Chapter 40 Ryker
RYKER
The second Blake got me outside, front door clicking shut behind us, he moved fast. His hands fisted in my shirt, shoving me hard against the cedar siding. The rough wood bit through my shirt as his forearm pressed against my throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice had that particular quality that meant someone was about to bleed.
Anyone else would’ve been eating my fist right about now. But this was Blake. My best friend. The guy who’d stitched me up more times than I could count.
“We talked about this.”
“Multiple times.” My words scraped past his forearm like sandpaper, courtesy of the pressure on my windpipe.
“Last I heard, you left her,” Blake snarled. “You left.”
“I apologized.”
“Which was exactly what I told you I wouldn’t tolerate,” Blake continued, ignoring my retort.
“Could you kindly ease up on the forearm? As a trauma doctor, surely, you know it’s difficult to talk when your larynx is being crushed.”
Blake shoved off me. The sudden release had me sucking in air like I’d been underwater.
I rubbed my throat, feeling the tender spots already forming. “Jesus. Might need imaging after that.”
“Don’t mess around with my sister.”
I cocked my head, studying him. “I’m sorry, can you remind me who your wife is again?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, that’s right. My sister.”
“That’s different.”
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly the same. Just feels like shit when you’re on the other side of it, doesn’t it?”
“It is different.”
“Really? Do tell. I’d love to see what you can come up with.”
Blake’s jaw worked, grinding his teeth. “First off, you left—”
“I didn’t leave her,” I interrupted. “I took a beat to process her case. If I hadn’t done that, you’d accuse me of being so starry-eyed, I wasn’t even thinking through everything I was learning.”
Blake opened his mouth to argue, but when nothing came out, he moved to a new tactic. “Faith has been through more pain and suffering than you and I combined. And that’s saying something, considering my twisted past.”
“I know she has.”
“No, you don’t know. Not really.” His voice dropped, and for the first time since we’d come outside, I saw fear beneath the rage.
“Look, I love Faith more than my own life, but she’s …
she’s been cornered and battered for so long.
And cornered animals? Battered humans? They’re capable of violence we can’t even imagine. ”
My stomach twisted. “Are you saying you think your sister is guilty?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.
” Blake’s fingers kept flexing like he was trying to strangle the air between us.
“But here’s the difference between you and me, Ryker: I will stand by her, no matter what.
Even if it turns out she hunted that guy down and slaughtered him in cold blood, I will love her, and she’ll always be welcome at my dinner table. ”
He stepped closer. “But I know you. I know you have a line. And if it turns out she crossed it? You’ll walk away. Just like you did when you took your ‘beat’ to process it. So, I’m going to say this one last time.” His finger jabbed into my chest. “Stay. The fuck. Away. From my sister.”
“I’m her lawyer.” My tone said fuck you even though my words were playing nice. “Pretty hard to stay away when I’m the only thing standing between her and a prison cell.”
“Keep it in the lane, Ryker. Lawyer. Client. That’s it.”
“Too late. I already have feelings for her.” The admission ripped out of me before I could stop it. The thought of losing Faith, of walking away from whatever this thing was between us? It felt like swallowing broken glass.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
If there was a switch to flip Dr. Blake Morrison from Jekyll to Hyde, I’d just hammered it with a sledgehammer.
He charged.
This time, I was ready. We crashed into the grass, the chill immediately soaking through my shirt. The scent of grass filled my nostrils as we rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand. My already-injured knuckles screamed in protest, but I wasn’t about to let Blake beat my ass on her front lawn.
Déjà fucking vu. Last time we’d rolled around like this on a lawn, it was my sister’s place. Now, his. Apparently, Blake and I had a thing for beating the shit out of each other on residential property.
The front door burst open.
“Stop it! Both of you!” Faith’s voice, usually so controlled, cracked with something between fury and fear.
But nothing was stopping Blake now, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him whale on me without giving back as good as I got.
He was being an ungrateful ass.
We rolled across the lawn like teenagers, not two grown men in our thirties. My left fist connected with his ribs. His knee found my kidney. The wet grass stained our clothes as we grappled, neither willing to throw a punch that would actually break something, but both too pissed to stop.
Blake’s fist caught my cheekbone, and stars danced in my peripheral vision. I grabbed his shirt, using his momentum to flip him onto his back. The impact knocked the wind out of him, giving me a second to—
“Break it up!” Axel’s voice cut through the chaos. He grabbed at our shoulders, trying to pry us apart. But every time Blake landed a hit, I had to return it. Every time I connected, he came back swinging. Axel trying to reason with us?
We were too busy with our impromptu lawn MMA session to care.
Axel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “fucking idiots” before disappearing around the side of the house.
