HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  CHAPTER THREE

  Irritated more at herself than anything, Ariana’s movements were jerky, and her bedside manner completely out the window. Of all the dumbass bikers she had to care for tonight, it had to be this one. She scowled, remembering his raging diatribe when they’d wheeled his wife into the emergency room the year before. He probably didn’t remember Ariana from that night; after all, he’d been in a blind fury.

  She wasn’t clear on the details anymore; she made so many runs a night, so many nights a year, she couldn’t keep track of everything. What she did remember clearly was the pain in his eyes and how fucking gorgeous he was, even with all that raw emotion. Oh, and three very large men in the same club jackets holding him back as he fought to get into restricted areas.

  The man had passion, at least, and support. She may not respect much about his kind, but she had to admit that their sense of loyalty went far beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She glanced toward the front of the bus, her blood heating with resentment. Did anyone care that she worked nights like this so she could go to medical school? She didn’t plan on cleaning up messes on the highway or wrapping kids’ twisted ankles forever. She wanted to be a surgeon.

  But because she was small – both short and narrow – and blonde, and because she had tits, nobody really took her seriously. Bozeman was the closest thing she had to an ally in this business. Maybe Vince Larson didn’t have any moral ground to stand on, but he had a network of support, even if his buddies were typically drunk or high.

  Taking a deep breath but still refusing to look directly at him for fear of losing her cool in the face of his physical attraction, she asked, “Mr. Larson, have you been using any mind-altering substances this evening?”

  She heard him chuckle, a rough, deep sound that resonated from his chest. “So, that’s your problem, huh? You assume I’m some cokehead or maybe rip-roaring drunk? It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m used to being misunderstood. Damned if anyone believes a guy on a bike could be clean and upstanding. People sure as hell don’t think we have any feelings, either.”

  Against her will, Ariana found herself staring at him in astonishment. What nerve had she struck that made him go off like that? He must have hit his head pretty hard. She narrowed her gaze as he cut his eyes in her direction, crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “If you’re sober, then how in God’s name did you end up lying on the side of the road with the top layer of skin taken off most of your right thigh?”

  He looked away again, his expression surlier than ever. “Maybe it was a hit-and-run. Some dick ran me off the road and disappeared before anyone could call the pigs.” She wouldn’t have bought it, even if his voice hadn’t been dripping with sarcasm. She continued to watch him, waiting to see if he had any honesty in him.

  “What does it matter to you anyway?” he finally huffed.

  Ariana closed her eyes and counted to ten so she wouldn’t lose her patience. “I don’t really know if it does matter to me. Blame it on my inquisitive nature and morbid curiosity, if that’s what butters your toast.”

  His blue eyes glittered in the bright lights above him, and Ariana held his gaze. If only he wasn’t in that stupid collar so he could turn all the way toward her. She couldn’t read what that sparkle meant from that awkward angle.

  “I’m not sure about my toast,” he said thoughtfully, “but I know what could easily spill my milk.” He winked and Ariana clenched her jaw, turning away to face the monitor once again. What a jackass.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The pimple-faced doctor-in-training smiled at Vince, who was propped in the emergency room cot in one of those ridiculously embarrassing gowns that let his ass hang out. A tiny nurse fussed around him, disconnecting the IVs of fluids and pain meds while he listened, without much interest, to his prognosis.

  “Nothing seems to be broken, and all the scrapes and cuts are superficial. You won’t need any stitches. You do, however, present signs of a pretty serious concussion, probably from the impact. You need to stay awake for at least a couple of hours to make sure you don’t develop any worse symptoms, such as dizziness or inability to walk.”

  The kid sounded like he read straight out of a fucking textbook, and considering his age, Vince wouldn’t doubt it was the case. How much could he really know about medicine? Vince had socks older than this kid. “Great, that’s great. Now can I get out of here?” He was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for the bag with his clothes.

  “As soon as you sign your discharge papers and have the prescriptions for the pain and nausea medications, you can be on your way. Do you have someone to pick you up?”

  Smiling and motioning vaguely to the door of the room, Vince indicated Pound and Jude, who’d apparently just arrived with the SUV. “I’m good, thanks.” He looked down at the jeans in his hands and growled.

  “Aw, Christ.” The entire right leg was torn to shreds and covered in blood. Even if they’d been in one piece, he couldn’t have slid them over the bandages. “Hey, Pound, you got any extra pants in the truck?”

  Pound, who was four inches taller and at least six inches wider than Vince, laughed. “You think I’m loaning you my shit when you interrupted my party?” Vince gave him a cross look, and he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, Jude, there’s a tote bag in the back with some sweats in it. Can you bring them in? I can’t have this guy walking down the hall beside me with his ass hanging out.”

  Vince shook his head but couldn’t hold back a smile. By the time Jude ambled back in, sweatpants in hand, Vince had signed the papers and grabbed the scripts, shoving them in the heavy leather boots he had no intention of wearing out of here. He pulled on the stained sweats, which practically swallowed him whole, and tossed his boots and ruined clothes into the bag the hospital staff had given him.

