Living Fast
Steele Ridge Series
Adrienne Giordano
Kicksass Creations LLC
Living FAST
A Steele Ridge Novel, Book 3
Green Beret Reid Steele needs a new career ASAP. After a knee injury permanently sidelines him from his dream job, Reid heads home to the mountains of Steele Ridge to regroup, but small-town life isn’t cutting it for a man accustomed to action. When sexy boutique owner Brynne Whitfield captures his attention, Reid thinks he’s found the perfect distraction from boredom.
The last thing recently-dumped Brynne is interested in is another fast-talking man who will break her heart and dismiss her like yesterday’s trash. Even if Reid Steele’s body does make her yearn for things she knows are as bad for her as hot fudge sundaes.
When Brynne’s closest friend is murdered and she’s also targeted, Reid can’t resist the lure of action and goes on a hunt for answers to disturbing questions. But can he protect her from a cold-blooded killer—and win her battered heart?
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Published by Kicksass Creations LLC
Steele Ridge Series
The BEGINNING, A Short Prequel, Book 1
* * *
Going HARD, Book 2
* * *
Living FAST, Book 3
* * *
Loving DEEP, Book 4
* * *
Coming in 2017
Breaking FREE
Roaming WILD
Stripping BARE
1
Everything was going to hell.
Fast.
Reid stood on the back end of his mother's property and stared out at acres upon acres of open land while his youngest brother, Jonah, rattled on about…something. Jonah's mouth was moving and words were definitely coming out, but by the time they got to Reid's ears everything morphed to a muddled rowr, rowr, rowr.
“Wait.” Reid shook his head to clear the fog. “Slow down. What I think you're telling me is that you want me to oversee building some kind of law enforcement training center? Here? In Mom's backyard?”
In the distance, the bright May sunshine reflected off the windows of the large empty building the town had intended to be a state-of-the-art sports complex.
The Baby Billionaire waved one hand at enough open space for a man to get lost in. “You can use the building already available from the defunct sports complex. And it's not exactly Mom's backyard. I gave her the house, but she doesn't care what we do with the rest of the twenty thousand acres.” Jonah flashed a grin. “I'm giving you seven of them.”
Whoa. Giving him? Nobody gave Reid Steele anything. He worked for every damned dime he earned. And what the hell did he know about building a training center for cops?
From the age of sixteen, he'd set his goals around becoming a Green Beret. The tip of the spear. The baddest of the bad. He wanted it all. And got it. At least until he jumped off the back of a truck eight months ago and blew out his knee.
All that work, the studying of foreign cultures and the accents and languages, work that he loved and shared and occasionally bitched about with the guys in his unit, was gone now. All of it.
Poof.
Gone.
He drew a deep breath and scratched a sudden itch on the side of his face. “Dude, this isn't my thing. I'm boots on the ground. What do I know about zoning regulations and all the bureaucratic bullshit that'll come with developing a training center?”
Jonah faced him, his hazel eyes direct. “We'll figure it out. All I know is I got a boatload of money wrapped up in this place and we need to revitalize it. I see this as a family operation. Last I checked, you were part of the family.”
Oh, leave it to Jonah to play that card. Reid held his finger up. “No one told you to use your own money to bail the town out of a bad deal. You made that decision yourself. And even if I knew anything about building a training center, maybe this isn't in my plan. You already did this to Grif, you're not railroading me into giving up my life. That's bullshit.”
Freaking Jonah.
Baby Billionaire made a grunting noise low in his throat, looked out over the property he now owned, and after a few seconds turned back to him. “Let's take a minute here. Before we wind up bloody.”
Because, yeah, that had been known to happen with the Steele brothers. As much as they all loved each other, none of them had a problem throwing hands to settle an argument.
“Maybe I came at this wrong,” Jonah continued. “I don't expect you to give up your life or your plans, whatever they might be.”
Freaking Jonah. He knew Reid was at loose ends trying to figure out his next career.
One for a washed-up Green Beret.
And the occasional firearms safety lessons he'd been giving at one of the local ranges to bring in some money wouldn't cut it.
Dammit.
“My thought,” Jonah said, “is that you oversee the development of a facility where law enforcement agencies can send their officers for training. A privately owned police academy, if you will. Once it's done, you can go off and do whatever it is you're planning. Think of it as a temporary gig. You sure as hell have the skills for it. Who would know better than you what a facility like this would need?”
Reid looked out over the tall grass and shrubs. All that open land a prime location for a facility like the one he'd been trained on. In actuality, it might be fun. If he didn't have to deal with bullshit paperwork and being stuck in the small town he'd left at eighteen. Back then he'd wanted to experience the world. And he'd done it. Loved it, too. And he sure as shit didn't expect to give up that exploring at the age of thirty.
Again he scratched his cheek and tried to ignore his brother's stare. “I don't know; I'll think about it.”
Jonah sighed. “What if I pay you? Think of yourself as some hotshot consultant. Consultants get paid big bucks for shit like this.”
