SECRET BABY AT THE ALTAR: Blood Brothers MC

by Claire St. Rose

  “This one’s close to the heart,” Sal muttered as he bandaged the upper wound.

  “I don’t think it caught his heart, but he’s gurgling a little. There might be blood leaking into his lungs.” All they had to do was hurry, and the ER would fix that. He wouldn’t drown that way. She moved up to look at his face. “Can you hear me, sir? What’s your name?”

  He moved his mouth, but nothing came out. She waited, and one eye blinked open. He breathed something, and she leaned over to listen. “Orlando Cortez.”

  She nodded. “Okay, Mr. Cortez, we just need you to keep still and stay with us. We’ll get you fixed up.” She met Sal’s eyes. “I’ll get the stretcher.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Ariana hurried over to the bus and opened the back to roll the stretcher out, but before she could grab the handle, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She turned, and her stomach dropped. Four men in leather jackets leaned against a police car with their legs spread. She ignored the one on the left, his jacket different, but she recognized the insignia on the other three. Her father had just admired the same Iron Claws logo a couple of hours ago.

  She knew she needed to move, that a man’s life was at stake, but she stood rooted to the spot, transfixed, as each man was patted down and handcuffed. She recognized the big one – he was the guy who’d come for Vince. She thought she’d seen the second one somewhere, but she hadn’t connected him to the motorcycle club until now. She held her breath as the third one turned, hands cuffed, the officer guiding him toward a black and white.

  Vince.

  “Ariana! We need that stretcher!” Sal’s voice carried to her from where Cortez still needed to be moved. But she didn’t go. The sound of her name had jerked Vince’s head around, and he’d spotted her. He stared at her with wide eyes.

  In her mind, Ariana saw the event. Whatever business the club did, Vince had been with them, and they’d had to meet these men who were now dead or close to it. But something had gone wrong, and like every other motorcycle-riding son of a bitch, rather than handling the problem with words and negotiations, Vince had pulled a gun and fired. She could see in that moment Vince’s gun, pointed at Orlando Cortez, firing twice, the backfire making Vince’s hand jump. And in her mental image, he stared in disgust at the man the whole time, with no remorse.

  Vince stared at her, even as the officer pushed his head down to put him in the car, and Ariana hardened her heart, forced the tears back, and turned away. He’d put on a good show, the whole time, but he was no better than anything she’d ever thought a guy in his position could be. She’d been stupid to believe otherwise, just because he could turn on the charm and play a tender role. He was ruthless and heartless and now, even if she could have gotten past that before, she sure as hell couldn’t get past this.

  She had enough humiliation in her life. Thank god she hadn’t told Sal about him. Here she was, responding to the scene of a crime like a good citizen in a service role, and the guy she was screwing, who she’d mistakenly let herself feel something for, was being arrested for the crime. She couldn’t do it. Ariana had fought against the stigma her father left behind, and she’d realized in talking to him she was better off for the struggle. But what good would come of being connected to a man who was part of a gang and got arrested in public for shooting and maybe killing another man?

  “Ariana! Come on!” Sal shouted, and she hurried to him with the stretcher. They worked together to lift the man onto it, and after strapping him down, they rolled him as quickly and gently as possible to the bus.

  “Excuse me,” an officer called, coming over to them. He jumped in the back of the ambulance after Ariana, putting a handcuff around the man’s wrist and latching the other side to the stretcher. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. This man’s under our custody as long as he’s alive.”

  Ariana instinctively wanted to ask what had happened, but at this point, what did it matter? She nodded to the officer as he dismounted, and Sal started the engine. She latched the back door and kept her eye on her patient, her heart aching. She hated herself right now for being weak and desperate, and for trusting someone against her better judgment. But she hated Vince even more for disappointing her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  At the hospital, they turned Orlando Cortez over to the emergency room crew and waited for the officer to point him in the right direction. Sal checked to make sure they weren’t needed on the scene again and then confronted Ariana. “What the hell happened to you today? I barely had those wounds packed, and his lung was filling with blood while you stood around forever. That’s not like you, Ariana.”

  She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to think. But she owed her partner something. “I’m sorry, Sal. I’m not sure what happened.”

  “I do.” His tone was softer now, and she stared at him, surprised. He smiled. “Come on, Ariana, I probably know you as well as or better than my own wife. We spend about the same amount of time together, maybe more. You saw the guy from the bike accident the other night. I think you feel shitty about the fact that he’s going to jail. Would it make you feel any better if I told you that, according to the rumors, he wasn’t even armed?”

  If only I could believe that. We were together less than two hours ago. How could he have left her and gone out to shoot someone? But she’d seen the evidence with her own eyes, and she knew he had at least one gun. She’d seen it in his house just this morning.

  She told Sal, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Ariana!” he called after her, but she ignored him. The fire station wasn’t far, and she could walk back and get her car. She had something she had to do, and it couldn’t wait.

