Phoebe: Book One of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Ryker couldn’t help it, couldn’t help obeying Max’s order since he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. There was a pecking order in their family and Max was at the top of the heap, just below his mother even though he was only four years older. Resting a hand on the door handle but without turning around, Ryker did as he was told. Squaring his shoulders and mentally steeling himself, he waited for Max or Cruz’s next insult.

  “Bro…” Max’s voice had changed, not only in volume but in tone. “Do you have any damn clue why Cruz and I kept after you for a meet? Why we hounded you from the first fucking day you came out of the joint and every Sunday dinner thereafter to get your ass down here?”

  Ryker didn’t move a muscle, almost didn’t breathe as he kept a tight rein on his emotions.

  “We wanna hire you, shit-for-brains.” It was Cruz who spoke and his voice also morphed into something that held a note of…caring.

  “You’re an expert on computers and wiring, Ry. Black Ice needs you.” Shooting Max a look over his shoulder, Ryker studied his brother, trying to gauge his sincerity.

  “Bullshit.”

  Cruz gave a short laugh that was part grunt-part bark. “For once, big bro’ ain’t talking out of his ass. We need your mad skills on the ‘Net and there ain’t no one better at wiring systems.”

  Ryker turned back to face the doorway, deciding they were just fucking with him, setting him up for the adult version of the pranks the two of them used to pull on him as kids.

  “You forget, Ry,” Max started, his voice coming closer although Ryker refused to look behind to verify. “I was there at the courthouse every fucking day of your trial. I heard what you and Keith and Marty did, of the sites you hacked, the intel you downloaded. The way the three of you disconnected the fucking state government from the web and held it fucking hostage for thirty-six hours. Thirty-six hours, dude!”

  “No joke, Ry.” Cruz picked up where Max left off. “Didn’t know my baby brother was that smart or had the stones to pull most of that shit off.”

  “I got caught, though,” Ryker mumbled, glaring at his boots.

  “And paid your dues to society,” Max added. “As far as I’m concerned, you fucked up but you paid. Case closed for me.”

  Max’s hand snagged Ryker’s neck but his words were like balm to Ryker’s battered soul. If he understood his brothers correctly, he wasn’t the family fuck-up. The dumb shit who’d done even dumber stuff and then got caught red-handed. He was sure he was imagining it but it almost sounded like they admired him or something.

  “At least sit down and listen to what we’ve got to say, okay?” Cruz was still using his ‘kind’ voice and for him to do so for more than one sentence in a row was a minor miracle.

  Ryker didn’t say yes or no, but he allowed Max’s hand at the back of his neck to steer him into the chair opposite Cruz.

  Seating himself into the mammoth chair behind the desk, Max rested his forearms on its shiny surface and looked directly at Ryker. “No bullshit. Cruz and I need you. We can’t handle all the work we’re getting and I need someone I know and trust to work the computer side of the business.”

  “We’ve got a waiting list, Ry,” Cruz added. “Rich people willing to pay bank for background checks on any and everyone before they’re allowed into the rich-folk circle. And to track down the people who’ve ripped them off and don’t wanna be found.”

  “Not to mention to design the latest and greatest security systems in order to prevent ‘the masses’ from getting to them.” Ryker swung his eyes back to Max.

  “They won’t want an ex-con working their shit, Max.” Ryker’s mind was spinning with not only his brothers acceptance of what he’d done but with their willingness to bring him into their business. “Nobody wants an ex-con doing their security stuff or getting the goods on their pool-boy or chauffeur.”

  “The stuff I need you doing won’t get you into trouble.”

  “And we’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Cruz advised.

  Ryker blinked. Were they outta their minds, completely loco? “Yeah, I’ll bet. You and Max and Ma along with the rest of la familia will have a fucking ball leaning over my shoulder, watching my every move. At least with Jose, I don’t get a ration of shit handed to me every fucking moment daily.”

  Working with his brothers? That was just a disaster waiting to happen.

  Max’s deep brown eyes shifted away from Ryker to Cruz. “What he meant to say was, we’ll have your back.”

