Rowdy: A Scorched Souls Spinoff

by C. L. Riley

  Until Number 23 has proven her loyalty, they both can play. Number 28 and Number 23...two times the fun.

  Trina

  I’m trying, without success, to un-see the guards Demons disposed of at the entrance. The quickness, efficiency, and ruthlessness of his attack have my mind spinning.

  I’ve always considered Demon to be my big teddy bear protector, capable of violence but not eager to administer it.

  How misguided I was.

  Demon is as lethal as Dr. Martin, if not more so. And he’s no longer the bear of a man I remember from our first encounter.

  I’ve been so caught up in my own life I’ve somehow missed the fact he’s lost considerable weight, and his hair has grown past his shoulders. Despite his status as a killer, Demon is a good looking man.

  Dangerous and dashing...just like Rowdy.

  Ashamed of my bizarre thoughts, I make a conscious effort to think about what waits inside the looming mansion. There’s no denying, with Demon by my side, my survival odds have increased. I don’t need to be a mathematician to perform basic addition, and I like this equation a whole lot better.

  Staring down at my hand in his much larger, gloved one, I shudder. I have questions begging to be answered but don’t dare ask. His only acknowledgment of my presence was a glance that swore me to silence.

  We’re about ten feet from the door when a growling dog approaches. I notice two more Dobermans hovering in the shadows.

  Demon squeezes my hand...a warning. I keep walking slow and steady toward the door, to my doom.

  Shut up! I silently rebuke, placing my faith in Rowdy’s most valued and trusted friend. He could probably break the dog’s neck with his hands. Besides, anticipating doom and gloom isn’t in anyone’s best interest, except maybe Dr. Martin’s. Negative thoughts give him more power over me. If I give in and give up, he’s won.

  If he wins, I lose. I refuse to wave the white flag this early in the game, vicious dogs or not.

  The vicious dogs seem hesitant to approach, whining and pacing, though the one clearly wants to lunge, if his show of teeth is any indication. I remember the three whistles and wonder if someone is controlling the canines, using some super stealth method of whistle commands to direct their movements.

  It would make sense, because something unseen is keeping the dogs from mauling us.

  My dog worries are put to an abrupt halt when the massive front door swings open―sending the dogs fleeing.

  An average sized, slightly balding man steps onto the expansive porch, motioning us forward. “Won’t you come in Ms. Templeton?” He lets his gaze travel over Demon. “Please tell me you are Agent Petrov?”

  “I am. You must be a friend of Agent Thatcher’s.”

  Our host nods, motioning again for us to enter. “Call me Dex.”

  I’m not sure what’s more startling, the warm atmosphere inside or that the man I know as Demon is apparently a government agent.

  My head swims and my vision tunnels, sure signs I’m about to faint. Noticing my dilemma, Dex reaches past Demon to grasp my elbow.

  “Let’s get you something to drink.”

  Demon takes my other arm, and together they lead me deeper into my enemy’s estate. The decor is surprisingly tasteful; though the furnishings and art displays undoubtedly cost my former employer a small fortune.

  I’m guided into a library or den. The walls are lined with bookcases, and rows of books fill the shelves. A fire crackles cheerfully, once again in contrast with the malevolence I know lurks somewhere in this luxurious lie.

  It’s all a lie.

  Demon isn’t who I believed him to be.

  This place is not what it seems either. The warm atmosphere is a false cover, designed to relax and lure unsuspecting and unlucky prey into the doctor’s perverted playground.

  Feeling as if I’ve lost control of my body, I allow myself to be lowered onto a plush settee. Without hesitation, I accept a wine glass from Dex. I manage to look toward Demon for approval. He offers a half smile and a nod.

  Even though he’s a liar, I still trust him. If he thought my drink was poisoned, I believe he’d intervene.

  Hoping I’m right, I take a cautious sip. Expecting some type of alcohol, I’m surprised by the tart taste of cranberries. Relieved, I gulp the rest down. Prepared to ask for more, I extend the glass to Dex.

