.
Dedication
Thank you all for reading, I'd like to dedicate this book to my boys Diego and Ethan, and to my good friends Dan and Diane. Without them this book would never have been written.
Other Books by Brynn O'Connor:
Edge of Chaos (Sons of Chaos MC #1)
Broken Strings (A Rock Star Romance Novel)
Fuel To The Fire (A Racing Romance Novel)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
Kari Meets Her Match
The moment I walk into Trauma Room 4 I smell biker. By that I mean I smell old leather and cheap cologne mixed with gasoline and exhaust; a wonderful heady combination sure to get any girl to drop her panties in a flash; or not! There are far too many bikers in this town (Cave Junction) and normally I don’t mind, until one of them intrudes on me at work.
I’ve been a trauma nurse here at St. Josephs for… for as long as I can remember and we didn’t used to see many bikers here but things seem to be changing. Cave Junction is a small town of about thirty thousand normal people and for some reason it has attracted more than its share of motorcycle clubs. Most keep to themselves and you never hear about them, but it’s the outlaw biker crowd that I find increasingly difficult to stomach.
Take yesterday for example. I was sitting at The Beanery, my favorite coffee shop and enjoying a rare day off when my coffee cup begins to rattle on its saucer. Of course my first thought is another earthquake. Imagine my humiliation when after I crawl out from under the table I just hid beneath to find it’s just another bunch of pig riding bikers rumbling through town! Yeah I say pig, but I’d never say that to any of their faces. They call those earsplittingly loud bikes they ride (the Harley Davidsons) Hogs. What difference does it make if I called them Pigs to one of their faces instead? Yeah, that’s another story for another day.
So anyway, I walk into Trauma 4 only to find the one they call Adam laid out on the table in the middle of the room. I grab his chart that’s sitting on the counter and walk over to where he appears to be sleeping. You have to be careful approaching these outlaw biker types; they’re a bit high strung…skittish really. You do the wrong thing and you could find a knife at your throat faster than you can blink.
So I position myself ten feet away when I let the metal clipboard in my hands fall to the shiny linoleum floor with a loud CRASH! His reaction is both predictable and comical. In the blink of an eye he sits up, spins around to face me as his hands reach for the long wicked looking knife that had been strapped to his side.
“Looking for something?” I ask, knowing full well what he is looking for.
His hands stop mid motion. “Yeah… I seem to have lost my-”
“Pacifier?” I ask, interrupting him.
He gives me an evil look. “Where is it?”
“With the security guards of course. You think they were going to let you in here with that thing strapped to your hip?”
“Hey it was just a… a pacifier,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes.
Holy crap, it’s an outlaw biker with a sense of humor! Suddenly I notice him. I have grown so used to seeing these grimy leather clad biker types all over town that my brain immediately discounts them completely, no matter what they look like. But this guy is different. He’s like, my perfect man. He must be several inches over six feet tall, and from what I can tell as his biker jacket gapes open, there’s not an ounce of fat on him. For some reason he’s taken off his tee shirt but left his leather jacket (they call it his cut) on; and I’m glad he did. His chest is amazing. His abs are decadent, and from the expression on his handsome face; my drooling reaction is no stranger to him. The name on his chart had said Adam and it fits perfectly. While he’s not the first man God created I’m pretty sure he’s been cut from the same cloth. His perfectly symmetrical tanned face is framed by shoulder length black hair and just messy enough to look sexy. Where I is his helmet? With the mandatory helmet law in our state, most biker guys run around sporting helmet hair and it ruins it for me. Just when you think some guy is totally hot looking, he takes off his brain bucket and he’s got this sweaty mop plastered to his head in a decidedly unsexy fashion; it’s a total turnoff.
But the creature in front of me now, he’s a different animal altogether. I hazard a glance into his smoky grey eyes and I can feel myself getting sucked in and all of a sudden I’m walking down the isle dressed in a long flowing white wedding dress as the AC/DC classic Shook Me All Night Long plays in the background, (Yeah I’m a big fan). And then I’m standing at the alter next to Adam, but he’s still dressed in his smelly old leathers and he’s slipping a ring on my finger. I look down for the briefest of an instant and I’m not surprised at all; it’s a cigar band.
Then the preacher says, “You may kiss the bride.”
“What are you doing? Are you puckering?”
Suddenly I’m back in Trauma 4 and biker guy is staring at me, giving me the strangest look.
“What?” I ask.
“You… you were puckering just then.” He says smugly.
“Was not.”
“Oh but you were. Your eyes were closed and you leaned in and you puckered those fantastic lips of yours.”
“They’re fantastic? I mean, no I did not pucker. It’s just that sometimes my lips…” I trail off. I got nuthin’.
He just won’t let it go. “Sometimes your lips what...pucker?”
