HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC copyright @ 2017 by Claire St. Rose and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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  Contents

  HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  EPILOGUE

  SECRET BABY AT THE ALTAR: Blood Brothers MC

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  DADDY AT THE ALTAR: Iron Claws MC

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Books by Claire St. Rose

  SECRET BABY AT THE ALTAR: Blood Brothers MC

  DADDY AT THE ALTAR: Iron Claws MC

  PREGNANT AT THE ALTAR: Immortal Souls MC

  BENT AT THE ALTAR: Broken Lions MC

  BIKER’S GIFT: Chrome Kings MC

  BIKER’S CHILD: The Saint’s Disciples MC

  BIKER DADDY: The Chain Gang MC

  RECKLESS: The Hangman’s Crows MC

  SAUL: The Pagans MC

  CRASH: The Rogue Sinners MC

  MONSTER: Teutonic Knights MC

  Her Beast: Bagram Nine MC

  Take the Devil's Deal: Northern Hounds MC

  DEVIL’S CLAIM: Apaches MC

  WICKED: Trojans MC

  HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

  By Claire St. Rose

  LET ME MAKE ONE THING CLEAR: KEEP YOUR F**KING HANDS OFF MY BRIDE.

  She wants to get away from me, but I know one thing for sure:

  I’m never gonna let that happen.

  She belongs to me now.

  I had to claim everything I’ve ever owned in this life.

  Surely, my bride will be no different.

  Whether Dakota wants it or not, soon she’ll come to realize the truth:

  I’ve put my claim on her, and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it.

  It’s my job to keep her safe, not take her to bed.

  But I’ve never been good at following rules.

  In fact, crossing lines is what I do best.

  So I crossed the line between me and her and made the little princess my toy.

  She never expected to love it so much.

  But now that she’s mine, there’s people out to hurt her.

  They think it’s the best way to get to
me.

  Little do they know, they’ve woken a sleeping beast.

  Because anyone who touches my bride is getting buried six feet deep.

  CHAPTER ONE

  At first Dakota thought she was hearing fireworks. A series of loud bangs and the echoes that followed tore her out of a deep sleep. She awoke gasping for breath, searching around the darkened bedroom wondering where she was. It took a few seconds for her to remember that she was in her childhood bedroom at her father’s estate. It was still decorated as if her teenage self were going to come in and flop onto the bed, movie posters and pop star head shots strung up on the walls, pictures of her from dances and proms lining the shelves. Awards and prizes hung prominently over her desk. She wondered who was setting off fireworks and why, and then suddenly there were more bangs and the sound of glass shattering. It was then that Dakota Kane realized it wasn’t fireworks.

  She scrambled for her cell phone charging on her nightstand and dialed 911.

  “911, what’s your emergency,” said the overly-calm voice on the other end.

  “Yes, hello? I think someone’s shooting at my house,” Dakota whispered into the phone as the sound of another blast of bullets filled the air. Then, a roaring sound as an engine somewhere outside picked up speed and peeled out of the driveway. “We’re at 227 Evergreen Terrace, there’s a gate, but we never shut it.”

  “The police have been notified and are on their way. Is anyone injured?” the voice asked.

  “Dad!” Dakota whispered. Her father’s room was on the other side of the house. When Dakota had been twelve she had demanded a room in the west wing of the house. As a typical teenager she had wanted to be as far away from her parents as possible while still having them close by in case anything went bump in the night. And now she realized that decision may have saved her life, and doomed her father. Dakota threw the blankets off the bed; she had to go and check on him. It was impossible that something had happened to him. He had to be fine; he had to be okay. Her father was her rock. He was a fixed thing in the universe, always strong and healthy, always there. But when she stood, her knees literally buckled, every part of her shaking and shuddering uncontrollably. She wanted to cry and scream and crawl back under the covers. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to go and make sure her father was all right. She could stand, and if she could stand, she could walk, and if she could walk, she would find her father.

  Wearing an old high school t-shirt for the Fighting Blue Jays and matching sweatpants, Dakota tiptoed to her door and slowly pulled it open, wincing as if she expected some monster to come flying in. She didn’t hear any noises from outside, so she stuck her head out past the doorway and looked up and down the hallway. Everything was dark and silent. She cursed herself for not turning on the alarm system or closing the gate to the driveway before bed. Back when her mom was still alive, they had always made sure the security system was set, but nothing had ever happened and so they became lax, and look what happened.

  “Ma’am, I have to ask that you stay where you are until the police have secured the area. Officers are less than five minutes away.” Dakota hadn’t forgotten about the emergency operator; she still held the phone near her ear. The woman’s voice was a reminder that the world was still out there. There were still people who were coming, who were going to save them. But Dakota couldn’t wait.

  “I have to check on my father,” Dakota whispered into the phone as she tiptoed out into the hallway and made her way the east wing of the house. It was two in the morning and pitch black. All of the lights inside the house were off and she was too scared to turn them on, aware that it might alert someone to her presence. As she made her way silently down the hallway she only had the light of the moon guiding her. The pale, otherworldly light cast strange shadows in front of Dakota that made her jump until her eyes adjusted.

