“My brother in law is a Sargent in Homicide at Oakland PD. I can call in a few favors and he’ll have someone swing by your place and pick up whatever you need. Or…we can shop. I hear woman love to shop, especially if it’s on someone else’s plastic.”
This is almost too good to be true. “I really don’t want you to start buying me a bunch of stuff. I can sneak over some night. I’m pretty good at not being seen.”
“I thought you just said you couldn’t.” He says.
“I was being melodramatic,” I lie.
I just don’t want him getting too invested in this whole thing. I’m not so sure I’ll even make it more than a couple weeks. This is all happening so fast! Suddenly my phone is ringing. I look down and it’s Adam. I let it go to voicemail, but at some point I’m going to have to break this to Adam and it’s not going to be easy; for either of us. I wait for a minute then check for messages; he left one.
“Hi Kari, just went by the motel and the manager said you checked out early this morning. What’s going on? I let that guy live. I won’t go after those guys if that’s what you want. I’ll wait for you to pick who we go after. So call me. I’m checking in at the Palms on Barnett road; room 432. See you later. I love you Kari. Bye.”
Well…another flea bag motel or a multi- million dollar house? I look up at Mike as I pocket my phone.
“Can we just go to your house now?”
He looks at me surprised. “Of course, yes. Anything you want Kari, anything.”
I slip into his Tesla and we take off for San Francisco. Turns out he has a three story house on Pine St where he is waited on by a staff of 6. Wow, he definitely lives in a different world than me. I know doctors with his specialty can make a lot more than your GP’s but this…this is ridiculous. He sees my look and guesses what’s on my mind.
“Family money.” He says. “My grandfather bought this house and it’s been in the family ever since. He paid it off long before he died and my parents had it remodeled several times and paid cash. My father died of cancer a dozen years ago and my mother lived in the bottom floor until she died of cancer as well about five years ago.”
“Were there doctors in your family?” I ask, intrigued.
My grandfather was a highly respected cardiologist and author of numerous medical journals, papers, and novels. My father was chief of surgery at San Francisco General. He also inherited my his father’s talent for writing and published a long list of medical case study books as well as spending time on the lecture circuit. So…family money. Although I haven’t done badly myself, but I’m no writer. My sister inherited that talent. She’s head of anesthesiology at Stanford University Medical Center. She also writes medical mystery novels under the penname of Sandra Crane.”
“OMG! I have read, like a ton of her books. She’s amazing!”
“That’s my sis.”
“Wow…I don’t know what to say. There is definitely more to you than meets the eye.”
“Isn’t that true of just about everybody?” He says.
As we tour the house the conversation becomes all things house. I could get lost here. I feel like I need a GPS device to find my way from what will be my room to the main dining room. It’s a good thing I have a private bath because at night I’d never find the closest one that’s not attached to my room.
After the tour I beg off to go and take a nap. I didn’t sleep well last night. In fact it’s been months since I actually got an uninterrupted night’s sleep. I could do with a three hour nap. I kick off my shoes and collapse on top the bedspread. The bed is this huge king-sized bed with a silken canopy; it’s gorgeous! I’m on it for all of five seconds before I realize I’m missing out on 8000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets or something like that. I get off the bed and peel back the covers and blankets to reveal the softest, most luxurious sheets I have ever felt. No way am I gonna lie here in my pants. No way. I have to feel this on my legs. Five minutes later and I’m slipping off my tee shirt. I really need to feel these sheets. This bed makes what I’ve been sleeping on feel like a bed of nails; sharp and rusty ones. I wallow around like a pig in shit, really good shit, until I finally drift off.
I can’t have been asleep for long when I feel the covers being draws back on my bed. There’s only one person who could possibly be climbing between the sheets with me right now and it’s not Adam. When Doctor Mike firsts slips into bed with me I feign sleep. I’m not sure I want to move forward this quickly with the doctor; I’m still completely confused about Adam right now and jumping into anyone else’s bed, especially Michael’s is going to really stir things up for me. I maintain my pretend sleep even as I feel his throbbing cock pressing up against my ass. I struggle to keep my breath even. Then I feel an arm snake around my waist, hand resting on my flat stomach. He pauses his explorations there then slides up and cups my right breast. It’s not until he begins to pinch and caress my most sensitive areas.
“Is there something you hope to accomplish here?” I ask.
“Well I certainly wasn’t trying to put you to sleep.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better, I was asleep when you started.”
“Oh, so that just makes me a rapist.”
“Hardly.”
“Well…then a schmuck who takes advantage of sleeping women.”
“Bingo!” I reply with a smile.
Obviously feeling a bit more confident, Mike restarts his intimate exploration of my breasts. Still not sure how I feel about all of this but I’m not inclined to make him stop either. Pretty soon his lips are nuzzling the base of my neck sending chills up and down my spine. He smells different than Adam. Of course he does, everyone smells different. Adam smells like leather, metal, and his own personal…musk, I guess. But there’s something else; confidence. I don’t know if confidence is something you can smell or not but there is just some indescribable quality that I swear to god I can smell. Doctor Mike has bucket loads of confidence as well but it’s different. Adam’s confidence is this feral, dangerous quality while Mike’s is…sophisticated, muted and tamed, but ultimately dead on sexy. I tell myself they’re both equally appealing but I’m not sure if I’m being totally honest here. I just wish I could shut off my brain and enjoy the moment but it’s not happening.