Blake’s elbow caught my jaw. I tasted copper. We were both breathing hard now, more wrestling than fighting, when I heard it—the distinctive squeak of a spigot turning.
Ice-cold water hit us like a sledgehammer.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The words tore out of both of us simultaneously as we scrambled apart, choking and sputtering.
Axel stood there, wielding a garden hose like a weapon, looking supremely pleased with himself. Water dripped from my hair into my eyes. Blake looked like a drowned rat, his usually perfect hair plastered to his skull.
“The hell, dude?” Blake snapped, spitting out water.
“There.” Axel calmly walked the hose back to its holder, shut off the squeaky valve with deliberate slowness, then brushed off his hands and placed them on his hips like a disappointed parent.
“You two done? Or do I need to get the pressure washer? Maybe some pepper spray? I’ve got a Taser in my car if you’re feeling extra spicy. ”
I pushed myself up to sitting, every muscle protesting.
My previously injured hand was throbbing even worse than when I got here, and my shirt was ruined with grass stains and mud and now soaked through.
Blood trickled from my split lip. Blake didn’t look much better, sporting what would be a spectacular black eye by tomorrow.
“This isn’t over,” Blake said quietly, just for me.
“Yeah, it is.” Faith’s voice sliced through the tension as clean as one of Blake’s scalpels.
She stepped off the porch, arms crossed, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
This wasn’t the scared woman I’d seen in the hospital room.
This wasn’t even the hesitant client who flinched at raised voices or ran crying from her boss.
This was a woman who’d decided she was done being a victim.
“Get. Up.” Two words. That’s all it took.
Blake and I both scrambled to our feet like we were fifteen again and Mom had just caught us breaking curfew.
“I don’t care who started it. I don’t care what he said or what you said or whose sister married whose brother.” Her gaze bounced between us, and I swear to God, I felt two inches tall. “You want to beat each other bloody? Fine. But not on my watch. Not when I have actual problems to deal with.”
Blake opened his mouth.
“No.” She held up one finger. “I’m not done.”
He shut up.
Holy shit.
“Blake, you’re my brother, and I love you, but Ryker is my lawyer. That means I get to decide whether he’s in my life or not. Not you.” She turned that razor-sharp focus on me. “And, Ryker, if you think fighting my brother on my front lawn is hot, you’re wrong.”
The words hit harder than any of Blake’s punches.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen.” She stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of her shampoo, mixed with the smell of wet grass.
“You two are going to shake hands. You’re going to apologize to each other.
And then you’re going to come inside, let Blake patch you up, and act like the grown men you’re supposed to be. ”
Silence.
“Or,” she continued, her voice dropping to something almost conversational, “you can keep fighting, and I’ll find a new lawyer. Your choice.”
She wasn’t bluffing. I’d spent years reading people in courtrooms, and Faith Morrison was dead serious.
Blake stuck out his hand first. Smart man.
I took it, and we shook, neither of us looking away from Faith.
“Good.” Faith’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. She turned toward the house, then glanced back over her shoulder. “And, boys?” Her eyes met mine, held. “You have grass in your hair.”
Then she was gone, disappearing back inside like a general who’d just put down a mutiny.
“Well”—Axel looked between Blake and me, both of us standing on the wet lawn like scolded kids—“that was fun. Who wants ice cream?”
We stood there for a moment, dripping, assessing each other’s damage.
“I’ll get my fucking medical kit,” Blake grumbled, walking toward the house.
I followed, still trying to process what just happened.
Faith Morrison had just bossed around two men who could bench-press her without breaking a sweat.
And somehow, that made me want her even more.
We were almost to the front door when a van pulled up, the door opened, and a woman came rushing out, a dude holding a camera scrambling behind her.
“Channel 7 News! Dr. Morrison, Mr. Pierce, can you comment on the breaking development in this story?” The reporter’s eyes gleamed with that particular hunger that meant she had something big.
Blake and I exchanged a look. What development? I gave a slight headshake. No clue.
Guilt spread through my sternum. Maybe if I’d been focused on Faith’s case instead of throwing punches on her lawn, I’d actually know what this woman was talking about.
The reporter turned her phone toward us, reading from what looked like a social media feed going insane in real time.
“Someone claiming to be close to the investigation posted graphic images an hour ago.”
My blood went cold. Blake’s face drained of color.
The reporter continued, “The thread has over forty thousand comments, many containing Faith Morrison’s personal information and death threats.
The moderators can’t keep up with deleting them, and now the hashtags #AvengeDaniel and #MakeHerPay are trending nationally.
Were you aware your client has become the target of a virtual lynch mob?
That your client’s safety has been compromised? ”