HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  He groaned, and the voice of an angel broke through the nasty headache that was coming on like a sprinter towards a finish line. “What the hell were you thinking, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?”

  Despite the berating and judgmental words, the tone was soft and tender, and Vince’s lips tilted up at the corners. He would have recognized that angel’s voice anywhere. “I was thinking about you, actually.” His voice sounded like a steel toe boot on gravel, but at least he could form words now.

  “Really? And the thought of me made you so sick you had to wash it away with a gallon of liquor?” Sarcasm. It was as sweet as chocolate right now.

  “It wasn’t a gallon. I don’t even think I finished the bottle of whiskey.”

  “Oh, that’s better. Vince, if this is some ploy to get me to—“

  He squeezed her hand, essentially stopping her argumentative speech, and he forced his eyes open. He could die happy and get rid of this rancid pain in his gut and his skull if he could just see her face one more time.

  Ariana looked drawn, concerned, and angry. Vince wanted to ask her if there was something bothering her, but at the moment, he wanted to pretend she was just that upset at finding him this ill. “You didn’t answer my calls,” he rasped, each word making his head throb worse. “I bet you didn’t even listen to my voicemails.”

  She pressed her lips tightly together, and it made lines appear around her eyes and mouth. “I haven’t answered anyone’s calls or heard anyone’s voicemails. I haven’t felt like having company. Besides, I’ve had other things to tend to lately.”

  Her voice was detached, aggravated, and distant. “Talk to me, Ariana. Tell me what’s wrong.” He wanted to fix her, whatever was wrong. If that meant she was going to rail at him for his behavior, so be it. That meant she cared, and he deserved the punishment anyway. Then, when she was done, they could erase everything that had come between them, kiss, and make up.

  “You really want to hear it? Fine.” She dropped his hand and started pacing the room. “Do you know that my father is almost out of time, is so doped he can barely lift his own head, and hasn’t been cared for? My mom and sister don’t give a shit, and I just had to threaten a lawsuit because he’s got bedsores and hasn’t eaten in days.” She rounded on him and leaned on the side of the bed, getting in his face. “You pulled some stupid crap that got you thrown in jail, and I hate you for that. I’m thrilled you’re out, but I don’t even know whether to believe you’re innocent or that you’ve somehow corrupted the system. And now, you continue your bad boy behavior, drinking yourself into oblivion. It was only luck that you didn’t die overnight and that you have friends who care enough to bring you to the hospital—despite the fact that they’re covered with your nasty, rank, spoiled whiskey vomit. Oh, and I screwed up my elbow and shoulder scrubbing my sink this morning, just to piss me off even further. Are you satisfied?”

  Vince watched her, feeling her pain and wanting to take it away. The only thing he could think to do was lift a hand, brush the back of his hand over her cheeks, and say, “I’m sorry, Ariana.”

  She scoffed. “You’re sorry. I’m standing here, staring at a miracle because, based on your blood alcohol content when you came in here, you should be dead. Do you comprehend that, Vince? Do you really understand what that means? You’re not a cat, and you don’t have nine lives. I don’t think you’re a Buddhist or Hindu, either; so, you likely won’t get reincarnated. If you did, your karma would warrant you coming back as a flea that gets under the skin and irritates to the point of madness.”

  He shifted with a grunt, so he could grin right into her beautiful puppy dog eyes. “I could still die. Would you miss me?”

  He watched her rage hit the point of explosion, her face turning purple and her entire body shaking, and then it blew out of her, the lines and worry returning to her face. Vince was actually taken off-guard when she leaned in and kissed him, hard and meaningfully. She pulled back quickly and gave him a warning look. “I don’t want you involved in any further self-destructive behavior. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother,” he quipped, watching her with delight and finding his body finally responding to something for the first time in days. “So, was that our kiss and make up?”

  She scowled at him. “Do you really think it’s that easy? You made a public spectacle of yourself, and I’m already fighting to get the respect I deserve in the medical community. Now, you’re here, like someone who has to be put on 48-hour suicide watch, and anyone who’s seen us together is going to have some snarky comment.”

  She covered her face with her hands, and Vince’s smile faded. His body hurt like he’d been trampled by a pack of scared elephants on the run, but that pain wasn’t as deep as the pain that hit him at her humiliation. He reached out and took one of Ariana’s wrists, pulling her hand from her face and to his mouth. He kissed her palm and said, “I’m truly sorry, Ariana. I love you.”

  Her hand relaxed in his, and suddenly, she laid her head on his chest. He rested his chin on her hair, smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo and laying his hand on her back, rubbing up and down in soothing motions. She was so warm, and despite the strong front she showed people, she was soft and vulnerable. If he wasn’t careful, he would break her, emotionally and mentally if not physically.

  “Hey, I’m here, and I’m alright, and I’m not going to pull a stupid stunt like this again.” He kissed the top of her head, and tentatively, he said, “I saw your father.”