  “I can fucking speak for myself, ass-wipe!” Cruz turned to look at Ryker. “You can’t blame us for looking over your shoulder, Ry. You’ve got a history of fuckups.”

  Ryker felt the flame of rage again shoot through him. “Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean I haven’t changed.” Cruz had the grace to drop his eyes and slow his roll.

  Before things got out of hand again, Max cut in. “This isn’t just about giving you another chance, Ryker. It’s about a new start.” He paused and when Ryker looked up, Max’s face was deadly serious. “I need your skills.”

  “What is this, charity day for the ex-con?” Riding the sharp edge of pissed, Ryker knew he was courting danger by mouthing off to both of his brothers. “Don’t do me any favors. I can take care of myself.”

  At that, Cruz started laughing long and loud while Max sat back in his chair with a grin although Ryker didn’t see any humor in the situation. “Fuck! I don’t even know why I came.”

  He was just lifting his ass out of the chair, mentally already halfway across the open space of the other room when Max spoke again.

  “What if I told you BI is willing to pay you $150 an hour?”

  Ryker blinked as the rest of him went to stone, still bent over in a half-raised position. One hundred and fifty dollars an hour? That couldn’t be right. But even as he repeated the number to himself, his knees released and he sat back down.

  “I think he’s finally realizing we’re serious about this shit,” Cruz drawled.

  Max leaned an elbow on one of the armrests of his chair and rubbed his chin. “I also have a contact who is willing to get your probation reduced so you only need to check in with your parole officer once every six months for the next two years.”

  Holy Mother of God! No way. There was no way in hell even Max had that kind of pull. “What? You got some sort of dirty judge in your pocket?”

  One side of Max’s mouth lifted in a rueful grin.

  But he wasn’t finished. “And that same contact has the ability to ensure Ryker Santiago-Adams’s entire record, both as a juvenile and as an adult, is expunged.”

  The room around him tilted as Ryker’s heart began to race and mind churned with the thought of no longer wearing the ‘felon’ label.

  A hand slapped his shoulder…once, then again as Cruz got right in his face. “Breathe, Ry. That’s it. Breathe in…now, out. In with the good air, out with the bad.”

  Holy shit! This had to be some kind of a dream or something—the absolute best dream he’d ever had in his life. And that included all the sexy ones too. “I can’t believe…” he started when he finally found the means to speak.

  “Believe it, brother.” Max’s face bore a full-fledged smile stretching from ear-to-ear. “’Cause it’s the mother-fucking truth.”

  “Pictures, huh?” While Ryker’s attempt at humor was weak as shit, both Cruz and Max picked up on it. “Caught someone doing something downright nasty with your telephoto lens?”

  “I won’t get into the hows and whys of it.” Max held both hands up, palms turned to Ryker.

  “So when we say we’ve got your back,” Cruz explained. “We really have your back, bro’.”

  Ryker slouched in down in the ornate-as-shit visitor chair as he thought about all his brothers were offering him. A job in his field of interest paying a shitload of cake, a reduction in his parole and then the sealing of his records. It was more than he’d ever hoped to have, better than any fantasy he could concoct. “I have to give Angelina an
d Jose notice.”

  “Agreed.” Max and Cruz yelled in unison as they bumped fists before turning back to the youngest of the three.

  “But in that time, you gotta work on getting better threads, hombre,” Cruz added. “BI has a rep to protect, you know?”

  Ryker made a point of doing a head-to-toe scan of each of the other two men. There was no mistaking the three were related since all their faces were stamped with high cheekbones, square jaws and full mouths. It was only their different coloring that set each of them apart. Max and Cruz both had lighter skin than Ryker and while his hair was black, Max’s was dark brown and Cruz’s was more chestnut like their father’s.

  It was Ryker though, who had inherited his padre’s light eyes. Max had received their mom’s deep brown while Cruz’s eye-color was a blend of both brown and green which every one called ‘hazel’ when they weren’t calling them beautiful.

  “Even if I had the funds, my taste in clothes doesn’t allow for ‘business-pussy’,” he drawled with a cheeky grin. “Although I like Cruz’s attempt to hide it behind his badass belt buckle.”

