Bad Company: Company of Sinners MC #1 Read online

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa J Hobman

  This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, places, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real.

  * * *

  Bad Company

  Lisa J Hobman

  Copyright Lissa Jay/Lisa J Hobman 2015

  First Published by Private Moments Publishing 2015

  * * *

  Second edition published by Lisa J Hobman 2018

  * * *

  Cover art: The Graphics Shed

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles. For any other permission, please contact Private Moments Publishing

  First Edition/First Printing April 2015 Printed U.S.A.

  Second Edition/Second Printing November 2018

  Lisa J Hobman

  To my very own bearded, tattooed bad boy.

  * * *

  They say matching tattoos are a sign of true love.

  * * *

  So we're sorted chicken pie ;-)

  Chapter One

  Kelly

  I watched him sleeping.

  I’d been doing the same thing for the past week since he was brought in. And with each passing day, my oh-so-unprofessional want for him grew more familiar. His natural, musky, masculine scent infiltrated my senses and I inhaled it deeply, closing my eyes and pulling it in. Memorising it. I opened my eyes and trailed my gaze over his features yet again. Such a handsome face. Dark brown, tousled hair and more than a week’s worth of beard growth. I wondered if he was usually clean shaven—although he really did suit the stubble. What would it feel like to run my tongue along his angular jaw line? Trembling, I shook my head to dislodge the erotic thought.

  Annie, one of his ICU nurses, had told me that he had the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She only knew that from the times she’d checked his pupils.

  Sadly, he hadn’t opened his eyes of his own accord yet.

  All I knew about him on a personal level was that his name was possibly Cameron Iss. And that was only if the note they’d found with him was actually written by him. My job—when he eventually awoke from his coma—was to find out why he’d tried to take his own life. As a woman, I ached to think of the torment he may have gone through to end up in my care. As a newly qualified psychologist, I was looking forward, in a macabre way, to getting inside his head. He would be my first suicide-attempt case. I glanced down to the panic alarm hooked onto my waistband to ensure it was still there. It was one of the things I’d been informed I should keep with me at all times for my own protection—some patients were known to get a little out of hand. Not that I needed it at that precise moment, but it was always better to be prepared.

  The machines around my patient flashed and bleeped. But he lay still. After observing the scar on his forehead, I allowed my gaze to journey to where his long lashes fanned out on his pale, bruised features. Continuing to map his face, I made myself study the NG feeding tube with its medical tape holding it in place on his cheek and then settled my attention on his full mouth. He had those kissable, full lips… well, they would’ve been if they weren’t distorted by the ventilator tube hanging from them.

  Good grief, I was being so unprofessional. He deserved better.

  But he was probably the most handsome—no… handsome just didn’t cut it—he was the most stunning, sexy, and sculpted man I could ever recall encountering in all my adult years. Fine lines caused an indentation between his strong brows, indicating to me that he was someone who frowned a lot. Perhaps he was uber serious. Stern. Harsh even. The thought excited me and sent shivers of electricity down my spine. He was dangerous, that much I could tell. The epitome of masculinity. Let’s get to the point here, he was the most gorgeous guy I’d ever laid eyes on. I chewed on my lip. As a jolt of sensation throbbed at my clit, I inhaled sharply. Just thinking about what he might be like had me pulsating and needy. But it was wrong and I knew it. Bloody typical—he was in a coma and unattainable thanks to my professional code of ethics.

  I sat there a little longer, tablet in hand. I hadn’t really focused on the patient record on the screen, and the tablet had gone into sleep mode—just like Cameron. Despite my state of heightened sexual awareness, exhaustion—both mental and physical—was taking its toll on me too. I could’ve just sat in my office, but the view wasn’t quite as good in there. Don’t get me wrong, the view from my office in the North Kessock hospital window overlooked the beautiful Kessock Bridge with Inverness in the distance. And although I couldn’t see it from my south-facing view, I knew the Black Isle unfolded behind me, and I loved that place. From my office window I could see the sun glinting on the Beauly Firth and watch the boats as they tootled by on the calm estuary waters heading out to sea. But… well, Mr Iss was heart meltingly gorgeous and was rapidly becoming my favourite thing to look at.

  The many tattoos covering his arms offered enigmatic clues into his life—possibly. I’d examined them for hours, wondering what they all meant, if anything. Maybe he was just one of those guys who liked ink. But maybe there was some deeper meaning to the numbers, words, and pictures beautifully marking the man’s otherwise perfect olive skin.

