Page 1 of Ryder's War

~ Tiffany ~

Blood and bullets—some things never changed, but Tiffany had. Six months as a Blind Jacks old lady had taught her that sometimes the fastest response wasn't running away, but running toward the chaos.

As gunfire shattered the autumn air, Tiffany's hands were already moving, grabbing her medical bag with the practiced efficiency that came from loving a man like Ryder.

The Halloween decorations suddenly seemed less festive and more prophetic as she raced toward the sound. She'd helped hang those decorations yesterday, another surreal moment in her new normal—the nurse who used to run from violence now planning MC parties between patching up bullet wounds. The plastic skeletons seemed to mock her as she grabbed her ever-ready medical bag. Some habits were worth keeping.

These days, trouble usually wore a Blind Jacks cut—and usually belonged to her man.

Racing back in the direction the sound originated from, she was intercepted by one of the brothers and hustled into the MC clubhouse instead. Clutching her soft-sided first-aid bag, she came to a staggering stop inside the back room.

Old instincts warred with new ones—her nurse's training pushing her forward while five years of running from danger screamed at her to flee. But that was before Ryder, before she'd learned that sometimes safety meant choosing the right kind of dangerous.

The sight unfolding in front of her was nothing short of alarming. Ace was lying on his back across a pool table, and Ryder was standing over him, plugging a hole in his thigh with a pool stick. The table was covered with copious amounts of blood, and if that wasn’t bad enough, black bats and Halloween streamers hung down around the arguing pair, like a not-so-funny comic backdrop.

The contrast would have been comical if she hadn't become so accustomed to how the club mixed violence with normality. Even theirparties came with a body count.

Stumbling over a hay bale, she ignored the pumpkin that went rolling off to the side and slid to a stop beside the pool table.

Tiffany bit back a smile despite the situation. Six months together had taught her that under his gruff exterior, her man had good instincts—even if his execution needed work. “This is not proper compression procedures for a wound, babe,” she chided, the endearment as natural now as breathing.

Jerking open her bag, Tiffany snapped on a pair of rubber gloves before shooting the love of her life another disapproving glare. “Why in the hell did you take the first-aid class, if you weren’t going to take it seriously?”

Jerking back, Ryder stared at her indignantly. “Don’t look at me like that, doll. I tried to push on it with both hands, but the blood wouldn’t stop gushing out all over the damn place. The stupid fucker’s got abnormal goblin blood or some shit. I swear, it was fightin’ to get out of his body. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Pluggin’ the damn hole up is the only thing that worked.”

Tiffany shook her head and mumbled, “Yeah, you’re a freaking hero, babe.”

Quickly pulling out a sterile pad and some clamps, she climbed onto the table to have a lookfor herself. Pulling slightly at the skin around the pool stick caused blood to pool again, and Ace groaned in pain.

“It sounds like the bullet may have nicked a secondary artery. You’re simply compressing the artery at the injury site. Plug it with your finger next time.”

“No fuckin’ way.”

Unsure exactly what was up with the stubborn set of Ryder’s jaw, Tiffany insisted again, “I’m serious. It’s less likely to damage the artery and soft tissue.”

His face contorted into an expression of absolute disgust. Jesus, what was his problem?

“You gotta be kidding me, doll. I ain’t about to stick my finger in some dude I don’t even like.” Her big, beautiful biker was looking at her as if she was ten kinds of crazy.

Ace’s furious voice filled the air as his hands white-knuckled the sides of the pool table. “Fuck you, man. I don’t even think of you as a brother.”

Ryder smacked him roughly on the side of the head and bent down to look him in the eye. “Of course you don’t. You ain’t a brother until you earn your bottom rocker. Till then, you’re just a snot-nosed prospect.”

“I’m the only snot-nosed prospect around here who’s done a dime, so fuck off.”

Tiffany caught the flash of respect in Ryder's eyes before he masked it with annoyance. The club had its own hierarchy, but respect was earned in unexpected ways. Prison time meant something different here than it had in her old world of hospital administration and charity galas.

Climbing up to get a better look, Tiffany scolded the squabbling men. “Knock it off, both of you.” Cutting her eyes up to Ryder, she gentled her voice. “Ease up on the pool stick, baby. I’m going to try and clamp off the artery. This is so far beyond my ability, I don’t even have words...”

The moment he pulled back, a tiny arc of blood squirted from the wound. Using forceps, Tiffany quickly clamped off the artery and got to work stabilizing him for transport to the local emergency room. Her time as an ER nurse came in handy hanging around with this wild bunch of bikers.

Glancing up at Ace’s handsome face, she saw he had three dots tattooed beside one eye and a tiny teardrop inked on his cheek. She vaguely remembered Ryder saying that meant he’d killed someone in prison and led a crazy life. Then again, that statement could pretty much describe every man in the club, including her beloved Ryder.

She frowned as she continued to work on his wound. “I thought you two were finished shooting each other up.”

Ace darted a quick glance from Ryder back to her. Licking his lips, he admitted softly. “I…uh…kind of shot myself.”

Tiffany noticed the little drops of sweat beading up on Ace’s forehead and the tightness around his mouth when he spoke. His gaze slid away she tried to catch his eye.

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