“Yeah it’s like spontaneous…spontaneous combustion only they pucker.” I finish lamely. Then I stop myself. This is my domain. In here I’m the boss and no one makes me feel dumb. I am the god…goddess of all I survey; in here at least. “So why are you hear?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation back to something more professional. Anything to get away from the subject of my puckering lips.
“It’s about time you asked.” He replies, this time with a serious look on his face. “I came in here ‘cause I got shot.”
“What?” Immediately I’m all professional again.
I step up to the table and start removing his jacket with the speed of practiced hands. He seems a bit bewildered at first, like he never expected me to start acting like a nurse. Guess that’s what I get for trying to kiss him.
He puts a strong hand on my arm. “Relax doc, It was just a .22.”
“It’s still a gunshot,” I protest. “It can still kill you. You may be bleeding internally and you don’t even know it.”
“I doubt it,” he says.
“Well I don’t, now let’s get your things off.”
“If I was bleeding internally,” he replies. “I would have died hours ago.”
“You’ve been here for hours?” I ask stunned. Gunshot victims take priority here. He should have been ushered right back. Espec
ially as slow as tonight has been.
“It’s okay doc, I just told them I had a headache.”
“Now why would you want to tell them that? I ask. I guess this guy’s as dumb as the rest of them; too bad really.
“If I woulda told them I got shot they would have asked all these questions and they’d have to report it-”
“Just like I have to,” I reply interrupting him.
“You gotta be kidding doc.”
“No I’m not kidding, and I’m not your doc. I’m a trauma nurse and my name is Kari Michaels.”
“Okay then nurse Kari, you gotta be kidding then.”
“So where were you shot?” I ask, tugging on his jacket again. Please be his ass, please be his ass…
“Holy crap your doin’ it again.” He says as he slides off the trauma table with ease.
“Doing what?” I ask innocently.
“Pucker… never mind.”
He stops talking and proceeds to unbuckle his belt. My heart quickens as he unsnaps his jeans. Could this day get any better? I clench my teeth together. You know, to make sure I don’t start licking my lips when he slips his pants down over his narrow hips. I catch my breath as I see the swelling of his crotch. He stops mid-motion.
“I feel like I’m making a porno here,” he complains.
“Why’s that?” I ask. I have no idea what he’s talking about now.
“Seriously doc? Man you gotta get that look off your face or turn around or something.”
My hands fly to my face. Was I licking my lips just then? I take a deep breath and remind myself he’s an outlaw biker. There is nothing redeemable about this man and he probably belongs in jail or something. It works. I can feel my heart slowing down and my breathing returns to normal. He’s a biker and I’m a nurse and between the sheet never the twain shall meet. Oh it’s hopeless…he’s hot, and he’s taking off his pants, what can I say? I force myself to be all professional like and I stick my nose back in his chart. According to this, Adam... Whiner? Did I just read that right? Adam Whiner…
“So Mr. Whiner-”
He interrupts me with alacrity. “It’s pronounced winner.”
“Really…’cause it’s spelled-”
“I am,” he interrupts again, “well aware of the spelling of my last name miss.”
“So it’s spelled like your some sort of a whiner, but it’s pronounced like you’re some kind of winner or something and I wonder, which characteristic did you most exemplify in school, a whiner or a winner?”
“You figure it out!” He says.
I finally look back up from the chart I had my nose buried in. “Mr. Whin-” My mouth seizes up and all speech fails me.
Standing not five feet in front of me is the most perfect ass I have ever had the pleasure of drooling over. It’s perfect. Well…except for the smear of blood on his right cheek and upper leg. There’s a tiny entrance wound just below his…his ass. About three inches away is the exit wound. Looks like the bullet struck him just below his right cheek and exited after passing through about three inches of flesh. By the looks the bullet could not have gone much more than a quarter inch beneath the flesh. The only thing I can do here is to just flush out the wound to make sure it won’t get infected and give him some antibiotics. It couldn’t be more simple than that. I just need to get a bottle of sterile saline, a syringe, and some gauze and I really shouldn’t be feeling him up!
“Doc, what are you doing? I didn’t get shot in the ass.”
I freeze. My left hand is resting on his smooth as a baby’s bottom…bottom, and my other one has begun to explore his other cheek.
“I-I’m checking for c-collateral damage,” I stammer.
“You sure you’re a nurse?” He asks, looking over his shoulder.
“Yes…a very thorough one, now please just hold still so I can finish my exam.”
“Should I just turn around then?” He asks with a snicker.
“Yes please,” I whisper under my breath.
“What’s that Doc?”
“Nothing. I need you to get back up on that table and lay face down so I can clean the wound.”