  Footsteps too my left make me freeze.

  With shocking grace, Demon disappears through a door to the right, and only just in time.

  “Ah...I see Dex has done his job. Welcome to my humble abode, number 23. It’s been far too long.”

  I gasp at the same time the glass slips from my grasp, shattering on the shiny marble floor.

  My worst nightmare grins, his maniacal expression reminiscent from that night in October, before I passed out at his dinner table.

  “I’m glad to see you too, 23.”

  Dr. Martin

  Trina Templeton, Number 23, is everything I remember and so much more.

  Cheryl’s willowy beauty pales when compared to Trina’s darker skin, brilliant blue eyes, and curvy, yet flawlessly petite figure, and her hair...she changed the color. It reminds me of the cranberry juice I enjoy every morning.

  My heart thunders and my breath catches. I know for certain now that Trina 23 is my soulmate. There is no denying my feelings. This woman belongs at my side. She is everything I need to settle down, and her love will stop me from playing outside our personal playground.

  It’s evident she reciprocates my feelings.

  She was so excited to see me, she dropped her glass. Hiding her desire and infatuation is impossible, and I realize now she ran away not because she was frightened of me but because she was intimidated by her own strong emotions.

  Twisting a pinky ring she’s worn since I first met her, draws my gaze to her hands. She is wearing an additional ring I’ve never seen―a ring on the wrong finger.

  It looks suspiciously like an antique wedding ring. It’s undoubtedly a family heirloom. Maybe she expects me to use it when I propose, which I will gladly do if it pleases her.

  It’s only a matter of time before I take a knee and ask the question she’s waiting to answer. But I won’t lie. I’d much rather pick out a ring myself, but if she is attached to this one, I will accept its sentimental value. I remember her mother died. The ring was likely hers first.

  After composing herself, Trina meets my gaze and smiles. “I missed you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I left.”

  “I forgive you. I promise you will have time to make up for your absence.” This is going so much better than I ever anticipated. “Dex, would you please tend to our other guest. I’m sure Trina would like to see her friend.”

  “Yes Sir.” He offers a little bow and backs away without further comment. He’s a good man, loyal, submissive, and smart. Perhaps I won’t be forced to kill him so soon, after all.

  “Would you like something to eat, my dear. Another drink?”

  “I’m fine, but thank you. I’m so happy to be here, but...” she wants to say more but stops herself.

  I can’t have that. There can be no secrets between us, not anymore. “Don’t be afraid. Speak your mind.”

  She glances down at her hands, quickly covering her left with the right, hiding her rings.

  Why would she do that? Maybe she’s worried I’ll be angry she prefers a family heirloom over a more modern ring.

  What sounds suspiciously like gunfire, stops me from asking.

  I heard something similar earlier, but Dex assured me all was well. This time I intend to see for myself.

  “Cheryl will be down shortly. If you’d like to see her, you need to remain here. It’s easy to get lost in this house, and I have to check on something; so please, excuse me.”

  She nods, eyes wide. I expect she heard the same blasts I did and is terrified. That is unacceptable. The only time I want fear on her lovely face is when we’re playing.

  I imagine there are people
who would call me foolish for leaving my precious 23 alone, but I trust her.

  She loves me and wants to spend time with her friend. Eliminating any outside threats is critical to our happiness. I can’t have Brandon and his ilk interrupting our reunion. Denying him entry earlier may have proven to be a poor decision.

  Demon appeared reasonable, but Brandon...never. Trusting him was negligent in the worse way.

  I glance back. Trina stares at her hands, once again twisting the pinky ring.

  Should she violate my trust―Cheryl dies.

  And number 23 will watch.

  Rowdy

  With the car lights off, I approach the mansion.

  A massive wall with spiked arrows surrounds the property, but oddly enough, the front gate is open, beckoning me to enter. If that’s not enough to lure me onto the grounds, the estate is lit up like a Christmas tree on crack, giving off a welcoming glow that I know is a cruel charade.

