Blissful Surrender (2 page)

And it was all done while I was ten blocks away in my tall glass building, knee deep in a hostile takeover mediation. Who knew the real hostility was being carried out in my own back yard.

As I take another sip of my drink and I watch another camera angle of the ‘transaction,’ the sick feeling in my stomach increases. He has not only involved himself in the shit this time, he’s dragged my ass into his mess. The shit that my brother attracts just never fucking ends.

If my father or grandfather were alive today, they’d have me tanning his hide and throwing him out on his ear. But I can’t seem to do that. Every single fucking time I save the day. As much as I try to clear the way for him to stay legit and finally make something of himself, he always stumbles. Despite the time, effort and many opportunities afforded to him by me, nothing seems to change.

Well, this time it’s going to be different.

Once I’ve calmed down enough to talk to him, I’ll make him understand that this time he’s gone too far.

This time he’s going to have to learn the hard way.

Alone.

Sam

Two Days Later

“Roberts, get your ass over here. Stop mooning over your fiancée or I’ll have you written up sooner than you can say yes ma’am.” I try to keep a straight face but on the inside I’m having trouble backing up my threats. He knows as well as I do that when it comes to Zander, I seem to lose my ice queen tag.

Zander Roberts has been my partner for six months and in that time he’s managed to do what many before him have failed at—loosen me up. I’ve been, for lack of a better word, uptight for the best part of a decade. In order to be the strong, capable and independent woman my mother raised me to be, I’ve had to wear what I now liken to being my invisible armor—impenetrable to anyone and anything. I’ve been all about the job; the academy, then working on the street doing general patrol and a field training officer. Zander was the last recruit I took on as a field training officer. I worked him to the bone for a month while he experienced what the reality of being a cop in Chicago entailed. And he did me proud. So much so that I requested he become my partner when I returned to patrol.

Now, we’re as tight as partners can be. He still has his moments where he drives me insane, but all in all, he’s professional, alert, and there is no one else I’d rather have my back.

I hear the computer in the patrol car ding, and with the press of a button I see a call come up for an assault at an address in the club district. Division Street to be exact. My body goes cold when I realize what club it is.

Dammit. Shit, damn, mother-fucking hell. Why me!

Zander looks over at me and quirks a brow. “Sam, you think we might get moving? You’re just sitting there staring at the screen. Is there a problem?”

I shake my head to snap myself out of it. I can do this. I’m a professional. I’m a freaking cop for Christ’s sake. I can walk into that club, an establishment that, in itself, I despise, and do my job. Yes, I can be Samantha Richards, police woman and servant to the city of Chicago.

“Sam?”

I move into action.

Flicking the lights and sirens on, I turn the key in the ignition, then clear my throat and lick my lips which have suddenly gone dry as a fucking desert. “I’m good, Roberts. We’re good. Let’s get this done. Can you keep an eye out for the bus? We’ll need to make sure the scene is safe for them before they can go in.”

“Sure thing.”

Three minutes later and I’m slamming to a stop outside a large, black, concrete building with the word
Throb
painted large and proud in bright red writing across the front. It’s bold, daring, and proud … just like the club owner himself. Fuck! No, do not think about him.

Zander and I get out of our patrol car just as the ambulance pulls up behind us and I see my best friends Heather and Rico jump out then walk around the back of the bus to get ready. Checking that Zander has my back, I draw my weapon from the belt at my hip.

Together we walk into the club, taking a careful step inside. “CPD, is anyone in here?”

“H-Help! I need help!” a raspy voice shouts in desperation from the back of the large dance floor. 

Zander runs ahead, weapon back in his holster. “Roberts, fucking hold up, will you? Have you cleared the scene? Think about your own back, and mine for that matter, before anything else. God, have I taught you nothing?” Zander’s good but he still has his green moments. Now being one of them.

He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look at me. “Dammit, he needs help, Sam.”

“I know, but right now I don’t care. We’re no use to him if we get attacked, are we?” I raise an eyebrow to him as I look around the room, scanning for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. Standing back, I’m still unable to see the victim.

“Is he still here, sir? Are you alone?”