  He winced as he stepped on the injured leg. He’d be sore as hell in the morning. “Let’s blow this joint,” he told the guys, and they nodded.

  But before anyone moved, there was a knock at the door, and the pretty little blonde devil from the ambulance poked her head around the privacy curtain. Vince hadn’t expected to see her again, and now that he could really look at her, his cock twitched. She was quite the sight, all her curves ready to bust out of that uniform. He gave her a cocky smile. “Miss me?”

  She looked irritated. “I just thought I’d come by and make sure you got all patched up and on your way.”

  “I’m good to go,” he answered with the same short, clipped tone she’d used with him earlier.

  Rolling her eyes, she told him, “Good. Take care.” She pivoted on her heel, exiting the room with her nose in the air, as if she was too good for the errand and had been forced at gunpoint to check on him. But Vince knew better. She was one of those people who couldn’t stand to think that something had gone askew on her watch, even if she despised him with every bone in her body.

  “Are we bouncing?” Pound asked, his eyebrow raised in expectation. “Because if we’re not, I’m chasing that little vixen down the hall and all the way into the foxhole, if I have to.”

  Something about the words pissed Vince off. “Get the truck,” he growled. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” Pound and Jude both knew better than to fuck with him when he used that tone, and they didn’t waste time standing around. That suited Vince just fine; he limped off down the hall in the opposite direction, toward the blonde ponytail swinging above a perfectly round ass.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What the hell was I thinking? Ariana chided herself as she strode down the hall toward the bus barn where they’d parked after their last call. Some five-year-old left alone had swallowed bleach and was in critical condition upstairs, his mother allowed nowhere near him. Sal was still talking to Social Services, and she’d gone and made the incredible error of checking in on Vince Larson.

  He’d already done his best to offend her with his crude remarks in the ambulance. In fact, he’d proven that everything A
riana hated about bikers was valid, with one exception – she’d snuck a peek at his chart, and his tox screen was clean. Hallelujah, she thought bitterly, the guy has one redeeming quality. It did nothing to make her feel better about him.

  “Ariana!” Someone was yelling her name. When she turned and saw that bastard limping down the hall as quickly as his bloody leg would carry him, a chill went down her spine. What did he want now? How many more lewd remarks could one man make in an evening? She was tempted to turn around and leave.

  But something glued her in place—perhaps that same morbid curiosity, she thought with chagrin. As he approached, she asked, “How can I help you now, Mr. Larson?”

  A bit breathless, he came to a halt, and this time, his smile wasn’t so damned cocky. “Look, I wanted to apologize for being a little crass tonight. I’m not a bad guy. It’s just… a rough night for me.”

  She nodded toward his leg. “Obviously.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s the thing. This—” he gestured to the injury, “happened because I was already having a rough night.” He turned away from her, staring at nothing in particular, and Ariana scowled as she noticed a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Tonight’s the anniversary of my wife’s death, and my head was somewhere else, not on driving.”

  All the wind rushed out of her as if someone had socked her in the gut. She’d known it had been about that long, but she would never have guessed the woman’s overdose had happened a year ago to the day. She felt like a heel for giving him such a hard time. Even if she knew nothing else about Vince Larson, she knew that woman had meant everything to him.

  “I’m very sorry, Mr. Larson,” she said softly.

  “Dammit—please stop calling me that. Vince. My name is Vince.” He ran a hand through his dark brown locks in frustration, releasing a shower of dirt and grass onto the floor. “I just… I thought I owed you an explanation.”

  Ariana’s shoulders slumped. Maybe it was his looks, or maybe he had a certain charming appeal. Whatever it was, she couldn’t hate him, regardless of the fact that he consorted with the scum of the earth. He’d thought enough of her to offer her what seemed like a sincere apology and tell her the truth. He didn’t have to do that; he didn’t owe her anything. It wasn’t like she’d saved his life or anything. And yet…

  “Thank you, Vince,” she told him, wanting to smile but not quite sure it was appropriate. She wasn’t awkward with people very often, but she didn’t really know how to address him. She shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other, feeling like some preteen admiring the bad boy from across the schoolyard—only Vince Larson stood just a few inches from her.

  Vince laughed, a nervous sound, and it was truly endearing as he rubbed his head again. “So, are you on your way out? I mean, if you’re busy, I can just…” He waved in the other direction, and Ariana assumed he was offering to leave her alone.

  “No, actually, my partner’s busy right now, and we’re not on call until he’s done with this other business. I’ll probably be here for another hour or so.” The boy had cozied up to Sal and told him a lot of things Ariana hadn’t heard that she was sure the police and the social worker would want to know. She’d seen this before, and these interviews could take a while.

  “Do you smoke?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Um, no, I don’t, but I’m guessing you do.”