  I make a cautious turn onto a side road and almost hit a car parked where dirt meets grass. The doctor’s property may be bright, but here it’s all shadows moonlight.

  Grabbing my keys and gun, I leave the car unlocked in case we need to make a fast getaway. I pat my knife sheath and move towards the abandoned vehicle.

  I’m just outside the driver’s window before I notice there are hands cuffed to the steering wheel. My gaze travels from the handcuffs, up the arms, to the stranger’s face. Even with his eyes closed and head hanging, I recognize the man.

  He’s no stranger. He’s one of the mob doctors, and not just any doctor, but the one who helped put Olympia back together at Ringo’s beach house. If not for his skills, she’d be dead.

  “What the fuck?” The car is locked up tight, but that doesn’t stop me. Using my gun, I punch the back window, shattering the glass. I reach inside and unlock the door.

  I’m not sure he’s even alive.

  Whoever restrained him left a window cracked, but he doesn’t seem to be breathing.

  I should probably text Demon and let his family handle this, but it doesn’t seem right. The guy came through for me at a critical time.

  Fortunately for him, I keep a small kit of police cuff-keys on hand. I always carry them on a run or rescue. Thanks to a club-sympathizing cop we acquired what we need to unlock most handcuffs.

  As Demon would say, “Sometimes crime does pay.”

  Damn I could use him right about now, but there’s no time to worry about his whereabouts.

  Instead my worry for Trina escalates, and my hands shake, but I get down to business, concentrating on the current task. I notice the mob doc is indeed breathing and spot the empty syringe on the seat beside him. Someone wanted him to take a nap. I don’t have time to wake him, but at least he can escape if he comes to.

  With that done, I move toward the front entrance.

  What I find waiting is one more surprise...three more, if I’m going for accuracy.

  Three dead security guards are sprawled in their own blood. Whoever took them out was a good shot, hitting them before they had the chance to return fire.

  From the house plans, I know there is second security post behind the mansion, near the water. I have no way of confirming the status of those guards or the dogs I hear barking in the dark.

  “Now or never,” I mutter to no one and set off at a jog, the front door my focus.

  I make it about twenty-feet before a handful of Dobermans tear across the manicured lawn, snarling and barking. I raise my gun, sighting the lead dog.

  “Hold your fire!”

  I drop to the ground and roll behind some naked nymph statue. My question about additional security has been answered.

  “Extend your arm and drop your weapon,” a gruff voice orders. “Then roll out and stay on your stomach, with your arms over your head.”

  “And let you fill me with bullets. I don’t think so,” I reply, surprised by how steady my voice is.

  I might sound at ease, but I’m not stupid. This is bad. I’m at a serious disadvantage.

  Two guards a few feet away; dogs trained to kill; and a murderous doctor; no doubt on his way to research the ruckus―what I have to look forward to.

  Fuck.

  I yank out my cell. My Soul Scorcher back up is at least fifteen minutes away and the chopper a few more behind them.

  Closing my eyes, I envision myself carefully aiming and hitting both guards.

  Unfortunately, someone must have been thinking about doing the same to me, evidenced by the gun muzzle shoved against the back of my head, dangerously close to my surgery scar.

  “Who are you here with? What is your purpose?”

  I don’t recognize the male voice, but he hasn’t pulled the trigger, something in my favor. I answer his questions honestly.

  “I’m here to save my wife. She was abused by Dr. Martin. She’s here now, in danger.”

  The pressure lessens but the gun stays in place.

  “Are you alone?”

  “For now. I have backup coming.” I don’t give details, but something tells me not to lie.

  “I said drop your weapon!” The original guard shouts, sounding flustered, and apparently unnerved by my hesitation to obey in spite of being outnumbered.

  “Do it,” my mystery assailant hisses. The pressure lessens yet again.

  Taking great pains to move with caution, I stretch out my arm, hoping the guards don’t decide to shoot anyway. I let my favorite Glock drop to the grass. At least I have a second, smaller pistol in a calf holster, and my blade is still tucked in its sheath.

