Page 22 of Ryder's War

Slumping back in the seat, she was glad that she’d thought to stow a good-quality, first-aid bag at the clubhouse. It must have been some kind of five-alarm emergency if it required her to be repeatedly told not to freak. Her head filled with images of multiple gunshot wounds. Surely,they’d take them to the hospital if that were the case, right? Maybe there had been an accident of some sort.

Cork got her there in record time, grabbed the first-aid kit, and took her straight down into the basement—the basement that she never knew was there. A cold chill crept down her spine as they descended the concrete steps.

After hitting the bottom step, she understood why. The basement wasn't just a room; it was a statement about club justice, about the lines between legal and necessary. Her medical training warred with her growing understanding of MC life: sometimes healing meant keeping secrets.

The place was set up like some kind of old-fashioned jail. There were two large rooms on either side with metal floor-to-ceiling bars and doors that swung on old, rusted hinges. No windows or any furniture, other than cots and a chair sitting almost in front of the door. One of the brothers she barely recognized was sitting in the chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest. She thought his name was Knife or something like that. Long, stringy brown hair hung down both sides of his face, barely covering scars on his cheeks.

Cork tapped him out. “Go take a break, Knave. I’ve got this.”

The man stood, towering over them for a brief moment before stalking up the steps. There was only one other person present, and she was ensconced safely behind bars. Looking her over, Tiffany decided she was pretty tough. The woman had long, red hair braided down her back and themost beautiful green eyes. Though she appeared to be in her mid-thirties, her clothing of worn leather bore no club affiliations. She clutched the bars with both hands, jerking on them with all her might.

“Let me the hell out of here. This is kidnapping. You can’t keep me here.”

Slamming his hand against the bars, Cork barked, “Shut your pie hole, if you want the nice nurse to have a look at your shoulder.”

Stepping back so he could open the door, she glared at him. “I wouldn’t have that bullet hole if your guy hadn’t shot me in the first place.”

Stalking over, Cork grabbed her by her good arm and slammed her down into a seated position on the bed. “You’re damn lucky we’re getting you some medical attention after you intentionally busted open your shoulder again, so shut the fuck up.”

Realizing she was in way over her head, Tiffany tried to reconcile her belief that the men she knew were good people, though they were holding this injured woman hostage in their basement cell. Jesus, for them to even have a room like this was evidence that they were totally off the chain. Who did they normally house in this cold, dark place? Did this woman really shoot Darkness? If so, why wasn’t she in jail? So manyquestions slammed through her mind, one right after another.

Pulling herself together, Tiffany’s shaking hands opened the first-aid bag, and she began pawing through the medical supplies. Taking out a sterile suture tray, she set it aside and pulled on a pair of gloves.

The overprotective biker eased back to give her space to work. Tiffany was on automatic pilot, as she slowly cut away the blood-soaked bandages covering the woman’s wound. Examining the back, she gave a sigh of relief when she found the exit wound had been properly sewn closed, as had the front. It looked as if a few of the stitches had been compromised and were beginning to bleed again, though. She dabbed at the area with an astringent and carefully repaired the three sutures. Then she went to work along the edges of the other stitches where blood was crusting.

Without warning, the woman leaned forward. “You’ve got to help me escape. They’re going to kill me,” she hissed, sending a fresh jolt of fear shooting through Tiffany’s body.

“Please sit back,” she murmured, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. Everything about this situation felt wrong. “I need to finishcleaning and bandaging your wound. You probably need a doctor, not a nurse.”

Shaking her head, the woman insisted, “I honestly don’t give a shit who drops a stitch in my shoulder. I got bigger fish to fry. You’ve got to help me.”

Ryder’s deep voice erupted behind them. “My pretty little nurse ain’t got to do nothin’ for you. You best get that through your thick skull.”

Jerking back slightly, the woman gasped. “She’s your old lady. Isn’t that freakin’ nice? You shoot me full of holes, and she stiches them shut again. Aren’t you two a fucking amazing team?”

“It was only one shot,” Ryder placated. “If I hadn’t shot you, then you would have killed Darkness. I caught you lying in wait, zooming him in on your sights. Are you honestly going to sit there and try to tell me I didn’t see what I saw?”

Clearly being less than honest, the woman answered quickly, “No, I was going to wing him. Darkness and I have a history. He knows I’d never kill him.”

“I was there, so I’m afraid I have to call bullshit on that one,” he drawled.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” the woman asked, her eyes wide, and if Tiffany wasn’t mistaken, a hint of trepidation lurked in theirdepths, despite the badass attitude she was throwing around.

“That’s for Darkness and the brothers to vote on,” Ryder informed her. “Maybe if he speaks for you, you’ll live. I have to admit that I don’t see that happening.”

“He took a bullet for me.”

“I ain’t figured that out yet, but I will.”

“It’ll be weeks before he’s fit to call a meeting. By then it’ll be too late.”

“You tired of eatin’ energy bars already? That’s real sad,” Ryder taunted. “But trust me, you’ll survive.”

“It ain’t about me.” Sitting back down, the woman snubbed back a tear.

“Don’t turn on the waterworks, bitch. I ain’t fallin’ for it.”

“I have a daughter. She’s just a baby,” she said, catching Tiffany’s attention. “If I don’t pick her up, they’ll call the state.”

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