The next forty minutes are a slow motion train wreck. You just never know what it’s going to be like the first time with someone. You hope it’ll be good and sometimes you build it up so much in your mind that reality can’t hope to compare. That’s kinda what happened here. I wish I could say our worst problems are like that first kiss where noses and sometimes teeth collide until you work out your special issues. Sadly our nose collisions are a portent to greater things to come.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Mike breathes onto the back of my neck.
“You’re right about the shit thing,” I hiss back. “I mean come on, who mixes up their holes in this day and age.” I bark.
“Sorry…didn’t see your one way sign back there.”
“That’s because there isn’t one on account of the freaking armed guards and the road block!” I exaggerate.
“Heat of the moment and all…Really, it won’t happen again, I promise.”
“You bet your ass it won’t!” I reply.
“Here, just turn over. There’s no way-”
“There’s no way says the blind, deaf, mute. Are you kidding me?” I reply.
“Hey it was an accident,” He says.
I turn over and look into his face. He does seem genuinely sorry. Of course it could be he’s just sorry cause the only action he’s getting now is a hand job; from his own hand. I tell him as much.
“Harsh Kari… so harsh.” Mike complains.
“I’m sorry too.” I say. I was a little too agro just then. I know it sometimes takes time for two people to…to mesh. Maybe we can try again.”
He gives me an apologetic smile. “I don’t know now. It’d be a little like pushing a wet noodle through an orange; not going
to happen.”
“I don’t know…maybe I can coax that wet noodle to stiffen up a bit. I do have my ways.”
I reach down and take him in my hand. Wow. He wasn’t kidding. He is a limp noodle. May even be beyond my considerable powers as a sexy woman.
He removes my hand with his own. “Really,” He says. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything right now. There’s plenty of time to work out the kinks.”
Yeah I’m not so sure about that. I kinda feel like it’s a sign from the gods that I’m not supposed to be doing this. I don’t know.
“You’re too tense.” He observes. “Roll over; I’m going to give you a massage.”
“Is that code for-” I begin.
“It’s just a massage Kari,” he replies. “Nothing more.”
Mollified, I turn over and will myself to relax. Turns out he’s very good with his hands. It’s too bad the same thing can’t be said of his dick. I figured a doctor would know his way around a woman’s body but I guess there are exceptions to every rule. It also turns out that his massage may have been a way to rekindle the romance and by the time he got to my lower back I was wiggling my ass in anticipation of some loving. The second try turned out to be very satisfactory. We ironed out our differences and he stayed away from my no fly zone. He actually is a skilled lover and left me very satisfied; but that’s it. It wasn’t earth shattering, it wasn’t mind blowing, but it was mildly orgasmic; certainly nothing to write home to mom about.
“That was pretty slick.” I say as we lay in bed spooning.
“What was?”
“Your innocent massage. Just how many other women have fallen for that routine?” I ask. “And don’t say just me or you might get hurt!”
“It’s wasn’t an act Kari. I really honestly intended on just giving you a relaxing massage and was hoping you’d just relax and go to sleep. I just got so into it that I sorta lost control; sorry about that.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to apologize, it was rather nice.”
“Yes it-” He was just about to say something sarcastic but changed his mind. “Thanks for not giving up on me Kari.” He simply says.
“Maybe you can finish that massage you started.” I suggest.
I could use a nice nap right about now. I’m starting to hear those little voices in my head that are going, what the hell are you doing Kari? You already have a boyfriend and you’re playing house with Dr. Mike? This isn’t going to end well Kari!
Yeah, I could use a nap…or a strong drink. What am I going to tell Adam? Not a damn thing, my little voices reply. Not a damn thing. Why do I have to have an attack of my conscious right now? Can’t it wait? Apparently it cannot.
I roll over anyway and Michael obliges. He starts back at the top of my head and before he even reaches my shoulders I’m in la la land.
Chapter Four
Shoot the Messenger
The next day, 11:00 p.m.
I’m more than a little nervous as I walk through the doors to the ER. As promised I called and put myself back into the rotation and as luck would have it, they need me right away. St. Josephs is down two nurses for the night shift so I’m filling in tonight. Thankfully the moment my foot crosses the threshold a siren splits the night air. From the sound it’s fairly close. I walk over to the triage desk where Amanda the charge nurse is camped out.
“Better grab your ass and get ready for the ride Nurse cause Community One (Ambulance) is three minutes out and NorCal is seven minutes out working a code. You want the trauma or the code?”
“I’m kind of a trauma girl so…”
“Great, you can work the code.”
“What?” I start to complain but she’s already turned and headed into the nursing office.
