HANDS OFF MY WOMAN: Padre Knights MC

by Claire St. Rose

  The pills hit about halfway down the aisle. She stumbled slightly, suddenly dizzy. Daddy tightened his grip on her arm and steadied her. “What did she give you?” he hissed through his professional smile.

  Ali responded with the same perfect Texas Rose smile that Mama had taught her when she was just a baby, the one that said everything was just fine now, nothing to fret over. “Just something to calm my nerves a bit, Daddy, I’m fine. I’ve got you and Bobby to hold me up.”

  “Girl, don’t you dare make a fool of me today. I have supported you through an awful lot of nonsense, and I’d hate to see your mama upset on your wedding day.” His fingers tightened on her arm until she thought they might leave a bruise. She refused to let the smile budge, which was easy, since her head was now floating a good twelve inches off her shoulders.

  “I’ll make you proud, Daddy,” she said, and his smile finally brightened again.

  The handoff to Bobby went perfectly. She didn’t trip on the stairs; Daddy turned her veil back and kissed her cheek, then brought her hand to Bobby’s. “Take care of her, son,” Daddy said, and Bobby gave him a solid Robert Dawson nod that made Ali’s stomach twitch.

  The preacher was off and running. She hadn’t been to church in ages, in part because of the way Reverend Davis tended to run on. And on. He was chattering now about marriage, and friendship, and godly love, and Ali found herself transfixed by a fly that had braved the hot Texas afternoon to buzz around the preacher’s head. He was valiantly ignoring it as it buzzed around his ear; it wouldn’t do to ruin Mr. Robert Dawson’s wedding by swatting at a fly.

  Time did a funny little skip. She and Bobby were facing each other, holding their hands together, and he was gazing blandly into her eyes as he recited, after Reverend Davis: “I, Robert James Dawson, take you, Alaine Helene Owens, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward—for better or worse, for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do us part.”

  He was firm, in that classic Bobby way, and for a long moment, Ali clung to him with her whole heart. This was how it was supposed to be. She and Bobby, tight together, quietly married while Kip kept the spotlight on him. But as the preacher turned to her, her knees went a little week.

  “Repeat after me,” he prompted, “I, Alaine Helene Owens…”

  She opened her mouth, ready to say the words, ready to seal her fate, but instead of her name, what came out was “Bobby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her hand clapped up over her mouth, trying to stuff the words back in.

  His eyes widened for a moment, a long moment, and then he smiled his Robert Dawson grin and shook her hands gently back and forth, like she was a little girl. “Sugar, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Just repeat after the man, and I’ll kiss you, and everything’ll be just fine.”

  She shook her head then. “I don’t think I can, Bobby. I said I could, but—” Her stomach twisted, and for a moment she thought she might be sick up there, in front of God and everybody. “I was right when I called it off the first time, Bobby. I can’t. We’re not the people we were when you proposed to me. I always told you. This isn’t the life I wanted. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Cristina’s hands were so tight on her bouquet that she looked like her fingers might pop. She has shaking her head back and forth, her eyes so pained that it made Ali’s soul ache. Cristina had told her over and over that Alejandro was wrong for her, and that Bobby was the way forward. That had been her way forward, after all—marrying a doctor and raising herself up. And decorating the governor’s mansion. That had been her dream. Just like being governor had been Kip’s dream.

  Here she and Bobby were, living other people’s dreams, other people’s lives. And Bobby’s parents didn’t understand, her own parents didn’t understand, Cristina didn’t even understand. They all wanted what they thought was best, but no one had asked. Or if they had asked, they didn’t listen.

  She wasn’t in love with Bobby. No matter what anyone said, she couldn’t marry someone she wasn’t in love with. She couldn’t live someone else’s life. She just couldn’t.

  She raised her eyes to Bobby’s face. He looked quietly confused and hurt. She didn’t dare look out at Mama and Daddy, or Bobby’s parents. She didn’t dare look at anyone else. She could barely stand to look at herself. Her head was floating six inches off her shoulders, and her fingers felt like ice, her cheeks like they’d caught fire. She tried to pull her hands free of Bobby’s, but they weren’t going anywhere.

  “If this is about that dirtbag,” Bobby said—no, he Robert Dawson now. That was the person leaning into her face and hissing his words at her—”Just say what the preacher tells you to, and we’ll work it out later.” He glared over his shoulder at Cristina. “What did you give her anyway?”

  Cristina crossed her arms under her breasts and shook her head. “Bobby, she was crying, she needed to calm down—”

  “Stop it,” Ali said, and her voice echoed through the church. She swallowed and toned her voice down just a little bit. “This isn’t about him. It never was about him. It was about you, and how you don’t listen to me anymore. And it’s about me, and how I want to live the rest of my life.” She jerked her hands one more time, got them free from Bobby. She tried to step away, but the floor was uneven, and Bobby caught her again before she could fall. His fingers wrapped around the same bruises Daddy had left, and his eyes were so fierce and so sad.

  “Do not do this to me, Alaine,” he said. “Do not.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say you were sorry, Bobby?” She looked deep into his eyes, seeking an answer that she was fairly sure she wouldn’t find.