  “Yeah, and I haven’t had a cigarette in hours. Where can I go to get some fucking nicotine into my system without bringing the wrath of God down on me?”

  Losing the resolve she’d had to stay away from him, Ariana pointed toward the door she had been getting ready to exit. “I’m heading out to the bus barn.” His confused look amused her. “It’s where we park the ambulances after we drop off the patients when we know we won’t have time to get back to the firehouse before the next call. Anyway, once you’re in that parking lot, you can light up all you want. Just watch out for open buses. They have oxygen tanks inside.”

  He looked so relieved, Ariana thought he might collapse. She watched him closely as he limped out the door with her, gazing around him as they made their way toward the row of ambulances. They crossed a red painted line, and Ariana gave him the thumbs-up. His cigarette and lighter were already in hand, and he didn’t waste time lighting up.

  He took a deep drag and sighed with pleasure. “God, that was a long time coming.”

  Ariana couldn’t help but giggle. “As a medical professional, I should tell you—”

  “I don’t want to hear shit about how badly I’m fucking up my lungs. We all have to die somehow, sometime, right?” He took another drag. “Tonight wasn’t my night, and I’m going to enjoy my smokes in celebration.” His determination would have been admirable under any other circumstances.

  “Suit yourself, but lung cancer is a very painful way to go.” She checked her watch, antsy for Sal to get back and tell her how it went. “Where are your friends, by the way? The ones who were in the room with you.”

  “Waiting for me,” he grunted.

  “Maybe you should go then,” she suggested.

  “They’ll wait.” He dropped the cigarette and stepped on it. “Son of a bitch!” he cried, and Ariana looked down to see his bare feet. She wanted to laugh, but that sort of burn had to be excruciating on the bottom of a foot.

  “Come on, I’ll take care of it, dumbass,” she told him, walking toward her own bus and unlocking the back.

  She motioned for him to climb in, and he cursed as he dragged his leg inside. She turned on the lights and rummaged through the burn kit, taking out the necessary supplies. He sat quietly, but obviously fuming, until she finished her work, his foot resting in her lap. When she looked up at him, she gasped.

  His eyes were different; the way he looked at her made her go perfectly still, as if the clock had stopped.

  CHAPTER SIX

  That tender touch sent Vince reeling, and he realized how long it had been since a woman touched him with any sort of gentleness. At first, he held his breath, the emotions roiling in him threatening to spill over, but he couldn’t hold it forever. Instead, he channeled it, his eyes fixated on Ariana’s chest, and his cock got hard, throbbing inside those awful sweatpants.

  He might have maintained control—after all, the damned pants were so big his hard-on wasn’t obvious—if she hadn’t looked up at him with those golden brown eyes so wide and glistening with surprise they looked like maple syrup. He hadn’t been celibate this past year, but it had all just been going through the motions for him. Now, something tore at his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, and he couldn’t just sit there and stare at her without making a move.

  Quick as lightning, he rolled forward, onto his knees, and took her face in his hands, pressing his lips to her with all the force of his pent-up anger and pain and loneliness. He wanted her, and he didn’t stop to think about rejection until she shoved him away with more strength than he would have expected from such a tiny little thing.

  He landed on his ass and froze, ready for her tirade, but an instant later, she launched herself at him, knocking him onto his back as she straddled him and leaned in to further the kiss. Vince grabbed her hips, pressing her tighter against his groin, groaning at the sensation of her body rubbing against his cock. She stretched her leg out, and he watched in amusement as she used her sneaker toe to pull the back doors closed just before she reaching down to pull his sweatshirt over his head.

  Once his arms were free, Vince shoved his pants down and reached for her uniform, but Ariana slapped his hands away and stripped herself down. God, her breasts were perfect, balanced and perky, and the line down the center of her flat stomach begged him to lick it. As she gazed down at his erection with hooded eyes and full lips slightly parted, his groin ached.

  She touched his cock, sliding her hand over him, around the head and down his shaft, and he thrust his hips forward, the sensation overwhelming him. She leaned over, still working him over, and her nipp
les teased at his chest while her tongue danced in his mouth.

  He couldn’t take it anymore, and with a growl, he grabbed her waist, fingers digging into her flesh and rolled over. She cried out as her back slammed into an oxygen tank, and he quickly adjusted so she was under him, dipping his head to take one of those taut nipples in his mouth and roll it around as he used his hands to push her knees apart so he could settle between them.

  Her hips undulated as he searched for her center, coating Vince so he would slide in with no resistance. She cried out again, and he put a hand over her mouth to mute the sound as he drove into her, feeling her inner walls convulsing with orgasm. It nearly had him coming too soon, and he struggled to hold back.

  Ariana’s hands grabbed his hair, and she pulled Vince’s face back to hers, twisting him so she could delve into his mouth. He drank her in, moving faster and faster in and out of her, the tension growing as she came again and again, moaning into his mouth, until, finally, he thrust into her and spilled, feeling like a tidal wave was pouring from him.