  Cruz punched Ryker’s arm hard enough to bruise while Max lifted a hip and reached into his back pocket. “Here’s the Black Ice credit card. We’ll spot you $500 for threads and, yes, you have to ditch the holey jeans and t-shirt for trousers and nice shirts. You’ll also need a suit and tie to wear when we meet clients.”

  Five-hundred bones just for clothes? Fuck!

  They were right. Ryker should’ve taken the meet months ago.

  Chapter Three

  I loved my job and was probably one of the only few people in America who felt that way. Okay, maybe Vonnie could be counted in that category, but hers was more of a love-hate thing instead of love-loving what she did. And I love-loved being a nurse.

  Especially since I’d been hired at the hospital I’d trained at—Grantham General. Located close to the university, it was also a teaching facility providing me with hands-on learning even before I’d done my clinical rotation. It was during that time I found my niche, or my place-for-the-moment, which was the Emergency Room. There was just something about the immediacy of care needed, the way the staff needed to quickly triage then decide where to send the patient to fix whatever was wrong.

  Although the Emergency Room at GGH wasn’t like the stuff you see on TV. Since the city was more like a town, our Emergency wasn’t always full of patients and their families nor did we have the EMT’s screaming through the corridors as they raced the gurney of the injured back to a curtained bay (although we had that occasionally due to car accidents on the freeway to the west of town). In ER at GGH, it was more of wave-like ebb and flow of patients; sometimes busy then not.

  And the time of day was a factor as well. Morning shifts went fast, had more bustle as if people somehow figured if they were still in pain when the sun came up, then they should seek help for whatever they had going on. Nights could be busy too, what with motorists thinking they could drive themselves home after a few drinks or some bozo deciding he needed to prove his manhood with either a knife or a gun.

  Swing shifts, though? The eleven a.m. to nine p.m. shift wasn’t my favorite. More ebb than flow, if you know what I mean. Plus there was the whole, go-to-work-in-light and get-home-after-dark thingy.

  I’m not good with the dark.

  As the newest member on staff, I took whatever shift I was assigned and even volunteered for extras to cover for the other ER nurses as the need arose. Rhonda, the charge nurse on swing-shift who was quickly becoming one of my work BFs, told me I was nuts.

  “Girl, I know you’re young and have more get-up-and-go than the Energizer Bunny,” she often started. “But even you have to admit to being dog tired after a double shift.”

  She was right. Two ten-hour shifts back-to-back were exhausting…and exhilarating. Plus it kept me at work until the sun was again high in the sky.

  That day, the day after I moved into my new place, my body was tired and sore but it was the good kind of ache. The kind that told of working muscles I hadn’t used in a while as I’d unpacked boxes, set up furniture and hung curtains. I’d had a lot of help but I’d insisted in being a part of everything, of directing where I wanted my stuff to go. But by ten p.m., after a late-dinner of pizza and soda my new apartment was put together and looked more like someone lived there rather than someone who was just moving in.

  So you’d think experiencing the slow part of my shift would’ve been a good thing, right? It wasn’t. I’d already restocked all the bays and even cleaned-up/wiped down the reception desk but this was such a lull I found myself walking the halls, hands shoved in the deep pockets of my scrubs as I tried to find something (anything!) to do. Yeah, there were people in the waiting room and occupying a couple of the beds waiting for a doctor, but (thankfully) not from car accidents, college kids up to no good or workplace mishaps.

  Walking the loop down the different corridors leading back to the ER, I heard voices.

  Or rather, one voice in particular.

  A voice that hit my ears and slid like honey to coat all my insides.

  A deep, deliciously rich voice I’d dreamed about in the deep sleep I’d tumbled into the night before.

  A voice I knew I’d never, ever forget.

  As if to either verify or to allow the voice to work its magic, my feet stuttered to a stop at the mouth of the hallway and my eyes scanned the reception area of ER.

  Oh my god.

  Ryker.