Two minutes later the Community One ambulance pulls up to the ER landing and out hops a paramedic from the back of the vehicle followed by a leather clad biker sporting the Sons of Ash three part patch. One can only assume it’s another Son that’s laid out on the gurney being attended by a medic I’ve never seen before. I toy with the idea of just horning my way into helping with this one but crossing Amanda is not something I really want to do right now. I force myself to step back and let the procession pass me by. I don’t have long to mope when another siren announces the other ambulance’s arrival.
The rear of the second ambulance opens up and I step forward to take over when I am in for a shock. It’s a code alright but it’s also a trauma case. Piled around the feet of the man on the gurney is a leather jacket that has clearly been cut off. His cut identifies him as a member of the Sons of Ash and immediately I am thinking of Adam. I walk alongside the gurney as the paramedic’s wheel him into one of the trauma rooms.
“What have you got?” I ask.
“GSW to chest right there,” the medic says pointing with his finger, “and he’s got another in the abdomen, lower right quadrant. Barely had a pulse when we got there and he completely tanked as we were loading him.”
Well…things are looking up after all. The next six hours or so are just one rapid blur from snot nosed kids to snot nosed octogenarians. This is supposed to be a trauma center not a doctor’s office, but you try telling that to twenty or more people in our waiting room.
I am headed back to the nurses lounge to take a load off and drink some much needed coffee when a biker catches up to me in the hall.
“Can I help you?” I ask, stepping back from him.
“We have a mutual friend,” he begins. “I want to help our friend take back the Sons.”
I stare at him incredulously for a moment, not sure what to believe. How can I tell if this guy is a friend like he says or not?
“I have no reason to trust you and I can’t see how I ever could, seeing that you’re a part of the new Sons of Ash.”
“Maybe this will help.” He says, and then he reaches in his jacket.
That’s it for me! I jump up spilling my chair to the floor. I scramble backwards as he deposits a much dog-eared manila envelope on the table in front of me.
“Ma’am, if I really wanted to hurt you I’d have already done so.”
“That’s what they all say in the movies,” I reply. “This is not a movie.”
“Just look in the envelope!” He says with a suddenly flash of impatience.
My hand trembles as I take the envelope. It can’t be good; whatever is in it. With care I slowly open it up. There are a number of papers. I empty it out on the table and barely stifle a gasp. They’re pictures of me; recent ones. There’s me in the living room of Mike’s house, me sitting on his back porch, and finally of the both of us lying in bed barely covered by a sheet.
“Who the fuck took these?” I demand furiously.
“I think the better question would be, why did someone take these pictures of you?”
“Yes, why did…was it you?” I ask.
He shakes his head emphatically, and then draws my attention to a sheet of paper. On it is my name, address of my home and Michael’s, as well as addresses of the flea bag motels we’ve been staying at. At the bottom of the paper is a date, a week or so in the future, and a sum of money; fifteen thousand dollars.
“What is this?” I ask, not daring to voice my suspicions.
“This is the contract on your life that someone has recently taken out.”
“How do you have this?” I ask, my suspicions rising again. “Are you the one who is going to kill me?”
I start to get up, fishing around for my cell phone.
“Relax,” he begins. “I have this because I went to great trouble to get it. I am not the one who accepted your contract, but I am the one who killed him and took his papers. That means you have 10 days of safety before another contract is taken on your life. Kari, I may not be able to protect you from the next one sent, and from what I know of Ripper, he’s like a bulldog on a bone! Once he gets a scent, he goes after it until he’s got it in his jaws and once he’s got his teeth on it he’ll never let it go.”
&n
bsp; “You mean they’re going to keep sending people after me until I’m dead?”
I can feel icy cold fear gripping my soul. I can also feel its frostbitten fingers around my throat squeezing the life out of me! How can I live with the fact that my life has been sold to the highest bidder; and for not a hell of a lot apparently. Suddenly I have this overwhelming urge to just bolt out of here and never look back. Here I have just made my first reasonable decision and am trying to leave the life behind and it’s tracked me down right here in my place of work.
“The only way they’ll stop hunting you is if the shot caller is dead.”
“Who is the… shot caller?” I ask, not really wanting to know who it is that wants me dead.
“His name is Edward Jones.” He replies. “But you’ll know him as Ripper, the current president of the new Sons of Ash.”
Well that’s just great! How the hell am I going to go about living my life with Michael when I have someone like that after me? Time to start asking questions.
“So…what do you get out of all this?” I ask.
He answers without hesitation. “Vice presidency of the most powerful club.”
“Adam’s already got someone for the spot, I’m pretty sure. It’s some guy he’s known for years and served in the military with. He won’t put you above his friend.”
“He’ll have to. That’s my price and it’s non- negotiable!”
“You do know he plans on taking his club legit, right? I don’t know what he plans on doing but he is not going to be the president of an outlaw club; not now.”
“I see,” he begins.
“No I don’t think you do see,” I interrupt. “He’s a good man, Adam, and he wants a better life. The club is a big part of his life but it’s not his whole life.”
“I know all about his work with the homeless; he’s got a soft spot for them, so what? If he wants to continue playing Robin Hood or whatever he’s got going that’s fine. He won’t let his club suffer for it though. I think I know him quite a bit better than you do.”
Burn to Ashes Page 6
