by E M Lindsey
Irons and Works
The Complete Series
E.M. Lindsey
Irons and Works
The Complete Series
E.M. Lindsey
Copyright © 2019, 2020
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any events, places, or people portrayed in the book have been used in a manner of fiction and are not intended to represent reality. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.
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Cover by Amai Designs
Contents
Books by E.M. Lindsey
Foreword
Book One
Free Hand
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Book Two
Blank Canvas
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Book Three
American Traditional
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Book Four
Bio-Mechanical
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Book Five
Stick-And-Poke
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Glossary of Terms and Phrases:
Book Six
Scarification
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Bonus Content
Derek and Basil
1. The Nightmare
Sam And Niko
1. The Honeymoon
Sage and Will
1. The Anticipation
James and Rowan
1. The Promise
Mat and Wyatt
1. The Wedding
Miguel and Amit
1. The Request
About the Author
Books by E.M. Lindsey
Baum’s Boxing:
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Book One: Below the Belt
Book Two: Fortune and Fate
Book Three: Fringe Contender
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Breaking the Rules:
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Book One: Renegades
Book Two: Temptation
Book Three: Forsaken
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Irons and Works:
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Book One: Free Hand
Book Two: Blank Canvas
Book Three: American Traditional
Book Four: Bio-Mechanical
Book Five: Stick-and-Poke
Book Six: Scarification
Book Seven: To Touch the Light- An Irons and Works Holiday novel
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Love Beyond Measure
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Book One: The Edge of Heaven
Book Two: Love In Slow Motion
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Magnum Opus Series:
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Verismo
Staccato
* * *
On The Market Series:
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Book One: Love Him Free
Book Two: Love Him Breathless
Book Three: Love Him Wild
Book Four: Love Him Steady
Book Five: Love Him Desperate
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Stand-Alone Novels:
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Like Water Catching Fire
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Forget-Me-Not
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With Kate Hawthorne and EM Denning:
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Cloudy With A Chance of Love
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Book One
Free Hand
Irons and Works: Book One
The truth – that Love is the ultimate and highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love.
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-Viktor E. Frankl
Chapter One
“I’m surprised you took your boyfrien
d’s cock out of your mouth long enough to check up on your old man.” The cruelty in the voice didn’t faze Derek much anymore, though tonight his defenses were low. He’d woken up late, took a bad spill in the shop hallway, and work hadn’t been great. A client from the week before came in on a rampage because someone had made fun of her new ink—something she’d printed off the internet and asked him to trace onto her skin in spite of his warnings that it would be better for him to design something based on the image rather than copy the image itself. She’d insisted however, that he provide, and so he did. Because that was his job. And when it didn’t pan out, it was also his fault. The insults spilling from her lips had echoed around his head the same way his father’s often did, and it was just…a lot. “What the fuck you doin’ anyway, boy?”
Derek dragged a hand down his face, squinting at the way his window started to fog up. The rain was getting heavier as he tried to navigate the streets toward the bank. “I uh…I’m just heading to the bank. Dad, you get your meds today?”
“Fuck you, you little shit. What gives you the right to ask me questions? Who the fuck do you think you are? You prance around in your little pride parade like a goddamn homo and they come knocking on my door asking why I have a faggot son goin’ straight to hell inna handbask—”
“Mr. Osbourne?” came a softer voice after his father was cut off.
Derek pulled into the parking lot of the bank and took a breath before he answered the nurse. “He get his meds tonight?”
“They were a little late. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know until after he’d dialed,” she told him.
Derek let out a tiny sigh. “It’s fine. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”
“This can happen in the late stages of cirrhosis. I’m sure the doctor explained it. They’re just…not themselves.”
Except Derek’s father was very much himself, and it seemed like the old man would be the angry, hateful, bigoted old dickhead until his liver finally gave out and he took his last breath. But that would probably be years away. This was Derek’s personal hell, knowing that he’d suffer these calls weekly, unable to escape this fate in spite of having chosen it. When the hospital asked both Derek and his brother to act as caregivers, Sage had simply laughed and hung up on them. Derek, for whatever reason, couldn’t bring himself to say no. Call it self-hatred, call him a martyr, he accepted it was his fate and ran with it. It wasn’t like the old man could do any more damage as it was.