  Processing took less time than it had the last time Vince had come through this god-awful place. That would have been more of a relief if he hadn’t had an imprint of Ariana’s horrified expression stuck on his mind, in his eyes, since he’d been hauled off. The worst thing was, the only person who’d even fired was Scat, who wasn’t even supposed to be there. No one had expected the ambush.

  “Well, well, well, you’ve been in here for all of five minutes, and you’ve already got a visitor.” The guard came up to the metal bars, hands on his belt, acting as pompous as a cat that just caught the mouse. The jackass hadn’t even been the one to book them.

  Vince scowled at him. “Great.” He waited to see Cyril or one of his brothers and wondered why the hell they were here if they weren’t posting bail. But instead, Ariana appeared in front of him, her expression somber.

  “Get out of here,” Vince snarled at the guard. The man ambled away with a chuckle, and Vince stood from where he sat on the bench to walk toward Ariana.

  He stared at her, but her eyes were hard, impenetrable. “Ariana, I didn’t do this.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, her voice flat. “It doesn’t matter if you did it or not. You’re a part of this, Vince, and it’s exactly what I didn’t want you involved in.”

  Something inside his chest squeezed at his lungs, and it was hard for him to breathe as she said those words. “Come on, I’ll be out in a heartbeat, and the charges will be dropped. We didn’t ask for this. Those guys rolled up out of nowhere. One guy pulled a gun, and he’s at the hospital right now.”

  She nodded. “I know. He got hit in the shoulder. Do you realize two men are dead, and the third will be lucky if he doesn’t drown in his own blood?” She stepped away from the bars, out of his reach. “I told you I didn’t want to be at home, waiting and wondering if you weren’t coming back. If things had gone differently today, you’d either be in prison for the rest of your life or dead.”

  “I told you I would be fine, and I am.” But he knew now there was no sense in arguing. She was angry, hurt, and frightened. He’d either lost her or needed to give her the space to come to terms with things. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t good, and Vince knew Pound had been right all along. He should n
ever have gotten involved with her.

  “Listen to me, Ariana,” he said, searching her face for any hint of softness. “I know you’re way out of my league, and we come from two different worlds. But you saw something in me that you liked, or you wouldn’t have asked me to meet your father.”

  She laughed, but it was a sad sound. “We all make mistakes, Vince.” He watched her search his gaze. “Tell me something, Vince. When the police showed up, did you have a gun in your hand?”

  He nodded. It was better not to lie right now. “I did. But I never raised it, and I never fired it. I pulled it in case I had to defend myself.”

  “That’s not good enough.” She looked away. “I’m sorry, Vince. I really did feel something for you. But I can’t do this anymore. It was good while it lasted, and I hope the best for you.” She walked away without another word.

  Vince sat down, covering his face with his hands. When had he let his emotions grow so raw and open again? He’d shut down after losing Kristi, but Ariana had just torn open old wounds, and he was bleeding inside.

  Full of rage and the pain of loss, Vince called out, “Guard!”

  The man came around the corner with an amused face. “Boy, you pissed her off pretty bad.”

  Vince rolled his eyes. “Shut up, asshole. I’ve got a request, and you’d better listen.”

  “Oh, really? And what if I don’t?”

  Vince gave him a sinister smile. “You know why I’m in here. I don’t like when people get in my way. Now, I want to speak to Chief of Police Ronald Hunt, and I want him here in less than an hour. And when he gets here, you had better pray I’m not all kinds of pissed off at you. And that none of my brothers are pissed at you, either.”

  “Whatever, you ragtag piece of shit. Why would Hunt want to speak to you?”

  Vince’s grin spread further. “Because he’s an old friend of my father. And my Uncle Ronnie is pretty protective of his nephew.” The fear in the guard’s eyes gave Vince a sense of satisfaction that at least temporarily turned off the pain. He’d be out of this joint, along with Scat, Pound, and Traunch, before the afternoon was out.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “Honey, you look lonely over here,” came a voice that sounded far away and muddled to Vince’s ears. Or maybe it was in his head because when he looked up from the drink in front of him, the source of the voice seemed just as distant and blurred. With a slow grin, he said, “I am lonely. But aren’t we all?”

  The giggle that followed sounded like Christmas bells, and the voice slurred, “Can I offer you some company? My friend and I would love to sit with you for a while.”

  Vince waved—not quite hearing her or caring what she wanted. He turned back to his drink, drowning in the haze of drunkenness. The charges for the gunfight had been dropped, based on a lack of evidence against Vince and his brothers, as well as improper police procedures. However, it was little solace to be on the outside, considering Ariana wouldn’t answer his calls or texts and didn’t even seem to be at her apartment.

  She was probably staying with her mother, hoping to avoid him until he gave up looking for her. He hadn’t even found her visiting her father at the hospital. The older man wasn’t in good shape; Vince had spoken to him briefly in his search for Ariana, and upon leaving, Vince had come straight to the clubhouse and doused his pain.