For an answer he just turns around and there it is without warning, right in front of my nose; his pecker. I catch my breath and sit back on my heels, nearly spilling myself on the floor. He did that on purpose. He knew I was examining his wound and he just turns around. What an ego he has? As he hoists himself back up on the trauma table I can’t get the image of his cock out of my brain. It’s perfect. So smooth, so long, so indescribably luscious…and it wasn’t even hard. I close my eyes and stand up. Thankfully he has done as asked and is lying on his stomach. As long as I don’t have to look at his dick I might even have a chance at being professional here.
“You know doc-”
“It’s nurse. I’m a nurse and my name is Kari.”
“Yes you said that. So Kari what time do you get off?” He asks.
Hah, I very nearly already got off! I stop mid-thought. I do hope I didn’t just say that out loud.
“Look Mr. Whiner (emphasis on the long I sound), I don’t date.” I reply.
“You don’t date? What do you mean you don’t date? Everybody dates... unless they’re married and then half of them date anyways.”
“I mean, I don’t date patients or bikers and you’re both. That’s a double no no.”
“I see. We’ll pretty soon I won’t be your patient and…well I’ll still be a biker but what’s so wrong about that?”
I point to his jacket and the triple piece patch on the back. “I know a little about motorcycle clubs,” I begin. “I also know the meaning of a three piece patch. Only outlaw bikers sport a three piece patch. I also know what that diamond 1%’er patch means as well so no, I don’t date bikers; especially outlaw bikers who flaunt their status by wearing a diamond patch.”
“It’s not about flaunting anything. It carries a great responsibility, wearing that patch and new people have the intestinal fortitude to ‘flaunt’ one as you put it. If you’re going to wear a 1%’er patch you’d better be ready to back it up.
“Whatever...”
Well his little speech did one thing. It also reminded me why I don’t date bikers and that I am a professional here and I’m not going to fall for my patient. Fifteen minutes later he’s cleaned out, patched up, and I even got to stick him in the ass with a sharp stick; well it was a needle but it was fun making him jump.
“Jeez Doc, couldn’t you have warned me first?” He complains, rubbing the spot where I’d just given him an injection of antibiotics.
“Really, are you actually going to whine about that? You really do live up to your name Adam Whiner.”
“Adam.”
“Okay whatever…bye.”
I force myself to pretend to write in his chart as he gets up from the table and begins to get dressed. I will not look, I will not look… I keep my face glued to the papers in front of me until I can no longer hear his motorcycle boots tromping down the hallway. I give him enough time to retrieve his knife from the security guard at the triage station before I leave the room. I really hope that’s the last time I see him in here. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I look at my watch. It’s nearly three in the morning. That means I have four more hours till freedom and three whole days off; yippee!
CHAPTER TWO
I Meet a Colossal Ass
With Adam Whiner’s ass still fresh in my mind I take a seat at Denny’s and sip bad coffee while I wait for my best friend in the world, Jenny to get here. She’s a nurse as well but she works across town at Piedmont Medical Center. We both work the same shift so whenever we can which is a lot, we meet up for breakfast when we get off. It actually doesn’t happen as often as you’d expect though. When you’re a trauma nurse just because the clock says quitting time it doesn’t mean you can stop your chest compressions on the old man on the table in front of you and leave to meet your best friend for brunch. People and their emergencies have a way of
getting in the way of my social life so I am particularly pleased that we actually will have breakfast together.
For the past three weeks she has been going on and on about some guy she met who seems to be mister right and she has been insufferable. I try to be polite and a good listener and a supportive friend but one can only take so much, ‘he’s so this, he’s so that, and blah blah blah…. It’s like she’s the only one in the world to have gone gaga over a guy and yet I still have not met him. Today that’s all supposed to change. After we eat we’re going to drop by his work and say hello; kind of an impromptu meet and greet. She hasn’t always had the best luck in finding guys that are decent so I really hope this one’s not some colossal ass like the last one turned out to be.
I’ve also learned to mistrust Jenny’s assessment when it comes to men and relationships. She can be clingy and sometimes her relationships tend to be pretty one-sided. She has this bad habit of falling for guys that are just not all that into her or they’re just using her. It’s the one time that her fabulous good looks are a detriment, She is tall, model thin with a chest that’s usually only seen on girls forty pounds heavier. Of course she’s a real blond, has a bubbly personality and is very smart in just about everything but relationships. I’m just hoping this time the new guy in her life is as into her as she is in to him. But who am I kidding, no guy is that obsessive. It’s gonna end badly.
“Kari…so good to see you!”
Miss bubbly gives me a peck on the cheek and plops herself down in the seat across me and begins to gush. No hi, how’re you doing, how was work last night; nothing like that. When every sentence begins with my boyfriend and follows with did this, and my honey said that, my brain automatically tunes her out. I can’t help it. When she gets on a roll she gets on a roll, and she makes me suffer through a blow by blow account of the last three hours she spent with her mister right.
“And then Adam said le-”
Edge of Ashes (Sons of Ash Motorcycle Club) Page 1