  My primary weapon hits the ground with a thud, and my would-be attacker steps from behind the statue and fires off two shots at the guards. His speed and efficiency are impressive. I hadn’t even felt him tense beforehand.

  The guy has some serious training and natural ability.

  “I’m Agent Thatcher,” he says, turning back to me. “It’s all clear. The dogs have been ordered to stand down.”

  I nod and rise slowly, making a great effort not to favor my bad leg and ignoring the fiery pain that radiates through my knee after squatting.

  “And you know this how?” I’m not taking his word for it.

  He flashes his credentials and gives me a quick explanation, “I have an informant inside with access to the security systems, including the dogs. There’s another agent onsite too. A good one.”

  I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t make a habit of partnering with police. But I’ll do anything to get Trina out alive.

  “What’s next?” I ask the obvious.

  “There is one guard still out here. Probably at the back gate.”

  “Jess...Robert...?” A shaky male voice calls out.

  That was quick.

  I’m guessing the third guard left his post and is checking on his friends. What an idiot. It doesn’t appear these guys get much action around here.

  Agent Thatcher jerks his head to the side, a silent command.

  I slip back into the shadows, behind the statue. He does the same. From my new position I have a perfect view of the fairy queen’s pert, concrete ass. The doctor has a strange taste in art.

  Gagging and vomiting interrupt my art speculation.

  Once Guard Number Three has emptied his stomach, he starts to sob, “Oh shit. No. No...” He is silenced before he can finish mourning, and it isn’t due to me or my new sidekick.

  So, who now? How many fucking players are on the game board?

  This time my adopted partner goes rigid beside me. I guess I’m not the only one shocked by the latest, surprise player.

  A scream from inside does more than shock me. It sends a bolt of fear straight through my chest; jumpstarting my heart and making it gallop.

  Someone, a woman, wails again before going silent mid-scream.

  I don’t give a fuck who just jumped into the game. Trina is in danger. That might not have been her cry, but things are growing more urgent while we hide behind this fucking statue.

&nbs
p; Without consulting Agent Thatcher, I step out and survey the damage. Whoever killed the third guard is already gone. Considering the massive front door is open, it’s not hard to guess where he went next.

  Unwilling to wait another second, I ignore the growling dogs and their feeding frenzy, relieved Trina doesn’t have to see them devour the fallen guards, and march into the mansion, the agent behind me.

  It’s time to end this once and for all.

  Demon

  Dr. Martin unwisely leaves Trina alone to investigate gunshots outside. The minute I’m certain he’s gone, I slip back into the room. I can’t let her out of my sight. I owe Rowdy that much.

  My phone buzzes.

  Glancing down, I see a number code that tells me Agent Thatcher has made it inside unscathed. I give him my coordinates and share where I believe Cheryl is being held. I’m trusting Dex is assisting her now. Her scream confirmed she’s alive, or she was.

  Less than two minutes later, the agent enters through the same door Madman Martin exited from. I’ve determined that’s my new name for the brain doctor. He’s as mad as the Hatter and then some.

  “Demon?” an unknown male croaks, his deep voice cracking.

  “Boss?” I ask; recognition is immediate as Rowdy slides past William Thatcher to stare at me.

  Trina shoves past me, meeting him in the middle of the room. I’m forgotten for the moment.

  They’re in each other’s arms before I can warn them to stay back. Rowdy grabs her face and searches her eyes before yanking her against him for a bear of a hug and a long kiss.

  “Get reacquainted later,” William says what I should have. “Go, now! We’ll handle the rest.” My colleague nods at me after issuing the eviction order to my closest friends.

  Neither follows his command...big surprise. And Rowdy’s gaze continues to bounce between us.

  He’s already caught on to my unusual relationship with the agent. “You two know each other.” It’s more a statement than a question.

  Unsure how to respond, I keep it simple. “I’ll explain later. I promise. Just get Trina to safety. We’ll get Cheryl out and deal with the doctor.”