The Firefighter's Secret Obsession: Secret Alpha Billionaire Romance: Bronx (Rosesson Brothers Book 3)

by Lisa Ladew

  Jeanette turned the big truck left down the next street, easing them along the back side of the fire. Bronx could see flames shooting in the air over the top of the buildings. He forced himself to breathe deeply and said a quick prayer for anyone inside the building. They hadn't heard yet if there were people trapped, and nothing sounded under control.

  Jeanette pulled the big truck to a stop in front of a large building that took up the entire block, with no way to get to the rear of the building that he could see. That's why they had to go up on the roof. He and Curry both jumped out, hauling their tanks onto their backs as they did so. Bronx ran around to Curry's side and helped him pull the ladder off the side, then they ran with it through the street as the truck pulled away with a hydraulic gasp. A cop in front of them pounded on what looked like apartment doors, yelling, "Fire, everyone out of the building!"

  Thick smoke curled around the street, pushing the scent of wood and fear into Bronx's nostrils. He couldn't feel the heat, they weren't close enough, but that was all that was missing. His body went into auto mode as his training took over. He would haul and carry and do what Curry told him to, and do his best to stay safe and carry out his duties. No matter what.

  He and Curry slapped the ladder up next to the doorstep the cop was on and extended it to full height. It would be close. Curry climbed up first while Bronx held the bottom, then Curry held the top as Bronx climbed up. As he ascended, he saw Curry had a halligan, the long tool that looked like a crowbar but had more prying options, hanging from his gut belt. He wished he'd had the foresight to grab one. Next time.

  Bronx peeked over the top of the building and sucked in a breath at the flames on the far side of the building. That part of the structure looked fully engulfed, and again Bronx hoped no one was left in the building. Even as he was thinking it, he heard a scream from the far side of the block, a scream he had no business being able to hear over the crackling of the flames and the rumble of the fire trucks. A mother's scream.

  My baby! My girl is still inside there! She's only ten! She can't get out on her own!

  The radio crackled and as far as Bronx could tell, a team was going in after someone trapped in one of the units. A girl on the third floor.

  "Aw fuck," Curry called and began to run across the flat roof. Bronx followed. As they got close enough to feel the heat of the flames, Curry slowed down. He pulled his glove off and knelt to touch the roof. "Still cool" he said, but it's starting to feel spongy. A beam could have snapped somewhere down the line."

  Bronx dropped to one knee and felt the roof like Curry had, while his partner pulled out the radio. "Captain Wade we have a visual. The backside of the unit is free of flames. Roof intact but—" his voice cut off as something came flying out of a window they were facing, crashing to the lawn below. Smoke began to pour out of the broken window, rising and merging with the smoke that lifted to the sky. A young girl in a white nightgown appeared, pressing her face up to the jagged glass, and even from twenty feet away Bronx could see the fear in her eyes as she took deep breaths of air.

  Bronx and Curry started forward as a unit, even though there was no way to get to her. No balcony, no overhang. No options.

  "Captain, we have a victim inside, third floor, facing the courtyard. Tell your units to go through the house, out into the courtyard with a ladder. Hurry!"

  Bronx could see as well as Curry could the lick of orange from inside the room where the girl was.

  The radio crackled. "Units stuck, firefighter down. Sending another crew. Do you have a way in?"

  Curry sucked in a breath and looked behind them, then forward again. "No but we could try. Pull our ladder up and put it down on this side. I don't know if there's time."

  "Do it."

  Curry shook his head and turned back towards their ladder, slamming his facemask on, conviction in his strides. Bronx turned to follow, but as he did, a horrible scene erupted in front of him. Bronx's mind denied it even as it happened. Curry's foot broke through the roof and plunged to the waist, even as his other foot stayed stationary on the roof. Half his body fell through the hole, and his leg stuck out at an unnatural angle from the top.

  Bronx rushed forward and grabbed Curry under the arms, hauling him backwards to where they had just been, then pulling him towards the exterior wall a bit as Curry screamed in pain.