“Y-Yeah,” he sputters out. “The guy that … uh, roughed me up some left through the back when he heard sirens.”

“Robbery?”

“Uh … yeah. It must’ve been.”

Suddenly I’m suspicious and there’s a knot forming in my stomach. A robbery of a nightclub in the early afternoon? Something isn’t right here.

“He didn’t get anything,” he continues, his voice getting stronger the more he talks. He sounds more sure of himself now; a complete one-eighty from when we first arrived. “The safe needs double verification and my brother seems to have changed the combination overnight without telling me.”

With Zander at my side, we both move quickly toward his voice. Once happy that the room is secure, I yell, “CLEAR!” toward the front doors, hoping the two officers out on the street hear me. “Where are you, sir?” I ask when I reach the bar. I look over and see a familiar man slumped against the fridges lining the back wall.

“Ryan?” I say in shock, my voice hoarse. I put my arm on the bar and push my body up and over, using my legs as leverage.

“Sammy? Fuck!” He falls sideways, but I manage to catch his head before it hits the hard tiled floor. I slide down to the floor and lean back against the wall, resting Ryan’s head in my lap. His right eye is almost swollen shut, and I see a cut to his cheek that doesn’t look too deep but is slowly oozing blood.

“Roberts, go get the paramedics. He needs help,” I yell to Zander who is coming through the side of the bar to join us.

“On it. You okay here?”

“Yep. Go get them, Zander. Now!”

“Can’t … tell … Sean …” he whispers, his eye closing.

I shake him, trying to keep him awake. He may have a concussion. “Stop, Ryan. Where are you hurt?” I run my hand over his head, flinching when I feel the familiar warm sticky feeling of blood and matted hair between my fingers. Guaranteed head injury. 

“He jumped … me … in my own fucking bar. Sean’s going to be so—”

“No, Ryan, don’t worry about that right now. Where else?”

“What?” he looks up at me in confusion.

“Where else are you hurt?” I question.

“Ribs,” he wheezes. “The fucker kicked me in the ribs, then knocked my head against the wall.”

“It’s okay,” I explain as I see Helen and Rico round the bar. I look up and give them a grim smile. They’re my best friends and just happen to be the paramedics on duty today. To be honest, it’s nice to see a friendly face given that I’m scared shitless that a man I’ve tried to forget for the past ten years could make an appearance at any moment. I look down at Ryan again and see his dark, sapphire blue eyes looking back up at me like I’m his hero or something. With his guard down, I catch a glimpse of the lost little boy from all those years ago; the man who never quite recovered from the tragedy of his past. It hurts my soul just as much now as it did back then. Losing your parents, and then losing your grandparents eight years later would have an effect on even the strongest man. Like Sean …

I take a deep breath and swallow down the lump in my throat. “Ryan, the paramedics are here to look after you now.” I hold my hands up as he is pulled off me, then push off the floor and stand up, stepping out of the bar area to give them space to check him over. I look down at my previously clean blue shirt and see a large, crimson blood stain.

Dammit all to Hell.
I’ve still got half a shift left.

Walking aimlessly through the room, I shake my head in disbelief. Ryan fucking Miller. The younger brother of the one man I’d ever let close enough to shatter me. At this moment, I hate and love his brother all over again.

Sean Miller.

The biggest sacrifice of my life.

The one I let go.

Fuck!
I need to get out of here before Sean shows up and my day goes to complete shit.

Then it hits me. With Ryan gone, there will be no one here, and if it was a robbery, there is nothing to stop the dickhead returning. Without thinking of the consequences for myself, I spin on my heels and head back toward Ryan. This is totally above and beyond the call of duty and I know it.

“Ry, is there anyone else here today? Anyone else working who can close up for you?”

“Nah. Sean’s not due in for another hour because of some deposition he’s involved with, and Amy, our other bar manager, is due around the same time.”

Fuck. Shit. Christ Almighty.

I look to the ceiling, begging whichever higher being watching over me to take me then and there.

“Where are your keys, Ryan?”

“Back pocket. Jeans,” he rasps out, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask now covering his mouth. Rico looks up at me and raises his eyebrow. I nod and watch as he reaches in to Ryan’s pocket, pulling out a foot long chain with a stack of keys attached. He makes sure he unclips the chain from Ryan’s jeans before throwing them my way.

