HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  Ariana had thought she wanted to get to know him better, but really, it was better to stick to a relationship that didn’t go beyond satisfying physical needs for both of them. She would deal with any emotional needs she had later on, when she was finally past all of the obstacles she faced in her career and had time to dedicate to a real relationship. By then, Vince would certainly be a distant memory.

  The radio came to life, and Sal sped up, turning the sirens and lights on. This was a big one, a multi-car pileup, and they needed to hurry. She was both excited and nervous, hoping there were no life-threatening injuries, but eager to take on the challenge.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The accident scene was gruesome, with at least two people unconscious and in need of immediate attention. Ariana hurried toward one woman, who was bleeding profusely, instantly looking for the source of the blood. “She’s not breathing,” Sal told her, and Ariana froze.

  She hadn’t lost anyone on the job yet, and she didn’t intend to today. She found a gash in the woman’s side and quickly put pressure on it while Sal began CPR. It looked like the laceration had gone through to an organ or hit a major blood vessel; the blood seeped through her towels quickly.

  Sal managed to get a thread of a pulse and wheezing breath. Ariana shook her head. “I think she might have a broken rib and punctured lung. I can’t figure it out because I can’t get this bleeding to stop or slow down long enough to check the rest of her.” Sal put the oxygen mask over the woman’s face and began to assess the rest of her injuries.

  “That would be my guess too,” he said, coming back to where Ariana was trying to pack the wound. “Here, let’s do this together, and then we’ll get a neck brace on her and see if there’s anything else we can do.” It was against procedure, but the woman wasn’t going to wake up any time soon and start moving around. Besides, the woman was barely breathing and her pulse was already so light, they had to stop the bleeding or anything else would be useless.

  They managed to slow the bleeding enough to take care of business, and while other paramedics rushed around to take care of other victims, they got the woman loaded into the back of the ambulance. Sal took off with sirens and lights blaring. Ariana kept watch over the woman’s vitals, concerned, and when the monitor flatlined, she hollered, “She’s crashing!”

  “ETA three minutes!” Sal called from the driver’s seat as he whipped around a corner. Ariana reached for the paddles, clearing the woman’s chest and charging. One shock didn’t do it, and the second barely got a bleep on the screen.

  “Dammit!” She wasn’t going to lose a patient now, but as she charged for a third shock, she saw the problem. The wound on the woman’s side was gushing again, coming right out of the field dressing and packing they’d applied. “She’s bleeding out!”

  “I’m pulling in!” he hollered. She heard him speaking into the radio. “We have incoming, need a crash cart and field sutures right away. Patient is in cardiac arrest and bleeding out, with possible organ damage.”

  The victim had already been under for more than two minutes, and Ariana dropped the paddles, starting CPR. Maybe she could at least keep enough oxygen flowing to the woman’s brain that she wouldn’t have any permanent damage when she came out of this. Ariana had to believe this patient wasn’t going to die on her watch.

  The ER team was waiting as they brought her out of the bus and rushed her through the doors into the hospital, Ariana and Sal right with them, giving them details on the injuries.

  But when they reached the room, she and Sal had to stay behind, and Ariana was beside herself with worry. She asked her partner, “Were there enough medics on the scene, or do we have to go back out?”

  “There were already four other teams there and two more buses on the way. Most of the injuries weren’t serious. There were only three or four that needed this kind of attention. We’re good for now.” He looked at her, worried. “Are you alright?”

  She shook her head and bit her lip. “I don’t think she’s going to make it, and I’ve never lost a patient. I’m not handling this well at all right now.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “She can still pull through, you know. This is a great trauma center, and if that laceration didn’t hit her spleen, she’s probably going to recover.”

  But Ariana was almost certain it was more serious than that. She appreciated Sal’s attempt to soothe her, but it wasn’t working. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or concerned that she hadn’t had the opportunity to work on something so serious before. After all, it was traumatic to know that you couldn’t save someone. But at the same time, experience went a long way in dealing with it.

  “I’m going to wait around here and see if I hear anything,” he told her. “Why don’t you step outside and get some air?”

  She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Once she was out there, she felt alone and useless, and she started to head back in and find a seat somewhere, maybe the cafeteria. But she found herself taking out her phone, which she didn’t usually carry but had snuck into her pocket today. She checked it, finding four messages and even a call from her mother. She decided to give in and check the messages. Her day had already soured. How much worse could it be?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The first two only mentioned an urgent need to talk, and Ariana rolled her eyes. Her mother had probably just discovered a mole on the back of her arm that she thought was skin cancer and panicked. Medical advice for her hypochondria was the only reason her mother ever bothered to contact her anymore.

  Ariana looked at the last two texts, and the color drained from her face. The first one said that her father was ill, and that he refused to go to the doctor because he thought it was just the flu. That was a little odd; she couldn’t remember her father having the flu a day in his life, probably because he was so well-preserved from all the alcohol in his bloodstream.