  But he wasn’t going to stop here. The more he drank, what he’d done wrong in the past and what he had to do now to make things right became clearer. Images of the times he had let his late wife down plagued his thoughts, reminding him that he hadn’t changed as much as he intended since then. He’d obviously disappointed Ariana, and now, he had to prove to her that he intended to do better. He had to convince her to love him—even if he wasn’t a saint.

  Even Kristi had given him that. As weak and disapproving as she was, there had been times Vince had really known how much she loved him. She’d stayed with him during the worst of times, even if it meant being hyped up on pain pills. Of course, that brought back more bad memories than good.

  He remembered finding Vicodin in the cabinet. “What’s this?” he’d asked, showing her the bottle.

  Kristi had been in the kitchen, cooking, and she had given him a tired smile. “I went to the doctor for my back. Remember, I hurt it a few days ago, twisting funny while I was mopping? Anyway, he told me to take those when I was in pain and gave me some exercises to do to strengthen the muscles.”

  He'd let that go, but a month later, she had another excuse, and Vince had started a fight. “Are you becoming an addict, Kristi?” he’d accused.

  “You would think something like that, considering the company you keep. Your boys may not run drugs, but every other gang around here does, and I’m sure some of your supposed friends partake.” She’d ripped the bottle from his hand. “These are legit, Vinny. Maybe you should spend less time with your illegal practices and more time with your old lady that you claim to love.”

  He'd walked away, headed to the clubhouse, and passed out in the back room. He’d gotten into a fight the next morning with one of his brothers who had later left the club, and he’d had to get stitches where the guy’s ring had cut into his forehead. Kristi showed up at the hospital, crying and apologizing. She had told Vince how much she loved him and that she just wanted to take care of him. In those moments, Vince forgot all his concerns, and all his anger at Kristi and the rest of the world dissipated. All he cared about was Kristi’s gentle, loving touch.

  There were hands on Vince’s shoulders, massaging them. For a moment, he smiled, forgetting where he was and thinking that, maybe, Ariana had come to her senses and decided she missed him. However, it didn’t take long, even through the desensitization caused by nearly an entire bottle of whiskey, to realize that it felt different. There was no love, no tenderness. Definitely not Ariana.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his ears pounding with each word he spoke.

  He heard the giggling again, two voices. One whispered in his ear, the breath reminding him of peppermint schnapps, “Honey, we’re here to take care of you. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  A second body was somewhere in front of him. His vision was wavering in and out, as she leaned forward and shoved a hand in his crotch. “Seems like you need a helping hand, sweetheart.”

  That he did. “Well, it’s good there’s two of you cuz I’m not small, and it takes two to handle me.” He could tell from the laughter that he’d said something wrong, but he didn’t care, as they managed to sneak under his arms and help him to his feet. They stumbled along, and he couldn’t quite see where they were going, but one of the women pushed open a door, and next thing he knew, Vince fell on a bed.

  Something in the back of his mind toyed with him, and he was just too far over the line to be able to identify it. He was on the verge of passing out, which was probably the best thing. Still, the little idea festering in the depths of his psyche plagued him; but, finally, it came to his mind.

  When he still had Kristi, if he’d hurt himself, she’d come back to him, always loving. Now, he knew what he had to do. Ariana was a paramedic. It was her job to take care of injured and ill people, and she couldn’t ignore someone hurt or sick. If he could just find a way to hurt himself so that he ended up in the hospital and had to take an ambulance in, Ariana would have to pay attention to him. Wasn’t there some sort of code of honor in the medical community?

  That is the answer, he thought, laughing. Then, he lost himself to the heavy drunkenness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Ariana scrubbed the sink in her apartment as if her life depended on the stainless-steel contraption being completely free of any speck of dirt, food, or bacteria. Her arm and shoulder were sore, and her back was starting to twinge with the tightness and strain of her muscles. Still, she continued to work. When she was done, she would clean the counters, followed by the cabinets, and then she’d move on to the living room.

  She’d taken the week off, overwhelmed by eve
rything in her life outside the job and looking for a way to make peace with it. Ariana needed to go see her father; but, after their last conversation, she couldn’t face him yet.

  “Your boyfriend came to see me,” he croaked. “Apparently, you’re ignoring him.”

  Ariana had clamped her lips in a tight line. “Vince’s not my boyfriend, Dad. I can’t be with someone who shoots people and gets thrown in jail. I need more stability than that.”

  Her father had shaken his head, his face riddled with pain. “He didn’t do it, Ariana. He wasn’t out on bail. The charges were dropped. Maybe you should look deep inside and find another reason you’re pushing him away.”

  He’d broken out in a coughing spell, and she’d given a press to the button that dripped morphine into his system. Within minutes, he was asleep, and Ariana ran out of the hospital. Not only was she having trouble processing the swiftness with which her father’s health was failing, but she didn’t want to hear what he had to say about Vince.