  “Dad!” she whispered as loudly as possibly, but heard nothing in response. The house was utterly silent. Was anyone still inside? Was whoever had just fired all of those guns lurking around somewhere, waiting for her, waiting for their chance to strike? “Dad!” She called out again. This time louder, this time it was a real shout. But she was met with only silence. Whoever had shot at their house had left, but where was her father. Had they kidnapped him?

  She began to run, flat out run, down the hallway, ignoring the emergency operator who was ordering her to go find somewhere quiet to hide. She raced through the empty house. There was no one else here. The Kane mansion hadn’t had live-in servants in years, not since Dakota moved out. She raced down the hall and into the grand entrance way and then over to the other side of the house, passing a billiard room, a home theater, and her old playroom, cursing every one as she passed. All of these pointless rooms and things were keeping her from the one thing she couldn’t live without.

  The floors were a deep and shining chestnut brown, the carpet runners a deep red with a gold trim, and as Dakota’s eyes filled with the tears all of those colors blended together in front of her until she couldn’t see anything. Furiously, she wiped them away and wrenched open the door to her father’s room.

  There’s was shattered glass and shards of wood splayed across the room. The large window on the northern facing wall was just a hole now, and the cool night air poured in and swirled around Dakota as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The entire window had been destroyed and bullet holes had ripped into the solid oak paneling on the other side of the room. Someone had shot at her father’s room from the street below. They must have sent hundreds of bullets into the house, hoping that one or two of them would give them their man.

  “Daddy!” Dakota yelled, running to the side of his bed. Blood was pooling on the sheets and dripping onto the floor as Dakota crawled into the bed, calling out her father’s name, but there was no response.

  “Are you there?” she sobbed into the phone.

  “Yes, I’m here. The police are close, less than three minutes out.”

  “Please, you have to send an ambulance. He’s been shot.”

  “Who?”

  “My father, please, you have to help me.”

  John Kane had fallen asleep in a ratty Yale t-shirt that was now stained and sticky with blood. Dakota could see the holes in it where the bullets had penetrated his skin. He looked pale and feeble, like his skin was made of paper. He was breathing, but it was ragged and wet, like he needed to cough. His eyes were closed, but every few seconds his face would seize up in pain, relaxing only for a moment before seizing up again. “Dakota?” his voice sounded so thin and frail. Her father with his strong arms and deep voice who had never let her fall or skin her knee. Now he was on this bed, crying out to her.

  “I’m here, Dad,” she said, cradling his head with her hands.

  “You’re all right?” he asked, blood foaming at the corner of his mouth.

  “Daddy, I’m fine. This was the only room that got hit. What happened? Who was it?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Truly, I don’t.”

  “POLICE! Ms. Kane, are you all right?” She could hear the police banging on the door, and then the sound of the door crashing open.

  “Up here!” Dakota screamed. “Please hurry, he needs help.” Her father’s breathing was shallow and weak. She placed her fingers on his throat and could only feel the butterfly-light thump of his heartbeat. “Stay awake, okay, Dad? Please just try to stay awake until the paramedics get here. The ambulance is going to be here soon. Please make it, Dad. Please.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The police burst into the room behind her, guns drawn, though there were no enemies to point them at. The paramedics weren’t far behind, but it didn't matter to Dakota anymore. The world had dimmed, the edges of everything were blurry, and the only thing that stood out in sharp relief was her father. She stroked his thinning white hair, and whispered to him. As a child she used to have terrible nightmares where she was being chased. In her dreams there would be a monster, but she could never see
what it looked like. It was always lurking in the shadows. She would try to run, but it was like the air around her was thick as molasses, her legs and feet dragged and no matter how hard she tried, she could never get them to move any faster. She would go slower and slower, and the monster would get closer and closer. When she finally awoke, crying out for help, it was her father who found her. He would turn on the Little Mermaid lamp by her bed and hold her in his lap as she sobbing told him what happened. He would sooth her and rock her until, before she even knew it was happening, she was back asleep.

  Now it was her turn to hold him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right. She felt like she was lying to him, as she brushed his hair off of his forehead. She was telling him it would be all right, but would it? Would he live? Would he get better? She had no way to know. All she could do was continue to make promises she didn’t know she could keep.

  Flashing lights flew around her father’s room as the police shouted questions at her. She didn’t have any answers for them. She didn’t know what had happened or who had done it. They faded into the background and all she could see was her father’s rapidly greying face beneath her. Finally the paramedics gently pulled her off the bed and out of the way.

  “What medications is your father on?” they asked.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “Does your father take any medication?” The medic asked as they transferred her father from the bed to the gurney. He looked so frail and light. The two men on the team picked him up and moved him easily.

  “In the bathroom, by the sink,” Dakota mumbled, her eyes never leaving her father. “Something for high blood pressure and another thing for his hair. Can I ride with him?” she asked.

  The ride to the hospital was a blur of medical jargon Dakota didn’t understand. But from their tone and the way the paramedics would glance at each other over his body, it was clear that the news wasn’t good. Now she was in a fancy waiting room, sitting at an oak table with three flat screens showing the six a.m. news. It was a private hospital; her grandmother had donated the children’s wing.