And now his little brother expected to pay him.
As.
If.
He'd sooner cut out his own eye than take Jonah's money. The kid worked hard for that fortune and shouldn't be giving it away.
“My ass. I'm not taking your money. We're family. My only issue is that I don't want to be tied down.”
Tied down and obsessing over his current circumstances. Something he despised. For years, he'd thrived on military life. The ability to serve. To make a damned difference. Now he didn't know where the hell he fit.
So he'd come home to regroup and figure out how to become whole again. Swapped out his BDUs for jeans and T-shirts and wound up in the middle of his calculating baby brother's plan to reenergize Steele Ridge.
“Who said you're tied down? Is this about the job in Georgia? Did they make you an offer?”
Two days earlier he'd flown to the land of peaches for a look-see at a private security operation interested in hiring former military guys for some overseas contract work. Thirty minutes into the interview, they'd offered him a job. But the damned knee. Could it hold up?
And did he really want to be doing private contract work?
“Yeah, they made an offer.”
“So you're leaving?”
Was he? Who the hell knew? Reid shrugged. “I don't know if it's the right fit.”
“Then do the build-out while you're waiting for whatever is the right fit. It's not like you have a plan otherwise.”
Well, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? He didn't have a plan. Except to not be in Steele Ridge permanently. He'd been offered a job that might satisfy his craving for action and allow him to utilize his skills, yet…what?
He didn't know. He was great at blowing shi
t up and could sell a dog off a meat truck, but he wasn't a nine-to-fiver. No way.
“If I had a plan, would I be whining?”
Jonah snorted. “You're not whining. You might be pissed at me, but you're not whining. Just do this. It's a total no-brainer for you.”
Reid bit down hard enough to send a shot of pain through his jaw. He did not want to be saddled with this monster. A project like this would be huge. A helluva challenge, which Reid loved, but the red tape? Enormous.
Goddamned Jonah.
But, hell, he didn't have anything else to do and in truth, he was bored out of his skull. Reid glanced down at his knee, where the dull throb reminded him he might need an ibuprofen soon. He redirected his thoughts, vying for more time without medication. Each day he'd been stretching it out a little further. The goal was zero ibuprofen and he'd just dropped from five to four. Definitely on his way.
He focused on the building in the distance, let the tweeting birds and warm sun settle his mind.
A training center.
With his experience, he could probably do it.
What the hell else do I have to do?
“All right,” he said.
“You'll do it?”
“I'm not dealing with paperwork or red tape. I'll do the hands-on stuff while I'm deciding if I want this job in Georgia.” He poked his finger at Jonah. “But I'm pissed at you. Just so you know.”
After agreeing to Jonah's request, Reid hauled ass into town. What he needed now was a beer and a bitch session and when it came to bitch sessions, big brother Grif always made it worthwhile.
Reid pulled into a parking spot in front of La Belle Style and sat behind the wheel of his truck staring at the window display. A fancy boutique.
In Steele Ridge.
Everything.
Going.
To hell.
What did the Ridge need a place like that for? Nobody here wore that edgy New York stuff.
He glanced in the rearview, spotted Grif coming out of the old Murchison building across the street where he kept an office. Perfect. Just the guy he'd come looking for.
The sun spilled across the dash, heating up the interior, stealing his air and making his head pound—trapped—reminding him how he'd felt for the past months, since coming back to the Ridge. He yanked the door handle and kicked the door open, sucking in much-needed oxygen.
Grif knocked on the passenger side and Reid hit the window button. “The Baby Billionaire.” he said. “Do you care if I kill him? I mean, he's screwing us up. I'll make it quick. Painless even.”
Grif let out a sigh. “You can't kill him. I already tried. He's too stubborn to die.”
The two of them shared a laugh, more out of frustration that Jonah, their little brother/video-game tycoon/billionaire and general pain in the ass had more or less set a bomb off in their lives.
Grif, older brother number two, understood all too well what it felt like to have his existence throttled by Jonah.
Needing to move, Reid slid his .45 from the holster mounted under his steering column, secured it at his waist, and hopped out of the sweet F-150 it'd taken five years to save his army pennies for. All that saving and he'd barely driven the damned thing in the two years he'd owned it.
Welcome home, kid.
The afternoon sun continued to beat down, glowing hot, for May in North Carolina anyway, and he tipped his head back, let the warmth wash over him.
He needed to relax. Just let the fickle universe do its thing, and stop obsessing about what he was supposed to do with his life.
Because one thing was for sure. Special Forces was out.
On the other side of the truck, Grif adjusted the sleeves of his pretty-boy dress shirt. Reid glanced down at his jeans, biker boots, and T-shirt and snorted. It wouldn't be the first difference between him and Grif.
He leaned his elbows on the hood, spotted a minuscule ding that needed repair. He'd get to that later. “Here's the thing I don't understand.”
Grif laughed. “You mean there's only one?”