  One in particular grabbed my attention. It was the word Cosmic in ornate script on his forearm. Strange choice. The word was surrounded by stars, and a sultry woman with green eyes and long auburn hair, not unlike my own, was draped across it as if it were a bed. Some tattoos I’d seen before depicted women as slutty, half naked and big breasted, mere objects to be ogled, but this one was very tasteful. Yet it was out of character with the dark, foreboding images that covered his arms. There were some intricate tribal tattoos too that were really quite beautiful if you liked that kind of thing—which I never had… until I started imagining the bold ripple of ink over his muscles as he pushed himself into my flesh.

  Judging by the numerous markings he carried on these relatively small areas of visible skin, I was pretty sure he had more ink on the rest of his body. Annie—lucky thing—had the job of bathing him, but it would be completely unprofessional of me to ask such questions about a patient, and so I continued to use my vivid imagination. It’s a good thing that my superiors were only psychiatrists and not mind readers, or I’d be fired on the spot.


  I was clearly sex starved.

  At twenty-six years old I was beginning to wonder if I would ever meet someone who could make me really feel. I wanted someone lucid to affect me in the way the oblivious man before me was affecting me. Someone intense, fierce, dangerous, carnal. Someone who would take control of my body as well as my heart. My last so-called relationship had been with my university boyfriend, Dermott, but he was never going to be the one. The thing between us had ended on quite good terms, considering they had, in fact, ended. We met at med school and no one understood the pressure I was under more than he did. Ironic that it just didn’t work out between us, really. We’d kept in touch and occasionally went out for drinks and ended up in bed together at the end of the night. Call us what you will… friends with benefits… fuck buddies… stupid; I’ve called myself a lot worse. The point is, whatever we may be isn’t distracting me from what’s important.

  The last few years had been taken up with studying, placements, exams, and more studying. All work and no play certainly made Kelly Marie Darrow a dull girl. But I hadn’t got to where I was by slacking off.

  And for once, I was determined to succeed for me. No longer were my efforts a vain attempt to impress a father who’d left and a mother who slept around. This was my career. My life. My independence.

  I put down my tablet and jotted a few professional observations in Mr Iss’s paper file. There was nothing to report, really. He was still away in dreamland, and my actual thoughts and observations wouldn’t help his case in any way whatsoever. Deciding I’d wasted enough time in his room, I walked over to his bedside and glanced down at the unconscious man. I wondered how he would feel when he awoke to find he was still alive. Would he be angry? Would he be relieved? What was it about him that touched me on such a personal level? Sighing heavily, I stroked the soft, dark strands of hair back from his forehead; his skin was warm and silky to my tentative fingertips. An overwhelming urge to kiss where I had touched him tugged at my insides and I bent forward, inhaling that familiar scent again. My heart skipped at the mere thought of my lips connecting with him, and the tingle of desire began to tighten my core. I closed my eyes briefly and managed to rein myself in at the last second. Stupid, stupid Kelly. What were you thinking?

  “Wake up soon… please, Cameron,” I whispered before turning and leaving the room. As I closed the door behind me I placed my palm over my thumping heart and wondered what the hell was wrong with me for me to behave in such a way. But there was no doubt about it. Even in his unconscious state he had some kind of hold over me. Knowing that fact both terrified and excited me beyond anything I had ever experienced.

  Later that night I arrived back home at my little house on the outskirts of Inverness and wondered how the hell I’d got there. The fact that I didn’t remember walking home was a little disconcerting. After clicking on the kettle, I shrugged out of my coat and kicked off my ridiculously uncomfortable shoes.

  It had been a strange day to say the least.

  The appointments I’d had were a mixed bag—nothing too complex, but I was exhausted nonetheless. Cases of anxiety and OCD were so very interesting, and I relished the thought of helping the people I worked with. Still, the stress of taking on board someone else’s troubles was an occupational hazard, and although I was trained to remain impartial, I couldn’t help but think outside of work about some of the people I encountered. My mind refused to switch off, and I hoped that this was only a new-doctor issue. But I somehow doubted that.

  My eyes were heavy, and every muscle in my body ached as if I’d done a workout with ten-kilo kettle bells. Once my camomile tea was made, I picked up the steaming mug of calmness and slumped onto the sofa. Placing my drink on the coffee table, I rubbed at my tired, sore feet and mentally chastised myself—why I’d chosen three-inch heels today was beyond me. Many hours after that rash decision, and my feet were protesting vehemently. No woman in her right mind would wear such inappropriate footwear when she spent a good deal of time standing and walking around a sprawling hospital. Thinking back to the morning when I’d dressed, I realised I must’ve done so in a daze—or more to the point, a kind of Cameron-fuelled fog of lusty thoughts.