  His lips tightened, and she could see him choking back the words he wanted to use. “I stopped drinking.”

  “But you never said you were sorry. Why didn’t you?”

  “This isn’t the time, Ali. We can talk about this later.”

  “When is the time? When you’re governor? When you run for president? When would be a good time for me to tell your mama about how you tried to rape me?”

  The words came out in a torrent, and it wasn’t until they’d escaped that she realized she’d said them loud enough for everyone to hear. Bobby’s hand on her arm went soft, then, and she was able to pull back. She hated herself for doing it, for saying it out loud, but at the same time—God in heaven, it had felt good. It had felt beautiful.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, when she was a few steps away.

  She let the words fall into her heart and heal something that had been badly torn. She nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “That means rather a lot.” She was wobbling, her knees were trembling. She looked to Cristina again— No, there’d be no help there. She didn’t understand either. And in a way, Ali herself didn’t understand. She just knew that she was floating, flying, and she couldn’t pretend anymore. She was pretty sure that she was high, maybe really high, and there was a corner of her mind screaming that she was going to regret all of this later… but not now. Not right now. “Take care of yourself, Bobby,” Ali said. She turned and faced the church, her head held as high as she could without tripping over her feet—they were shockingly far away, how had they gotten so distant?—and started to walk. She knew better than to look at anyone’s face. If Cristina wasn’t on her side, no one was, and all there was to do was get out.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  She made it halfway down the aisle before her knees gave out. She caught herself on the pew, and tried to breathe.

  No one was coming to her aid—this was not how Southern girls behaved. Everyone in the church was staring at her except for Mama and Daddy, who had their faces upturned to the cross like this was tantamount to crucifixion for them. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, racing so fast that she could barely breathe. There was a very, very large part of Ali’s heart that wanted to laugh, and say it was all a joke. But every time she tried, she felt Bobby’s hands pawing at her, forcing him on her, and she
stayed strong another moment.

  “All right, here we go,” she heard, and then Karen—Karen, who’d been helping her with the project since the beginning—ducked under her arm and helped her back to her feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “But you’re committing social suicide here.”

  Karen laughed quietly. “Oh, Ali, don’t you worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

  “Thank you,” Ali said again, and she meant it more than she’d meant anything in her life.

  Until the church doors burst open, and Alejandro Rojas stood before her. “What in the world are you doing here?” Yeah, that was pretty heartfelt. Definitely.

  “Ali,” he panted. He’d clearly been running. He looked good sweaty. But that wasn’t what she was thinking about right now. Nope, she was focusing on how he’d shoved her away, thrust her into another man’s arms over some nonsense idea of what safety meant. “Ali, you can’t marry him.”

  Karen glanced at Ali, and saw something there that made her lips purse. “She got there on her own, darlin’. We need to go now, though. Care to help?”

  Ali tried to lift herself up a bit more, but whatever Cristina had given her was hitting hard now. Her knees were made of pudding. Heh, pudding knees. Squish squish squish.

  Alejandro hadn’t heard a word. He grabbed Ali’s hand and pressed it to his heart. “Ali, I love you. He doesn’t. He’s trying to ruin your business, everything that means anything to you. I know I said he could protect you, but Ali— I can’t live without you. Please.” He got down onto his knees, and in the world, miles away where parents were, Ali heard a horrified and disgusted gasp that had to have come from her mother.

  She pulled her hand away and shook her head. “Everyone keeps telling me what I need to do, how I need to be, but it’s all about them. Not me. Why isn’t anyone talking about what I want, what I need, how to make me happy?” She shook her head again, harder, and the world started to spin. “I’m done with all of it. Me, and my ranch, and my horses. I don’t need any of the rest of you.” She swept by him—or stumbled, though one would never be so impolite as to say so—and let Karen guide her out of the church.

  “You probably rode here in a limo?” Karen asked. No one had followed them out of the church yet. Ali felt her belly heave, and forced herself to keep from gagging through sheer power of will. Walking out on her own wedding, jilting Bobby at the altar, that was enough. She did not need to vomit on the steps of the church just to prove a point. She managed to nod, and Karen gave a little sigh. “Right, then. We’ll take my car back to your place. Think you can avoid barfing until I get you to a toilet?”

  Ali’s head was spinning, swirling through the air on a dizzying cloud of sunstreaks and sparkles. It was a gorgeous Texas day, hot and bright, and she wanted to put her arms out to the side and spin until she fell into the dust like a little girl. Her skirt was so full, it would spin out beautifully.

  Karen snapped her fingers in front of Ali’s eyes, and Ali reeled just a bit, blinking too fast. The world was spinning faster and faster, and her stomach—

  “Oh, here we go,” Karen said, and helped Ali keep her balance as she vomited into the bushes, and held back the pretty blond curls that Cristina had spent hours on, straightening and then curling. Ali, for her part, heaved until she thought her stomach was just ejecting on auto-pilot. She knew she had tears streaming down her face, and she prayed that she wouldn’t hear the snap of cameras or the fall of footsteps. There was noise coming from inside the church now. Raised voices. She heard Alejandro, and she heard Bobby, and she wanted to just be done. She wanted all of it to go away.

