ex-military and there are a lot of male nurses in the military. If you’re not a doc, you must be a nurse.”
“Well, I’m not a doc, nor am I a nurse, and for the record, there are a lot of female nurses, doctors, anesthetists, and…”
“Anes-the-what?”
“CRNAs.” He casually crosses his arms over his very broad and very muscular chest. “Certified nurse anesthetists?” There goes that brow of his. Just the one, lifting like it’s smirking at me.
“You’re ex-military, right?”
“Sure am. Air Force.”
“But not a doc and not a nurse?”
“Nope.” He pops the “P” and grins. Ryker rocks back and looks down at me. “I’m an RT.”
“What’s that?”
“Respiratory therapist.”
“And you’re going to examine me?”
“Does that bother you?”
“Just didn’t think it fell in the realm of what an RT does.”
“Well, in the Guardians, we cross-train and multi-task. I assure you, I’m more than qualified to perform an exam.”
My attention shifts from Ryker to where Skye forces Four to unlace his boots and strip out of his pants. All that masculine flesh rivets my attention. I didn’t know thighs could bulge with that many muscles. My mouth goes dry as I gape at the muscles twining up Four’s legs, and I kind of linger on the bulge nestled between his thighs. I miss what Ryker says next.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Ryker glances over his shoulder. Four winces as Skye forces him onto an examination table.
“Skye will take good care of your Guardian friend. In the meantime, do you have any injuries?”
“No.” My clipped response makes his smile bounce.
“Do you mind if I take that look now?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, but I think a little look is a good idea. Don’t you?” He points to my face, where the skin swelled after Bossman got in a few good punches. It feels tight. “You’ve got some impressive bruising.”
“It’s nothing.”
“And the back of your hair is matted with blood.”
“No, it’s not. I washed all of him off.” Shit, didn’t mean to say that. Now there will be questions and I’m not interested in answering any questions. I know how this works.
Been here. Done that. Got the goddamn scars to prove it.
“You did what?”
The whole Guardian HRS operation goes out into the bad, bad world, rescues the lost and the stolen, then returns them to the Facility where a team of highly skilled psychologists, life coaches, educators, and more specialists than I can count, band together to rehabilitate the traumatized. They turn victims into self-reliant survivors.
I spent an entire year at the Facility getting rehabilitated and working through my trauma. They’re helping me with my education. I’ll have my GED soon, and after that, I get to decide what to do next. I’m supposed to be one of their survivors, not another victim.
Ugh! I hate my life.
I spent a good chunk of that year with Four, learning how to defend myself and increase my situational awareness. It’s another part of their philosophy of turning victims into survivors.
I want to be a survivor.
But the very first time I left the Facility, look what happened? Victimized—again. Seriously, I’m starting to lose count.
I must’ve built up a shit-ton’s worth of bad karma in a previous life to deserve this shitty run I’ve got going now.
An exacerbated sigh escapes me as I cross my arms and glare at Ryker. He’s tall, Guardian tall, and I bet he was in some sort of special ops role as well. He’d be intimidating, except for his smile and the casual way he holds himself. It’s different from how Four stands.
Four’s ready for battle all the time. Like ALL the time. He’s—lethal.
Dangerous.
Terrifying if you don’t know him and wound super tight. Like at any moment he’ll explode with lethal force. I find that absolutely intoxicating.
Ryker is tall, muscular, definitely competent, but he’s genuinely interested in how I feel. I suppose that’s the difference between a healer and a warrior.
“So how does a respiratory therapist land a job like this?” I try to deflect and switch the topic of conversation from me to Ryker. “And are you sure you’re qualified to do an exam?”
“I can show you my certificates if that helps. As for how I got a job like this, my wife is one of Forest’s earliest rescuees. She and I were teammates in the military.”
“And that’s how you know Forest?”
“Sort of. Along with everything else that man’s involved in, he manages the rock band, Angel Fire. Have you heard of them?”
“Have I? Who hasn’t?” Angel Fire is only the