  "I got you," Bronx soothed as he tried to position Curry gently. "Broken?" he asked, eyeing Curry's right leg. Even in the turnout gear he could tell something was wrong with Curry's leg. Majorly wrong.

  Curry pulled his facemask off and collapsed onto the roof. "Ah shit, maybe. Unless I dislocated my femur."

  Bronx grabbed Curry's radio. "Captain Wade, Curry is down. I need medics up here right now! We've got a hotspot in the roof."

  Even as he spoke, his gaze found the little girl. She was watching them silently, her hands around her body, which was shaking. As he watched, she began to cough. Behind her, the entire room lit up in an orange glow.

  "Medics heading your way. Do not continue forward Rosesson, do you hear me?"

  Bronx couldn't bring himself to answer. He couldn't let the little girl burn up in front of him, no matter what he was being ordered to do. He would rather die.

  He dropped his oxygen tank and his facemask, considered taking off his turnout gear too, but thought that wasn't enough weight to matter. He looked at Curry, handed him the radio, then stepped past him.

  "Rosesson!" the radio barked. Curry looked at it grimly and switched it off, then nodded at Bronx. "Quickly," he whispered, sweat rolling down his face.

  Bronx sidestepped the hole Curry had made, skirting gingerly around it, not bothering to feel his footholds, but hoping he was following the path of a different beam. He continued forward, even when the flames singed his face. He turned around the bend of the building, his feet swiftly taking him as far as he thought he needed to go, to right over where the little girls window was. He looked back at Curry, who gave him a shaky thumbs-up.

  Bronx had some faint glimmer of what he was going to do, but no real idea. He leaned over the side and screamed to be heard over the roar of the fire and street noise. "Move to the side, I'm going to break the glass!" He got no response, but he hadn't expected one.

  Bronx stripped off his gloves and positioned his body over the lip of the roof. He had no rope, no equipment, but none of that mattered. That girl was out of time in there. Even if all he could do was wrap her in his jacket, keeping her from burning up long enough to drop her out the window to someone, it was better than the alternative.

  He swung his legs over and held all of his bodyweight by his fingers on the short ledge, then felt below him with his feet. He found the glass and he kicked and kneed it mercilessly until the rest of it broke and either crashed to the ground or into the room below him. His waist was at the top apex of the window and he swung outwards with heavy boots, then let go as his momentum carried him into the window. He landed inside, his upper back scraping the bottom of the window hard, but he barely felt it. The heat in the room was unbearable. The little girl's bed and dresser and toys were ablaze, and for a moment, Bronx couldn't find her. Panic seized him. But then he saw her white nightgown. She was tucked into a ball in the corner, just to the right of the window. He stripped off his turnout jacket and wrapped it around her, immediately feeling the skin on his bare arms start to heat. He had to get her out of there.

  Bronx picked her up, still curled in a ball and wrapped in the jacket, and murmured little bits of nonsense to her as he poked his head out the window, sucking in huge breaths of fresh air.

  A wooden ladder banged against the building next to his head. Bronx lifted the girl rolled in his jacket as the ladder undulated, telling him someone was coming up, and fast. He hoisted himself half out of the window and when the masked face came into view he helped tuck the girl into the firefighter's arm and shoulder. Twenty feet below them, more firefighter's circled, ready to catch if they had to.

  Bronx wai
ted until the two were down to the bottom, flattened against the one wall in the room that wasn't ablaze. The second the firefighter's first foot hit the concrete, Bronx grabbed a rung and hoisted himself head-first out the window, his back a strange mixture of tight and wet, his shirt heating till he wondered if it was on fire. He didn't have time to find out. Once on the ladder, he hoisted his legs around till he was feet first and went down as quickly as he could.

  "Take it off, take the shirt off!" Someone yelled in his ear and he stripped his gloves and whipped the smoking garment over his head, wondering how badly he was burnt.

