Chapter 1 #2
The Tenderloin was fifty square blocks, wedged in between some of the wealthiest areas of San Francisco.
But here, the streets were suffused with poverty.
There were cheap apartment buildings and hotels, there was drug dealing out in the open, and these streets were home to more than half of the entire city’s homeless.
Bish always hit Ryder hard. The man was a veteran, and had fought as a teenager in Vietnam. He’d come home, but hadn’t made it through to the good life. PTSD and other mental health problems had ended with Bish living on the street.
He’d be back at the clinic in a few weeks, his feet cut up again, all exacerbated by his poorly treated diabetes, and the assholes who stole his shoes.
Bish hunted around in a bag and pulled out a pair of Ryder’s old running shoes. “Here they are.” He shoved them back in the bag. “Catch ya later, Ryder.”
Ryder fought back a sigh. “Yeah, man. Hey, have you seen Robbie lately?”
Bish frowned and shook his head. “Nah. Haven’t seen him for a while.”
Ryder hadn’t either. Robbie was another vet Ryder kept tabs on. Robbie was younger than Bish, but older than Ryder. Like Ryder, Robbie had also been a combat medic and had served in the Gulf War.
When he could, Ryder bought Robbie a meal, and they traded war stories.
Unlike Bish, Robbie had a family who cared for him, and tried desperately to help him. But Robbie always ended up back on the dirty streets of the Tenderloin. Especially when the demons got too loud, and the lure of the drugs got too shiny.
Ryder sank back against the wall and closed his eyes. Yeah, he couldn’t save them all, but it still fucking sucked.
Outside the treatment room, he heard the insistent wail of a crying baby, the hubbub of conversation, and someone weeping.
The clinic was always busy, and offered free medical to the disadvantaged and vulnerable of San Francisco. The Tenderloin could be tough and harsh, and Ryder did his bit to offer a little light in the darkness.
The rest of the time, he worked as a paramedic, attached to Fire Station No. 2 in Chinatown. Anyway, for tonight, his shift was almost over.
He was ready to head home, shower, jerk off, and have a glass of wine. He liked to drink a good bourbon with his brothers and friends, but Ryder’s weakness was a full-bodied Napa Syrah.
One of the nurses passed by the doorway.
“Iris, I’m clocking off,” he called out.
The middle-aged woman eyed him. She had a well-groomed afro, high cheekbones, and wore pink scrubs that looked good with her dark skin. “You’d better get out of here before some emergency comes through the door.”
An emergency usually constituted a gunshot wound, stabbing, or an overdose.
He lifted his chin. “See you in three days.”
“I will miss that fine, white ass of yours while you’re gone.”
He flashed her a smile. “Iris, no sexual harassment in the workplace.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
He waved her off, and saw her face turn serious as she headed to intercept some parents clutching a lethargic toddler.
They all joked around. It was a way to cope with the grim reality they saw in the clinic each day.
Ryder made his way to the tiny locker room in the back beside the even tinier break room. He grabbed his backpack from his locker and decided to just wear his blue scrubs home. They weren’t covered in anything hazardous today.
His cell phone rang.
Probably one of his brothers—Hunt or Camden.
He was putting his money on Cam. The youngest Morgan brother had just gotten out of the military a few months back, and was still acclimatizing to civilian life. But he seemed to be adjusting well to life in private security, and enjoyed working at Norcross Security.
Hunt was a cop, and he’d recently fallen in love with a sexy, blonde artist. He wasn’t available for beers and burgers with his brothers quite as much now. Not because Savannah wouldn’t let him, but mostly because he couldn’t drag himself away from her.
Ryder pulled out the phone. Vander Norcross’ name was on the screen.
Shit . Vander was a friend, but when he called, it usually meant someone was hurt. Ryder’s third sideline job was patching up the Norcross Security guys.
“Vander.”
“Hi, Ryder. I’m almost at the clinic. We need your help.”
“Everyone okay?” Ryder strode through the clinic with a wave to his colleagues.
A dark-eyed girl, maybe three years old, popped up on a waiting chair and saw him.
She was in cute little pink pajamas covered in polka dots, and her parents were nearby, rocking a crying baby.
Ryder winked at her, and pulled a lollipop out of his pocket.
He caught the father’s eye. The tired man saw the candy, nodded, and gave Ryder a faint smile.
Ryder handed the lollipop to the little girl and ruffled her dark hair. She smiled at him.
“Nothing life-threatening,” Vander said. “But there’s a lot of blood.”
Vander sounded pissed. “Cam?”
“Not Cam. He has a night off. Saxon’s got a cut on his hand, but Siv copped the worst of it.”
At the thought of tall, sexy Siv being hurt, Ryder’s gut tightened. “How bad is she?”
“Well, she’s cursing a lot in Norwegian.”
Ryder hit the sidewalk out front. The night had turned a little sticky, but his thoughts all turned to Siv Pedersen.
He’d first met her at Savannah’s art showing a few weeks ago. Siv was one hot, tough badass in a beautiful body. He had no problem conjuring up an image of her. Tall, toned, her military training obvious in the way she held herself.
She had a tawny mass of blonde-brown hair and blue eyes like a cloudless sky.
And a killer scowl and a smart mouth.
They’d danced, he’d tried to charm her, then she’d decked him. She’d laid him out on the dance floor with one smooth move.
Ryder wanted her. Badly .
He turned down a few offers of company over the last few weeks because the only woman he seemed to want was a tough, former Norwegian special forces brunette.
He’d seen her a couple times at the Norcross office, but she’d made a point to avoid him.
Ryder smirked. Well, she couldn’t avoid him tonight, although he wasn’t thrilled she was hurt.
A black BMW X6 pulled to a throaty halt in front of him. Ryder opened the passenger door of the SUV and saw Vander behind the wheel.
“Hey.” Ryder slid in. “What happened?”
Vander pulled out onto the street. “It was a fucking simple corporate espionage job. We didn’t expect the guy to pull a knife.”
Vander took care of his own. He was never happy when one of his people was in danger or hurt. Most people in San Francisco went out of their way to avoid pissing off Vander Norcross.
To Ryder’s intense amusement, a few months back, he’d gotten to watch Vander and Ryder’s cousin Brynn do a short, intense circle around each other. It seemed that even major badasses fell in love.
Most people thought that since Vander had fallen for Brynn, it had softened him a bit. In Ryder’s opinion, it made Vander more dangerous. He was intensely protective of the woman who held his heart.
Ryder hadn’t ever felt the need to find “the one.” Sharing his time with a variety of lovely ladies worked for him, but watching Vander’s brothers, Vander, and now Hunt take the fall… Well, he was starting to wonder if they were onto something.
Then he’d taken one look at Siv Pedersen, and he needed to know how she tasted.
Well, for the moment, he was going to worry about making sure she didn’t bleed to death.