  Karen was making soft sounds. “What in the world did she give you, anyway?”

  “Just something to help me relax. She gave me one, and then I made her give me more because it wasn’t working.” Ali straightened up again, felt one nasty little urp get caught in her throat, and then managed to take a deeper breath. Her head was clearer now, though she was far from alright. Holy God on a gracenote, she’d just jilted Bobby at the altar. She was going to be— Well, drawn-and-quartered on the society pages would only be the beginning. And she’d told everyone what he’d done. He was going to deny it, and she’d be painted the slut everywhere. “Oh, I need to get out of here. I need to go home. Please, can you take me home?”

  Karen nodded without saying another word. Ali let the other woman lead her to a nice car, one of those funny-shaped hybrids that got a billion miles to the gallon. She wondered for a moment if it’d make it over the potholes in her road. But then, that was Karen’s problem, really. She’d been to the ranch before. It wasn’t anything new.

  Ali went to get in the car, and then looked down at herself. “I can’t wear this,” she said.

  Karen looked at her with her eyebrows raised.

  “There’s sick on the hem, and it’s not my dress, and I— I can’t—”

  The tears threatened again, and she worked hard to choke them back.

  “Will a size twelve fit you?”

  Ali nodded.

  “I’ve got some capris and a clean shirt in the back. I mean to change after the reception, before I went home. They’ll fit you okay if you need to change now.”

  “All right,” Ali said. She reached behind herself and found the zipper in the back of the dress, tugging at it. Karen’s eyes got incredibly wide, and Ali found herself giggling. “What’s the matter? Never seen a lady undress before?”

  Karen’s eyes squeezed closed and she laughed, her tone dry. “Of course I have, and you know it. Just never expected that I’d see a bride strip off in a parking lot outside of a bad movie.”

  Ali found herself glancing down at her body, her head still swimming a bit from the pills. She liked how she looked well enough. The corset gave her that hourglass shape that seemed classic, and her breasts were nice, swelling up out of the cups. She’d always felt like her thighs were a bit muscled from all her riding days, and it’d always messed up the whole skinny jeans trend for her, but otherwise, she wasn’t bad looking. “Do you think I’m attractive?”

  Karen shrugged, smirking. “You’re pretty, and you know it, but you’re clearly not my type.”

  “Then to heck with it. If anyone’s watching, let’s give ‘em a show. Besides, your Yankee car is too damn small for me to get dressed in.” And, dammit, she liked the statement of leaving the dress in a white satin puddle in the parking lot. It said something that Bobby would understand.

  “I can’t argue with that,” Karen said, shaking her head as she got into the car. Ali fastened the capris and tugged the T-shirt over her head. She kicked off the white satin pumps and left those with the dress. After thinking about it, she didn’t add the engagement ring to the pile. She’d get it back to Bobby later. When things had cooled down a little. Maybe send Cristina over with it. If Cristina was still speaking to her. The thought of having lost her best friend made her stomach twist again, but it had to happen. There was no other way it could happen. She took the ring off, though, and slipped it into the pocket of Karen’s capris. It felt strange, having such casual clothes on over her elaborate underwear, but it would work for the moment.

  Her head started to spin as soon as Karen put the car in drive, and she closed her eyes. Karen knew the way to her house. She could rest now. For the first time in ages, she was safe.

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  When it was painfully clear that Ali was not coming back into the church to laugh and say it had all been a practical joke, Bobby’s eyes turned to Alejandro. Alejandro, for his part, sighed, ready to be the fence that kept Bobby off Ali’s ass long enough for her to get away. He could manage that much at least.

  “You son of a bitch,” Bobby roared as he barreled down the aisle. Dodging him was easy, and as gratifying as it would have been to let the ass land on his fist—or even better, a knife—Alejandro knew better. The only face in the church he’d even hoped would be friendly to him belonged to his cousin, and with
the expression she wore, like she’d just taken a sip of someone’s shitty moonshine, she wasn’t going to come to his aid. He hadn’t come this far to be jailed on assault charges by a wannabe lawyer.

  Bobby managed to keep his feet, and seemed then to realize where he was. He stood up, straightened his cummerbund, and fixed Alejandro with a glare that might have made other politicians back down. Alejandro just grinned, and he saw Bobby’s nerve crack. He hid it well, but it happened, all the same. “Bobby,” he said, letting his voice slide low and dangerous, letting it be the knife he hadn’t wanted to carry into the church. “This is nothing to do with me. I haven’t talked to Ali since she started wearing your ring again. You made your own bed.”

  “Rojas,” Bobby said, his voice low and threatening. “You don’t want to tangle with me.”

  Alejandro let some wildness slip into his grin, the crazed crackle of the biker that made good boys back off and run. He laughed, and let the tension drip from his fingers like fresh crude. “We’ve been tangling for weeks now. I’m surprised you only just noticed.”