Blissful Surrender (Bliss #3)(2)
Author: B.J. Harvey

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 f**king 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, f**king 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 f**king 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 f**ker 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 …