  Chapter 11

  Eme

  Eme entered her office early, as was her habit. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, held her venti caffe latte in a vice grip, and headed through her office to turn on all the lights in the classroom. The fluorescents helped wake her up, and after the less than five hours of sleep she'd just gotten, she needed it. Her sleep was degrading even more, and she didn't know what to do about it.

  But for the next ten or so hours, she didn't have to think about it. She could work. All of the issues would still be waiting for her at the end of the day.

  She flipped on her computer and pulled close her notes on the day's lecture. After a few moments, she heard talking and heavy boots tromping back and forth in the hallway outside the classroom door. Cocking her head and listening, she wondered who it could be. It was 4:40 in the morning. Even though the fire administration building was a busy place, she usually had it to herself until at least 6 a.m.

  Low voices spoke, but she couldn't make them out. She held her head up, still listening, as the voices moved down the hallway towards her office door. She tensed, not wanting to deal with anyone, especially the guy whose voice she thought she might recognize.

  Her office doorknob twisted and Eme stood up quickly, her heart slamming painfully in her chest. What if she was wrong? What if it was—

  The door opened and a male head swung in, and although it was someone she definitely did not want to see, it wasn't him.

  "I saw the light. What are you doing here, Avalon?" the man asked, his eyes narrowed. Eme smelled the scent of fire coming off of him in waves, even though he was not in uniform. He must have been at a fire, which explained why he was in the main office. To give a report to the chief. It was a bad one then. Injuries. Maybe firefighter injuries.

  "Ah, working, sir," she said, ducking her eyes.

  He stepped inside her office and closed the door behind him. "I told you, call me Top," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

  "Top, right, sorry sir, ah Top."

  Eme sat back down in her chair and pushed it with her feet until it was as far away from him as she could get. She knew he'd been a first sergeant in the army, but she didn't care if he wanted to be called Top or not. She would never call him anything but Captain Isaacs in her own head. As formal as possible. His attentions were very unwelcome, but as of yet, he hadn't figured that out. She didn't get it. He was twice her age, maybe more, she'd never shown a lick of interest in him, but he just wouldn't stop trying. His belligerent aggressiveness made her skin crawl but he refused to notice. God she hated men like him.

  She moved some papers around on her desktop. "I came in early because I've got a lot of work to catch up on, Top, so ah, if you don't mind."

  He leaned against her door. "You work too hard. A woman like you should be able to take it easy. That's what assistants are for."

  A woman like her? Jesus. What in the hell did that mean? Eme shuddered, hating everything about the situation. Claustrophobia bit into her, not for the first time. Her office was fine, but not when he was in it with her. She stood and grabbed a stack of papers from the far side of the desk, then race-walked into her classroom, raising her voice so he could still hear her. "Baker is perfectly capable, but there is a lot to do. I'm quite swamped right now actually, so if you don't mind..." She dropped a piece of paper on each of the desks as she went up and down the rows, hoping when she turned around again, he'd be gone.

  He wasn't. He was watching her ass, a look of predation on his face. She pressed her lips together, wanting to punch him in the face. What in the hell made men like him think they had free license to—

  "Actually I needed to tell you something," he said, sauntering towards her, until he was only a few feet away. He stopped and dropped his hand to one of the desks, his fingers tented. "One of your students, Pat Curry, is out for at least a week, probably longer, then he'll have light duty for a while. Dislocated femur. Can he eventually catch up, or do you want another student from his station? Class only started yesterday, right?"

  Eme relaxed a little. "Send me another student. With an injury like that he won't be able to operate the CAFS anyway."

  The captain only stared at her, the overhead lights flashing on his glasses, hiding his eyes. She stood her ground and waited for what was coming.

  "Would you like to go up north with me this weekend? The governor is having a soiree, it would be quite good for your—"

  "No thank you."

  He moved forward, his hand raising from the desk and heading for the right side of her head. She ducked and took a step backwards, her eyes flashing with increasing anger and impatience.