Rico and I tried to date a few years ago, and although it didn’t work out, we’ve been close friends ever since. He’s Brazilian and all kinds of hot. Chocolate brown hair, deep green eyes, and a body that is a masterpiece of sculpted lines and hard muscle. One look at him and you can tell how much time and effort he puts into it. Helen is his partner and fiancée. She’s my complete opposite with black hair cut into a jagged, almost razor edge style that not a lot of women could pull off, but she rocks it, big brown eyes that are beautiful and captivating, and a unique style that she dons proudly—in and out of uniform.

They may be partners but Rico and Helen are also a couple. When they tried the dating thing a year ago—after I insisted— they hit it off like a space rocket on launch day. Sparks flew, clothes ripped off, and they’re getting married next year. I couldn’t be happier for them. 

As I turn toward the club’s front doors and reach up to grab my radio, Zander walks in.

“Roberts, can you—”

“Tape is up and two rookies are still outside guarding the door. I scoped out the neighbors on either side. They heard shouting, and one called 911 but didn’t see anyone leave. Detectives are on the way, but I doubt we’ll find whoever did this. I came through the back door and there’s a small alleyway behind this block. I’d say the perp escaped that way. Once that guy is patched up they’ll be able to interview him and get access to the security tapes. Get a better look.”

I look up at my partner and narrow my eyes. “You did all of that since you went outside?”

He grins at me; his ‘I’m shit hot and I know it’ look that he’s famous for around the precinct. The former stripper in him shines through as he turns on the charm. “
Of course, partner.
That’s what you
wanted
me to do, isn’t it?”

“Piss off, Roberts. Your bullshit charm won’t work on me.”

“It’s worked before,” he retorts with a cheeky grin.

“Got your sights set on making Detective, Zan?” I reply back, smirking at him. My partner has come a long way in a few months. It’s great to see him taking initiative.

“One day.”

“It’s good to have a goal in life beyond being
really really good looking
” I retort with a smirk. “Anyway, let’s lock up and leave the keys with the officers out front until the other owner arrives,” I state, my cop persona snapping back into place. 

“Return of the Ice Queen,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Say what now?”

He rubs the back of his neck as Rico and Helen wheel Ryan’s stretcher past us. Helen mouths ‘Are you okay?’ as they head toward the door, and I nod. It’s a white lie I know she’ll call me out on later, but at least it will be when I’m at home with a gin and tonic in my hand and not in the fetish club that my ex-boyfriend owns. 

“Zander,” I say quietly once the paramedics and Ryan are gone. “I’m called the Ice Queen?”

His eyes soften. “Sam, it’s just a stupid name. Just ignore it.”

I think on it for a moment before I shock the shit out of him by replying with a shit eating grin on my face. “I’m disappointed. I thought for sure I’d be known as a ball buster. I’ll have to try harder.”

He cracks up laughing before giving me a shoulder bump. We walk out the front doors, pulling them closed before securing the club. I throw the keys at Officer Keats who is standing by our patrol car. “Keats, Detectives will be here soon. When Sean Miller or a bar manager named Amy arrive, please tell them what has happened and give Mr. Miller those keys. I’ll get the detectives to keep trying to get through to him as well. Any problems, call it in.”

When Zander and I are back in the squad car and he’s called through our clear status over the radio, he turns in the passenger seat and stares at me, studying me quietly. The silence stretches between us, and suddenly I’m feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I’ve never liked people getting involved in my personal business. I’m a very private person and he knows it. We may be partners, but I won’t be talking about Sean Miller and our history with Zander. Not now when it’s suddenly being refreshed in my mind,
and not ever.

“Roberts, cut the shit. Let’s go,” I say, crossing my arms and leveling an equally unimpressed stare right back at him. 

“You know him don’t you?” I look up at him and there’s concern written all over his face.

“Yes. He’s an old … friend’s brother. I’m okay, Zander. It’s not the brother that’s the problem,” I confess, knowing I’ve said too much, but unable to stop myself.