  My handy-man, slash fantasy-lover was leaning against the counter, his one hand holding a bloody towel against the other as he leaned towards Rhonda. My gaze reluctantly disengaged from their admiring perusal of his faded, red Fuego’s t-shirt pulled tight over his chest and biceps, his messy over-long hair and well-worn jeans cupping his butt perfectly, to view a slack-mouthed Rhonda.

  I’d seen the woman in action and no one would ever call her a slouch when it came to triaging and working a patient, but at that moment and with all the manly beauty of Ryker front and center at her desk, my friend froze. Taking in her awed, though appreciative deer-in-headlights look, I forced myself to walk as naturally as possible to the desk.

  I was a professional and could be counted on to behave like one. At least, that’s what I told myself as a shiver ran through me, leaving me trembling as I strode forward. God, he looked just as amazing as he had the day before when he’d tested my sockets. Although I’d spent a lot of head-time after he’d left, convincing myself Ryker only appeared so hot because I was riding the high of moving to a new place where I was gonna try living solo.

  As my eyes swung back to him and stayed, I knew I’d lied to myself. The man was nothing short of a fifteen on a scale of one to ten on the hot-guy meter.

  I didn’t blame Rhonda a bit for the dazzled look her face held. Or the way she seemed to not hear Ryker asking for help even as blood dripped down his forearm and pooled onto the desk I’d just cleaned.

  Rounding the station, I made a point of bumping into her in the hopes it would jolt her out of her Ryker-induced fog. It must have been the right thing to do because Rhonda shook herself and reached for an intake form. Although her normally firm vocal power wasn’t there as she swallowed and mumbled, “Can I…I mean, may I see your I.D. and insurance card?”

  Ryker dropped the blood-soaked towel and groped for his wallet with his one good hand. The towel landed on the white of the desktop with a splat and I saw his already pale face crease into a frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can…”

  Racing around to his side of the desk, I pressed in to assist. But what could I do? I wasn’t wearing gloves so I knew not to go near the bloody towel and I sure as hell didn’t know him well enough to help him retrieve his wallet although my fingers itched at the thought of touching his butt. “Let’s get him into a bay and I’ll bring his ID and proof back,” I offered, gaining both Rhonda and Ryker’s attention.

  “Phoebe,” he said or should I say, breathed because his
voice was so quiet, so soft it was more of a whisper.

  I blinked, tamping down the thrill of the sound of my name on his lips and overjoyed he’d even remembered it. “Hey, Ryker. Why don’t you follow me and we’ll get a doctor in to see you.”

  “Good idea,” Rhonda groused staring down at the forms in her hand as if she didn’t have a clue why she was holding them.

  “I’m taking him to two,” I announced, while putting my fingers in the middle of Ryker’s back to steer him to the bay in question. He didn’t protest either my hand or the way I guided him to the bed before I pulled the curtain around to give us privacy.

  “Sit on the edge and let’s see what we’re working with here,” I said in my most I’m-a-nurse-and-I-know-what-I’m doing voice. After the loss of his towel (the one I’d left behind in reception and hoped Rhonda would dispose of), he’d looped the bottom of his t-shirt around his injured hand to prevent it from leaving a trail of blood.

  Peeling back his erstwhile covering, I saw a two-inch gash across the flesh at the base of his fingers. One deep and long enough to require stitches. Turning to a drawer I donned a pair of gloves before snagging a handful of 4x4 gauze. Making quick work of the squares, I pressed them against his still bleeding laceration.

  “How’d this happen?” I asked, my eyes on his cut as my mind sorted through all the pre-treatment his wound would require before a doctor arrived. I’d spoken automatically as I’d done with countless patients before but, when he didn’t answer, I raised my face to his.

  That one glance was my undoing as all my medical training withered and I again found myself sinking into his amazing green-eyed gaze.

  “You’re a nurse,” he stated flatly, but I caught a sparkle in his look, belying his unemotional tone.

  “Yep,” I answered somewhat breathily, my nervousness more than evident with the quiver of my one word answer. In an effort to shake off the moment and try to re-grasp a modicum of professionalism, I dropped my eyes to break our connection while adding, “What was your first clue?”