“Just call me if he gets any worse,” Derek told her. “And I’ll talk to the doctor in the morning and let him know about the slip with the meds.”
“Sounds good, Mr. Osbourne. You have a good night.”
“You too.” Derek hung up, then let his phone drop to the empty passenger seat.
He stared at the waterfall of rain beating down on his window. The bank was less than twenty feet away, but that was twenty feet of torrential downpour, which frankly would put the cherry on the cake of this fucking day. His arm still ached from where he’d landed when Kat had forgotten to lay down the wet floor sign, and the echo of his angry father’s voice would sound in his ears all night when he let himself have even a moment of silence. He desperately needed to make his deposit so the auto-debits from his account to pay monthly bills wouldn’t cost him a shit-ton in over-draft fees, but the prospect of getting drenched for it was almost worth the repeated thirty-five bucks the bank would level at him for taking too long.
He sighed, pressing his forehead to the wheel, murmuring out a few curses and a couple prayers. “Alright, Osbourne,” he said aloud, last-naming himself in hopes of providing some sort of external motivation, “just get your ass out of the fucking car. You can dry off later, and even eat half that tub of Ben and Jerry’s waiting for you in the freezer.”
It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. He grabbed his keys, grabbed the envelope which he shoved under his shirt, then bolted. Halfway through the drenching rain, he remembered he’d left his phone in the car, but it wasn’t going to take long. A quick stack of cash shoved into the ATM hole and then he could kiss his shit-ass day goodbye.
The room where the little ATM kiosk sat tucked away in a corner was at least warm. The bank gods smiled on him enough to keep him from going hypothermic as his trembling hands pushed into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Though his fingers were stiff, he managed to withdraw his card and shove it into the slot.
The machine clicked, and at the exact same time, the door swung open and he was blasted by a sudden wave of icy-cold air. Derek glanced over his shoulder at the man who entered, shaking his umbrella as he hovered near the now-closed door. Derek was rarely intimidated by other people. Hell, he was usually the guy in the room everyone else was afraid of. Six-two, two-ten, both arms covered in tattoos. His ears were gauged, his face in a permanent resting-murder face, though that was hardly his own fault. He was one of the nicer guys with a stall at Irons and Works, he just didn’t always look like it.
The man didn’t really seem to notice him though, his face tipped down toward his phone as he waited a polite distance for Derek to finish up. He took a deep breath as he went through the steps, punching in his code and shoving the cash into the machine before the stranger got any ideas about trying to rob him—it was late, after all, and the street corner was shady as fuck. The machine chirped out what he imagined to be a thank you, then coughed up his receipt. He shoved it into his pocket, fumbling with his card as he awkwardly stepped away from the ATM to give the other guy some room.
He got a better look at him in the dim overhead light and was immediately startled by how attractive he was. The guy was wrapped up in a thick coat, but his face above his high collar was round, full of soft edges and a natural smile. His dark eyes flitted up to meet Derek’s for just a second, and when a trail of rainwater dripped down the side of his neck, Derek had the inexplicable urge to reach out and swipe it away with his thumb.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Shaking his head to try and get some of his damn sense back, he turned to reach for the door.
It all sort of happened at once, then. There was lightning, and immediate thunder which was strong enough to rattle the windows and rumble the floor beneath their feet. The lights flickered and then plunged them into almost total darkness. The only thing Derek could see was the faint glow of the man’s phone, and the only sound was the rushing heartbeat of panic in his ears.
He was half a foot away from the front door, so he reached for it, giving the door a tug. When it didn’t budge, he tried again—pushing and pulling and falling into damn-near hysteria because apparently the automatic locks had engaged, and he was stuck.
Claustrophobia wasn’t exactly one of Derek’s secrets. When he first started at Irons and Works, James had tried to haze him a little by locking him in the supply cupboard. Derek’s PTSD had been at an all-time high, and to this day, he couldn’t entirely remember what happened apart from blanking out with his hand against the door and coming to in Antonio’s office with a cool cloth on the back of his neck and Katherine murmuring something soft and comforting into his ear.
James’ black eye was apparently his fault, but the guy was contrite and overly-apologetic which likely meant Antonio explained a little bit about Derek’s past to the guy. It never happened again, and everyone at that point knew that the back room doors needed to stay open if Derek was in there looking for supplies, and that Derek always—always—got the stall closest to the front desk.