  But the last text truly made her nervous. I know you hate us. I wouldn’t ask you to come check on your father if it wasn’t critical. Please. Her mother never said please, and she never made reference to their relationship. She tended to pretend everything was fine between them when she wanted something. Clearly, there really was something very wrong with her father, and as much as she hated it, Ariana knew she would go over there tomorrow and check him out. She wasn’t a doctor or surgeon yet, but she’d been through enough medical courses beyond her EMT training to make a diagnosis of something simple.

  She quickly sent a text back to her mother. Sorry, was working. Will stop by tomorrow morning before school. Be ready early. As she clicked the ‘send’ button, she jumped at the sound of the door behind her opening. It was Sal, and his face was grim. Pressing her lips together in a thin, tight line, Ariana nodded. “She’s gone.” It was a statement, not a question.

  He turned away from her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “They got her stable for a few minutes, and they were going to wheel her into the OR for emergency surgery to repair a ruptured spleen. But she coded again in the hallway, and they couldn’t get her back.” He came quickly toward her. “You did everything you could, Ariana, and so did I. This shit happens now and then. We’re creatures of emotion, but you can’t let losing one patient out of thousands get to you for long.”

  But Ariana had a bad feeling this was just the beginning. What were the odds that she’d lose her first patient the same day her mother expressed true concern about her father? And on top of that, she still hadn’t heard from Vince. At this moment, she hated him. She hated him because he made her want to like him, even though she knew better, and she couldn’t reconcile that desire to like him with him not being considerate enough to call her back. He was a selfish bastard, and they were going to have to iron out a few things for sure, if they were even going to just keep having sex. She sure as hell wasn’t going to make friends with him.

  “I knew when we got there,” she muttered, returning to the current subject. “I knew she wouldn’t make it. I was so certain I p
robably missed something…”

  “Stop it, Ariana. You did your job the best you could,” Sal chastised her, his tone sharp. “Now, I don’t smoke, but I think I want a cigarette. I think it would help soothe both our nerves if we bummed one from someone.”

  The idea of smoke brought back the smell of Vince, and she wanted to bang her head against the wall, not because the thought of him bothered her, but because it comforted her. “Yes, I think a cigarette might help.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In a foul mood, Vince led his caravan back into the compound, revving the engine of Cyril’s ride before turning it off and lighting up. He swung off the machine and headed around the back of the club, needing separation before he clocked one of his guys and got into trouble.

  The run had not gone as planned. Any minute now, a few of the Pale Demons they’d outrun three hours back would catch up with their asses, and heated words would be exchanged at the very least. Everything had been just fine. They’d gone in to the printing shop, shown the paper to Rick Lambert, a forty-something geek with thick glasses and a beak of a nose, and he’d shown them prints on plain paper of ones, fives, tens, and twenties. They were perfect.

  Lambert’s cut was five percent, and they’d dropped half of that up front and been on their way with his reassurance that he was on board. Considering he looked like he’d never seen the kind of cash they were paying in his life, Vince trusted Rick a little further than he would have someone who’d been in this business for a while. So they’d gotten ready to ride out.

  But he’d forgotten to take his pain meds, and he pulled into a gas station just outside of Salem, claiming he had to take a leak, and gone to swallow a pill. His leg already hurt, and they had a long ride ahead of them. When he came out, his guys were whispering. Vince jutted his chin toward Pound as he lit one last cigarette before hitting the road. “What’s going on?”

  “In the couple of minutes you’ve been in there, three separate pairs of Pale Demons have ridden by, glaring at us. We need to get the fuck out of here now, before there’s blood on the road.”

  Vince had cursed under his breath, tossed the cigarette, and gunned the bike out of there, the others on his tail. But a six-pack of Demons had followed them out of town. Doubling back at an exit and riding into an empty barn before the rival club had managed to find where they went, Vince had led them back to the highway double-time, and they’d barreled toward the Oregon-Washington border. From there, they would only have another hour and a half to the clubhouse, and they’d have territory on their side.

  But Vince wasn’t stupid. He knew they’d been followed, and he was pissed, mostly at himself. Without the damn leg injury, they probably would have made it out without notice. Sure, they would have had to deal with these guys later, but it would have given them time to prepare.

  On top of that, he’d forgotten to check his phone again when they’d gotten to the hotel, in too much pain to remember he had a message. He’d laid down with his leg propped up on extra pillows and taken another pain pill, asleep in minutes. He hadn’t remembered till this morning, and when he’d listened to Ariana’s voicemail, he cursed.

  He wanted to respond, but Traunch had come to collect him so they could get to the printing press and out of town. He’d hung behind, trying to sneak a text message out, but he’d gotten it half typed and hadn’t had a chance to send it before Pound put an arm around his shoulder and started razzing him about having a slight limp.