No shit there. “Give me ten seconds and I'll give you a few more. But, for now, what I don't understand is how Jonah-the-runt thinks he's gonna turn our shit upside down with rebuilding this town. Now he wants a training center built. And dummy me, I agreed to it. All he has to do is write a fucking check. You and me? Total life change.”
At this point, Grif had probably taken the bigger hit on that one because he had a client list, based in California, he was trying to manage from the East Coast.
And that was in addition to being the Jonah-appointed city manager of the newly minted Steele Ridge.
Reid? His blown-out knee had ended his Army career so he was in the wind anyway. Still, he didn't like Jonah telling him how to live his life.
A quack—literally—disrupted his mental rant and Reid turned.
Oh, come on. Now this?
A mama duck led her troop of ducklings across Main Street. The lack of cars eliminated the possibility of a traffic jam and if some asshole teenager came barreling through town, forget it. Lights out for the duckies.
And Reid wasn't letting that happen. “No way,” Reid said, marching into the street where, yep, a car whipped the turn on Main.
Oh, jeez. This was worse than an asshole teenager.
Crazy Mrs. Royce in her giant '85 Lincoln Continental. Not only was she half deaf, she was blind as a bat and meaner than a pissed-off grizzly. And her driving? Please. Everyone in town hauled ass when she got behind the wheel. No one was safe—never mind a bunch of ducklings—with Mrs. Royce on the road.
In the middle of the street, he held his hand up in the classic stop signal and hoped to hell that giant Lincoln didn't make him a pancake.
Mrs. Royce kept coming and Reid looked back at the ducks, the mama now squawking, bitching at him for getting too close.
“Hey,” he said. “Don't yell at me. You're the one walking your babies across the street. Where are your protective instincts?”
The knocking of the Continental's ancient engine drew closer.
Please let her see me in the street.
“Reid,” Mr. Perkins said from the sidewalk, “did someone hit you with a pipe? That woman'll run your ass over.”
He could see the obit now. Green Beret killed saving ducklings.
Shit.
What a way to go out.
For added presence, he held up his other hand, started waving his arms, but the Lincoln rocked along, bearing down on him.
In all the ways he'd almost died, this one was a total disappointment.
“Stop!” he hollered.
With only ten yards to spare, Mrs. Royce slammed on her brakes, bringing the land yacht to a lurching halt.
Mrs. R. stuck her head out the open driver's window. “Reid Steele! What in God's name are you doing?”
Seriously? She didn't see the ducks?
He pointed at the still-bitching mama duck. “Ducks, Mrs. Royce. I'm trying to get them across the street.”
The woman tipped her head down, then swung it left as she watched the mama and babies waddle along.
Unbelievable.
Behind him, another car beeped, sending mama duck into another hormonal rage.
And, hello? This was the Ridge, where the hell were these people going in such a hurry?
Reid angled back, spotted the Peterlin kid's truck. That kid. He was the one who tried to get Evie's pants off her in the eleventh grade. And didn't that bring a fresh bout of anger racing to the surface.
Back then Britt had handled the situation by cleaning his shotgun on the front porch whenever the kid showed up.
The subtle approach.
Reid? He'd have shoved the horny bastard against a wall and showed him exactly where he could put his hands on their baby sister. Which, pretty much, came down to the top of her head.
“Relax,” he said to the Peterlin kid. “She's almost across and you'll be on your way.”
“I'm busy, Reid!” Mrs. Royce ye
lled.
At least one of them was. Mrs. Royce's role of being the crazy lady in town at least gave her a legacy to leave behind. Which was a whole lot more than Reid could say about himself.
Mama and her babies marched up the handicapped ramp on the opposite side of the street and made their way down the sidewalk. Reid stepped back, waved the cars through and headed back to his truck where Grif hit him with a caustic grin.
“Saving the day again. You just can't help yourself.”
“Fuck off. I wasn't about to watch those ducklings get plastered. Now I need a beer. You coming with me or am I getting drunk alone?”
“I can't. Sorry. Meeting with the mayor.”
As the newly appointed city manager of Steele Ridge, part of Grif's responsibilities included keeping the mayor and council members from blowing the wad of cash Jonah had ponied up to save the town from bankruptcy. It also meant Grif was busier than a one-legged man in a kicking contest.
Out of the corner of his eye, Reid spotted a flash of blue. Coming out of the boutique—hiya, sweet thing—was a dark-haired woman wearing a tight dress the color of a perfect summer sky. He'd seen her at Mom's birthday party a few months ago and she'd nabbed his very horny attention then, too.
She faced the front window and scanned its contents. And that rear view? Holy hell, Reid's lungs might have collapsed.
God, that ass.
He swiveled his head back to Grif, slid his sunglasses down his nose and jerked his head toward the store.
“Wicked hot,” he said, keeping his voice low enough where the sweet thing wouldn't hear him.
He might be a pig, but he wasn't that much of a pig.
Grif rolled his eyes. “Forget it. That's Brynne. She's young and you're an animal.”
“How young we talking?”
Big brother laughed. “Twenty-four, I think. You don't remember her?”
Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series Page 1