  She nodded against him. “I know. He told me.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “The man you see in that room, though…that’s not my father. It’s an empty shell that pretends to be the man who raised me.” She lifted her head, and Vince saw the first streaks on her face. “I saw him four days ago, Vince, and since then, he’s lost another ten or fifteen pounds. He’s got bedsores, and he can’t even lift his own water to his mouth. I’m losing him, and I’ve wasted so much time hating him. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

  Vince’s heart cried, and he pushed himself to sit up. “Come on,” he said, moving Ariana aside so he could swing his legs over the edge of the narrow cot.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I’m not doing anything because I can’t. I’m hooked up to an IV that’s pouring in faster than I can pour it out, and it’s making every inch of my body swell—from my toes and fingers to my balls. Plus, every time I move, another stake gets driven through my head, and my stomach feels like someone tore a hole right through my navel and poured cyanide in.” He stood, catching himself with a hand on the tree holding the bags of fluid until he steadied himself. “But we are going to see your father.”

  Ariana shook her head. “No way, Vince. You’re in no condition to walk these halls, and if you think I’m going to take the heat for you acting like a fool, you’re wrong.”

  “Not a chance. I’ll tell anyone who reams me that I kidnapped you and forced you at gun point.”

  “Right…because you can bring a gun into a hospital.”

  He smirked. “You kiss me like that again, and my cock sticking out will be close enough.” Her cheeks went red again, and he chuckled, despite the agony it caused him.

  Cocking her head and putting her hands on her hips, Ariana gestured at him with her head. “I seem to remember you aren’t particularly fond of walking down the halls with your ass hanging out.”

  Vince looked down and cursed. “Why the hell do they have to strip me down to pump salt water into my veins? Where are my damn clothes?” He searched the room and found his jeans folded on a chair, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen. Gritting his teeth, he said, “I’m assuming that sealed bag over there is my shirt, covered with upchuck.”

  “Probably.” Ariana’s amusement rankled him, but he let it go.

  With an irritated sound, he yanked his pants off the chair and pulled them on his body. “I guess this is going to have to be good enough.” He considered putting on the fresh pair of hospital socks he saw on the
rolling table, but he decided he’d rather be barefoot than walk around in those stupid things. “Come on, let’s go see your father.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Ariana rolled the IV tree alongside Vince, as he pushed himself to make the trip down the hall, into the elevator, and then toward her father’s room. He was a stubborn cuss. She could almost feel his pain, but there was no way she’d be able to stop him. Even in this condition, he was stubborn enough to wrestle her to the ground and do what he wanted, even if it meant it would give him a heart attack.

  “Vince, this is insane,” she hissed, as they neared their destination.

  “What’s insane is the way you’re worried about your father and still came to see me. I’m not going to take you away from him, Ariana. Now, I’ll stay with you for a while, and we can both keep your father company.” His words were final, and Ariana wasn’t going to argue. At least she wouldn’t feel torn between the two of them.

  She held her breath as Vince quietly pushed the door to the room open, and she winced as she heard her father’s labored breathing as he rested uneasily. She glanced at Vince’s face, and somehow, it brought her comfort that the older man’s condition disturbed him. He told her in a soft voice, “I lost my father suddenly. It was such a blow, but I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

  Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t respond. They stepped into the room, and Ariana gently closed the door behind them. She made Vince take a seat and placed the tree next to him, assuring the drip wasn’t compromised. Then, she stepped up to the side of her father’s bed, taking his hand. The orderlies had placed him on his side after his wounds had been cared for, and he jerked at her touch.

  “He’s so sensitive,” she whispered, staring at the haunted, hollow face. “I just wish the rest of my family cared enough to be here.”

  “Some people are just too selfish to know what they have until it’s gone,” Vince spoke under his breath. He was right, and Ariana shivered at the thought of her mother and sister not saying goodbye. He added, “You’re not that person, Ariana. You’re here when he needs you.”

  She should have been here all along; but, he was right again. She dug through his bag of toiletries, finding his brush and running it through his sparse, thin hair. “He used to brush my hair when I was young,” she mused, remembering getting out of the shower and bringing the comb or brush to him. She would sit on the stool in the kitchen—where he would be sipping a cocktail and cooking—and he would spend a good twenty minutes brushing it until she had goosebumps from the pleasure.

  ***

  Vince said nothing as he watched Ariana, her face filled with misery and her tone full of love and loss. He understood; her father was still here, but in her eyes, the man she knew was already gone. Unfortunately, it was true. From the time—not long ago—Vince had met the man to now, he was probably a good forty pounds lighter.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble and wishing he’d at least showered to get rid of the rancid smell on him. He also wished he’d brushed his teeth before she kissed him because his breath was atrocious. However, none of that mattered in the face of something much more important, and he found that his pain and weakness had subsided. Standing, he moved to the other side of the bed and gazed across at Ariana. “I have a room in my house, which was supposed to be a nursery someday, and I have some savings I’m not using. How would you feel about making him comfortable and hiring a full time nurse so that he has the care he needs while you still manage the rest of your life?”