  He’d never sent it, and that was bad enough. But worse, he was angry about it. Right now, he wished he’d never met Ariana. He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want the distraction, and certainly didn’t want to manage the guilt of not being around when she needed him because he was on a job. He wasn’t going to deal with something like what happened to Kristi again. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that he couldn’t be at Ariana’s beck and call, and that there was no way they were going to move beyond a physical relationship.

  He didn’t love her. He hardly knew her. All he needed to know was that she had incredibly sexy curves, a great rhythm with her hips, and a need that matched his own closely enough to make them compatible in bed. He didn’t want her calling him every time something went wrong. If he allowed that, it would turn into her being clingy and codependent, which had been Kristi’s problem all along.

  Just like he refused to put his club in danger, Vince refused to put Ariana or any other woman in a position where she was waiting on him to come home alive all the time. He was better off alone. And if he had to give up that tender touch to keep her off his ass when he was on the road—and to keep from feeling guilty about it—then so be it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  He found Cyril scowling at him when he stepped inside.

  “The boys tell me you had some issues that you brought home with you.”

  Vince rolled his eyes. “If you think for one second that the five minutes we stopped at the gas station made a difference, you’re delusional. They obviously had us tagged the whole time. They planned to hit us when we got on the road, out of town, with no witnesses, where they could bury our asses in the woods off the highway. And I averted that disaster. They’ll come here, and that puts them in our territory, in the middle of our entire club. Six of them are going to do what? Threaten us? I don’t think so. I made the right decision, and I wasn’t the reason it happened.”

  “You seem awfully cocky, Vinny boy.” Cyril had his perpetual cigar in his mouth and poured two shots of whiskey, shoving one at Vince. He hated whiskey, but the painkillers weren’t helping anymore, so he threw it back, hoping it would take the edge off his pain. “They may have spotted you before, but they tagged you at that gas station. That’s the only reason they got to follow you in the first place.”

  Vince’s rage was building, his blood pressure going up, and the sore on his leg throbbing. “Actually, boss, the only reason they got a line on us like that is because you sent us on this shitty run in the first place. And by the way, you can have your bike back. I’m buying a new one today. Yours is overheating because you don’t care enough to change the oil and grease the chain, ever.”

  Cyril came out from behind the bar and stood in front of Vince. It was a really bad idea with the mood Vince was in. “You got a bug up your ass about something, son?”

  “I’m not your son, Cyril,” Vince said quietly. “Your sons are in the ground, and you should keep that in mind when you make decisions for this family without their input.” He knew it was a sore spot for his leader, and he wanted to push buttons. He was gunning for a fight, wanting to beat the hell out of someone and get a little blood and maybe some bruises on his knuckles.

  Cyril put the cigar in an ashtray, a sign he was serious and might throw a punch. “Are you suggesting I don’t know how to run my own club? Because you signed on for this a long time ago, Larson, and nothing’s changed since then… except maybe your attitude.”

  Pound suddenly appeared between them and put a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. “We got Demons on our tail, guys. It’s not the time to start beef within the brotherhood. We’ll talk it out later if we need to, but right now, we all have to be on the same side.”

  Vince’s eyes blazed red, blurring his vision. He wanted a piece of that asshole, and Pound was calling him down. What was worse, Vince knew he was right. But he also knew that, eventually, things would come to blows with Cyril. And even if that didn’t mean anything changed, which it probably wouldn’t, Vince would feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside from being able to at least get his aggression out in a very appropriate way.

  Stepping back from Pound, he nodded at the big guy. “I guess we need to get to the table and figure out how to deal with these guys before they show up.”

  An hour later, it was done. Vince wasn’t happy about it, but the Claws had agreed to make the offer to cut the Demons in if they took on part of the risk, with a caveat that, for the first two runs, they’d share the trip w
ith the Iron Claws to assure that relations stayed positive. Vince and several other members packed loaded guns in the back of their jeans, the rest taking up posts around the compound as backup.

  The intention was to be on guard but appear to want to keep the peace, so Vince, Cyril, Pound, and Dustin stood out as the ambassadors to welcome their enemies with a modicum of hospitality. Then, if things turned ugly, they would still be prepared.

  Standing vigil and worried for perhaps the first time in his career with the Iron Claws, Vince thought to pull out his phone and quickly text Ariana. Sorry I didn’t get back sooner. Been busy but I’ll call later. He turned off the phone and stuck it in his pocket quickly, before Pound could look over and see who he’d contacted. He felt better having sent the message; with a promise to talk to Ariana later, he gave himself a false sense of safety. If he had an obligation later, he sure as hell couldn’t die now, right?

  They could hear the bikes coming from a couple of miles away, and Vince squared his shoulders with everyone else, him and Cyril stepping forward, with Dustin and Pound at their backs. They stood in the center of the parking lot, hands at their sides, but Vince’s fingers twitched, itching for the gun at his back. Their rivals rode in single file but stopped in a straight line of six. He recognized Cortez, the Demons’ vice-president, but he didn’t see Gordo, the big man in charge. It was typical: the man earned his nickname, sitting on his fat ass and letting his men do the dirty work.