  I reached over and flicked on my iPod. I didn’t bother to look for a track I wanted to hear and instead settled for random play. There were so many songs on there that I had no clue what to expect. The intro to “Breathe You In” by Stabbing Westward floated from the speakers and as I leaned back on the sofa my thoughts travelled back to Cameron Iss. His case was so very intriguing. He’d been found near Ben Nevis by a group of walkers and was wearing jeans, black T-shirt, and a sleeveless black leather biker’s waistcoat that looked like a jacket with the sleeves removed. He was slumped by a tree on a well-known walker’s trail. But he certainly wasn’t dressed for walking, considering the October temperature. All that was found with him was a suicide note and an iPod loaded full of what I presumed to be his favourite songs, although I was yet to listen to it. It was all rather peculiar and mysterious to say the least.

  The note was another conundrum. I’d read it so many times, looking for clues as to the guy’s true identity, that I’d memorised it…

  To whoever finds my body.

  I’m sorry to do this to you. To cause you this upset. If I’d had any other way, believe me I would’ve gone down that road.

  But it’s all too much. I can’t go on like this anymore. There comes a point in life where you just have to admit defeat. Admit that you’ve done all you can. But that there are some things you just can’t make amends for. I’m done trying now. Done with the pain. Done with the bad memories.

  Please tell Rosa I’m sorry but I had no other choice. It’s my time, that’s all.

  Cameron Iss

  I was willing him to wake up. I wanted to find out what had driven him to this. What situation had occurred that made him feel he had ‘no other choice’?

  And who was Rosa?

  The phone rang. Ugh! I just want to be left alone. Grabbing the receiver, I answered without enthusiasm. “Hello?”

  “Kelly? Kelly it’s me. Look… I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for a drink maybe?”

  Dermott Irons—my dirty little secret.

  Handsome. Very handsome. To describe him in one sentence… Well spoken, English, around six two, clean shaven, dirty blond hair, and green eyes. He’d become a surgeon and, at twenty-seven, was already doing very well for himself. The sex between us had always been good, which is why I stayed in touch with him. I loved the release that sex gave me and knew that I could trust Dermott with my body and my safety. Neither of us had the time or inclination to invest in a relationship, which made us quite compatible in a bizarre sort of way. But we both knew where the arbitrary line in the sand was and we knew neither of us would choose to cross it.

  Not again.

  “Hi, Dermott. Sorry, I’m a little pushed out schedule-wise right now. Maybe some other time.”

  “Come on, Kelly. Surely you’ve got time for an old friend in between your crazies?”

  Anger spiked within me at his choice of words. No one, but no one insulted my patients.

  “Don’t call them that, Dermott. I mean it. There’s no need to be such a fucking prick.”

  “Ah, there she is. My feisty sex kitten. I was only winding you up, you know. I knew you’d bite. Come on, it was a bit of fun, that’s all. What do you say about that drink?”

  “Arsehole,” I mumbled down the line as I examined my shabby fingernails. “Like I said, I’m busy.”

  “You’re not busy right now. I’m down the street at Johnny Foxes. Come for one drink. Just one? Please?”

  I could tell he was pouting and my resolve weakened. I couldn’t help but smile. The fact that I hadn’t been out for such a long time and that deep down I knew it’d probably do me good niggled at me. But I had to work the following day too.

  Sighing heavily, I rolled my eyes. “One drink. Just one.”

  “Great.
See you in ten.”

  I hung up and finished my tea. There was no way I’d be seeing him in ten—I needed to shower and change. Dragging myself from the comfort of my old couch, I trudged to the bathroom. The shower temperature was permanently turned up as high as I could stand it, and I switched it to the on position. Stripping out of my clothes, I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror before the steam distorted the image. I looked tired. The dark circles under my eyes were becoming a bit of a trademark. Maybe I was overdue a facial and some pampering. My nails were definitely in need of some TLC.

  I decided that a call to my best friend, Esme, at some point soon was in order. She and I had talked about trying out the new beauty salon in the town centre, and boy did I need it.

  Once I was showered and dried, I picked out a pair of dark jeans and a pretty teal-coloured top with spaghetti straps. I quickly blasted my long auburn tresses with the hair dryer and decided on a shaggy, can’t-be-arsed look. It was only Dermott after all. He needed no encouragement where I was concerned. But crazy as it sounds, he was a decent human being when he wasn’t trying to get in my knickers.