  Ariana’s eyes jerked up to his face, and he couldn’t read her expression. “I can’t ask that of you, Vince. You have a life, too, and that savings is yours.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it’s mine—to do with as I please. It’s not like I think I’ll be paying for the help for another three years. I want you and your father to be comfortable, and I know you don’t feel he’s being monitored closely enough here.” Vince put his hand on hers, where she’d laid it over her father’s bony wrist. “Let me do this for you.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and her voice came out barely a whisper. “What if he goes, and I’m not there?”

  Vince felt the weight of her words and wanted to cry with her. Taking a deep breath so his voice wouldn’t shake, he told her, “We’ll have a paging system in place. If it looks like something is going to happen, the nurse will contact you immediately, and you’ll have a key to my house.” It was the best he could do.

  She stared at him for a long time, her eyes liquid and her face drawn. Finally, she nodded. “Thank you, Vince. I’d like that.” She came around and threw her arms around his neck, and Vince just held her, wishing he could take all of her pain inside him and bear the burden for her. She pulled back enough to kiss him and whispered, “I love you.”

  It was all he needed to hear. He smiled at her and removed her like a piece of clothing. “Good. You stay here with your father. I’m going to go see a man about a nurse.” He kissed her forehead and left, glancing behind him as she turned back to the sleeping shell of a man.

  If memory served at all—and he wasn’t sure it did, considering he had no recollection of the previous night—Pound had brought him here. Where the hell had the big man gone? Someone of his size didn’t exactly blend into the crowd. He moved as fast as he could to get back to his room, but it wasn’t fast enough for his liking. When he got there, the nurses and techs who were looking for him were none too pleased.

  He snapped at them and told them to get his AMA forms. He was signing himself out. They stalked out angrily, as Pound strode in, looking ridiculous in a set of scrubs. Vince burst out laughing. “I don’t think I could take you seriously as a doctor, brother. I have to admit, if I were any other patient, I’d find you pretty intimidating.”

  Pound scowled at him. “Well, I wouldn’t have to wear this horseshit if you hadn’t blown chunks all over me from the moment you fell out of bed this morning. What’s wrong with you, Larson? You polish off a bottle of Gentleman’s Jack, pass out on two women who dragged your ass to bed, and then disappear from your hospital room before I can even get back to check on you.”

  “I had something to take care of.” Vince gave him the once over. “Where did you get those anyway?”

  Chagrined, Pound gestured vaguely. “Your girlfriend grabbed them from a closet down the hall.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got something else to take care of. You think you can sneak back in there and find a top for me? In my size, not yours, preferably.” Vince grinned teasingly.

  Pound wasn’t amused. “Man, what do I look like, your keeper?” Vince merely raised an eyebrow, and Pound stopped bucking up to him. “This is bullshit, Vince. I hope you choke on your girlfriend’s tongue one of these days.” He stalked away, and Vince shook his head. Pound could be such a child sometimes.

  The agitated nurse returned, practically throwing the paperwork at him and then yanking the IV unceremoniously out of his arm. “Thanks, Laverne,” he told her, scowling.

  “Whatever, sir. This is the second time you’ve come in on my shift and left like nothing happened. I think maybe you should reconsider your occupation—if you catch my drift.” She glanced meaningfully at Pound’s sleeve of tattoos, and then she jerked the papers out of his hand and left. “You’re free to go,” she called over her shoulder.

  Pound tossed him the scrub shirt. “I don’t know your size, bro. If it doesn’t fit, I’m not going back.”

  But it was fine, even a little loose like scrubs should be. Bravely, Vince opened the bag, finding his boots and holding his breath while he took them out and scrubbed them in the sink. Some orderly would come clean it out, and though he didn’t have any socks, at least he could make it back to the house without being barefoot. “Are we on your bike?”

  Pound gave him a look like he had lost his mind. “The way you were flopping around and spewing your guts at me, I would have never gotten you here. Jude’s out in the truck
. Come on. If we’re going, let’s go. I’m tired of people looking at me like they expect me to get angry and turn into the Incredible Hulk.” His words made Vince choke on a laugh, the green scrubs tinging his friend’s skin. He could just imagine the pants tearing at the knee and Pound ripping his shirt off, as his thick neck tensed and he roared with anger.

  Patting the big man on the back, he said, “Alright, my friend. Let’s do something good for society.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “Hey, Bozeman, where’s your partner?” Alyssa Taylor’s voice grated on Ariana’s nerves, as she took inventory of the shelves inside the bus. She was certain the woman had something to say in an attempt to rile her up.

  “I got this, Sal,” she called to her partner. He was in the front of the vehicle, checking gauges. She hopped out the back and came around to where Alyssa was approaching the open driver’s side door. “I’m right here. What’s the problem?” She put her hands on her hips, waiting for the bitter remark she knew was coming.