  He dropped his hand. "Emerald, I'm not going to take no for an answer, so you might as well say yes one of these times."

  Eme felt the heat flare through her and she couldn't stop herself from letting it out. She stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You aren't going to take no for an answer? So why did you even bother asking me? Why not hit me over the head, throw me over your shoulder, and take me wherever you want? Am I a human being, or not? Do I have rights or not? Because if I do, Sir, I am exercising them right now by telling you no, I'm not interested, I will never be interested, and I expect you to actually take that answer to heart and quit asking."

  Eme stepped back, her anger leaking out and leaving her tired and anxious and sick to her stomach with dread. She dropped her finger and waited to see how he would react, only because there was nothing else for her to do. God she hated everything about this, especially the fact that from what she had heard about him, her job might be in danger now.

  Chapter 12

  Bronx

  Bronx blinked and opened his eyes as he felt someone tugging on his arm. No, not on his arm. A short nurse with bobbed, dark hair, was pulling the IV out of his arm. He looked at her from his position, which was face down on the hospital bed, and tried to smile. "Thanks."

  She patted the front of his arm with one finger, like she was being careful with him. He pushed himself up on his knees in the bed and looked down at his chest. Wires ran everywhere. He put a hand to his head, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Had he slept?

  As he moved, he felt restrictions on his back, the back of his neck, and the backs of his arms. He felt tight, hot, and strange. He ran a hand through his hair. Even it felt off.

  "What time is it?" he asked the nurse as she pulled the leads off of his chest.

  "Almost seven."

  He looked around the small room he was in. "In the morning?"

  Her smile warmed him. "Yes, in the morning."

  Bronx turned in the hospital bed, ducking under a wire lead that was attached to his chest, and sat down on his butt, crossing his legs. The last thing he fully remembered was coming in to the San Francisco General ER with Curry in the ambulance and being forced into a room so a doctor could attend to his burns.

  Behind him, the nurse raised the head of the bed so it sat straight up. He leaned against it and felt pain spear through his back. Ah, right, his burns. This was going to take some getting used to. He sat straight up again and scooched himself backwards so only his lower torso touched the raised portion of the bed. The burns started above his waistline, and the pain wasn't as bad as it could have been. He would have gladly accepted a lot worse to spare that little girl even a blister.

  "I can't believe I fell a
sleep," he said, rubbing a hand through his hair and feeling off, logy almost. The skin on his torso that wasn't burning pulled and complained at the movement.

  "We gave you morphine for the pain. That knocks people out."

  Bronx nodded his head. That made sense. The nurse picked the last lead off of his chest and turned to go. Bronx grabbed her arm. "How is the girl?"

  The nurse turned back to him and gave him a sweet and bright smile. "She's fine. She was released several hours ago. Not one burn and her lungs were clear. Her mother wanted to thank you but the doctors wouldn't let her. Red cross put her entire family into a hotel room for now."

  A curious lightness filled Bronx, erasing most of the pain he felt up and down the backs of his arm, his back, and his neck.

  "And my partner? The leg injury?"

  Her face clouded. "He's been moved to the trauma ward, into traction. That's all I know. But he was talking and seemed ok when I last saw him."

  A tall woman in a white coat, her hair pulled back into a severe bun came in. She didn't look like ER staff to Bronx, because she wasn't wearing scrubs under her coat. She wore a full-on business suit and three inch heels. The nurse smiled at him and took off out the door, skirting around the new doctor.

  "Mr. Rosesson, I'm Dr. Parker, the fire department's physician." She didn't stop to breathe or note his response, just pushed on. "I've looked at your file and the release notes and am officially placing you on light duty for three weeks. You will need to be cleared in my office before you can return to full duty. Here are your discharge instructions. Follow them to the letter or there will be repercussions."

  She placed the paper on the bed at his feet, made a note on her pad and turned to go. Bronx blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to ask her a question, but Wade came in the room behind her and shook his head in warning.

  Bronx let out his breath. Three weeks? He was out of work for three weeks?