HANDS OFF MY BRIDE: Scarred Angels MC

by Claire St. Rose

  He collapsed on top of her, sweaty, his head spinning and stomach lurching from the exertion. He lay there for a few moments, feeling Ariana’s chest heave against his, smelling her hair. Then he remembered the last time he’d slept with Kristi, and smelled the lilies of her perfume in her hair.

  He started to shrivel, and he pulled out, sitting up and grabbing at his clothes. He dressed as quickly as he could, considering he was dizzy and his leg was absolutely killing him from the weight he’d put on it. Ariana sat up more slowly, gazing at him with some sort of confusion as she started to sort out her uniform and dress herself.

  Feeling like he might pass out or empty the meager contents of his stomach at any moment, Vince couldn’t stay in this enclosed space anymore, here, with her. He shoved the door open and jumped out, instantly regretting it.

  “Vince?” Her voice was small inside the big tin can of a truck.

  He didn’t turn to look at her. “I have to go,” he rasped, and he limped away as quickly as he could.

  ***

  Ariana sat there, half-dressed, the top of her uniform unbuttoned, staring after Vince. She could have cried, but it wasn’t in her character, and she screwed up her face, finished getting dressed, and let her anger override any other emotion that could have reared its ugly head. What the fuck had she been thinking? When had she ever jumped at a man just because he gave her a look that could melt the North Pole?

  And a biker?

  Jesus, had all her morals disappeared when she’d climbed out of the bus and set foot on the road by the reservation to collect Vince Larson’s filthy ass? She smacked herself in the forehead more than once, repeating one word in her head with each slap. Stupid!

  If she needed to get laid so badly, she could have chosen from plenty of men, at work, in school, running around the hospital. But leave it to her to go against everything she stood for and sleep with a man she just met who may not do drugs but probably sold them, or took part in some other illegal activity.

  He was part of the Iron Claws, and everyone around knew they lorded over people like they were gods. He’d somehow managed to slip through her defenses, and now she felt dirty. She needed a shower or something, some way to clean Vince Larson off her body, but more importantly, out of her mind. He’d used her, used his late wife to coerce her, and in a moment of sheer lust, she’d given in.

  Lord knew that at least next time she faced something so vile, she wouldn’t stop to see if there was a bright spot of shining armor under the surface caked with dirt and blood.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Man, I’ve been running this engine and I’m almost out of gas. You owe me for that. Where the fuck have you been?” Jude’s anger did nothing to fix Vince’s mood, and Pound sense the explosion waiting to happen.

  As Vince grunted and climbed into the back, Pound punched Jude in the ear. “Shut up, dumbass. If you don’t start thinking before you run your mouth, you ain’t gonna live much longer.” Jude gave him a defiant look but said nothing else, and Vince was glad. He probably would have smashed the guy into the asphalt outside without thinking, and when he went to apologize later, all he’d find were some brains and a pile of broken bones and bloody mess.

  Saved again, he thought sarcastically. “Just get me home,” he grunted, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he thought about how incredibly stupid he’d been. If he wanted to get laid, there were plenty of women at the clubhouse who would jump at the opportunity. Had he really needed the satisfaction of this conquest, breaking a woman who thought she was better than him?

  He punched the roof of the truck in frustration. “Hey!” Jude complained, but before Vince could stare him down, he heard the oof noise that meant Pound had given him a good fist in the gut. Jude needed to watch his attitude, or Vince was going to have a fine time getting him stripped of his patch. The guy didn’t know his place anymore and had a bad habit of pissing people off.

  Thank Christ his house wasn’t far from the hospital; ten minutes later, they pulled into his driveway. Vince jumped out practically before the truck came to a stop, instantly regretting it as he landed on the sore leg. He gritted his teeth and headed for the front door. He just wanted to be alone, and he cursed as Pound followed him inside.

  “Can’t you just get that retard out of here before he comes in and offends me again?” Vince called, not turning to look at Pound. “I have every right to shoot him for trespassing on my own property, you know.” Vince hobbled to the kitchen and reached into the fridge for a beer, but found none. He popped the top on a can of Coke, pretending that the nonalcoholic beverage could wash away the memories of Ariana’s luscious curves as well as a few shots of tequila could.

  Pound didn’t follow him into the kitchen—probably trying to stay out of the line of fire. “I reminded him of that in no uncertain terms, bud. If he steps one toe outside that rank truck, I’ll break it. Don’t worry.”

  “Whatever. What the hell do you want?” Vince had a feeling he’d much prefer to hear what Pound had to say in the morning. But it looked like he didn’t have a choice: Pound leaned his ass against the dinner table and made himself comfortable.

  “You fucked the medic, didn’t you?”

  Vince laughed. “Yes, I did, but I’m not giving details, so go home.”

  Pound laughed shortly, staring at the toe of his boot. “Not healthy, man. I’m telling you, I think you should have just stayed at the party. Look at all the bullshit you could have avoided. Destroying your bike, tearing up your leg, hitting your head, and bumping uglies with some chick who thinks better of chopped liver than she does any of us.”

  Vince made a face. “Get off your soapbox, bud. I can handle myself. It’s not like I meant to run off the road. I hit a slick spot and now I need some damn new tires.” He sipped his Coke. “Actually, the damn thing is totaled, which just gives me the green light to buy a whole new ride.”

  “Don’t feed me that crap, Larson. You seriously think I don’t know what today is?” Pound stood his full height and crossed his arms. Vince knew his intimidation tactic; it worked on pretty much all of their associates.

  “Really? So do I. It’s Thursday. No, wait, it’s after midnight now, so it’s Friday. Pardon my mistake. What’s the point, bro?” Vince played stupid. He didn’t want to have this discussion. He should have known his partner would raise a stink about all this.

  Pound crossed his arms, looking ferocious as he stared down at Vince.

  “You think you can intimidate me, Pound?” Vince laughed. “I’ve known you since you were the kid on the playground everyone else bullied. I’m not afraid of you, so you might as well stand down, my man.”

  “Admit it, Larson,” Pound smirked. "All of this is about Kristi.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Vince threw up his arms, feigning disdain. “See? This is why I left the party. I specifically wanted to avoid this whole conversation where you expect me to fucking bawl into my beer so you can pat me on the shoulder and tell me it wasn’t my fault and I need to move on. Does that about cover it? Because I don’t have any beer, bro, so the rest of the image just has to suffer a bit.”

  Pound dropped his arms but didn’t leave, and Vince wanted to throw an uppercut at his jaw. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the balance with his leg all messed up, so he just stood there, seething.

  When the Pound spoke, it was in a low tone, his voice quiet. “You’ve been a nutcase since she died, Larson. I was there that night, and I held you back when you tried to go for the doctor who told you she didn’t make it, like it was his fault. You’re a mess, bro, and you’ve made some really bad decisions since then. I’m not saying I’d be any better if someone I loved that much left me like that, but you shouldn’t have been alone tonight. I knew that, and I should have held you back tonight the way I did a year ago.”

  “I don’t need a pity party.” Vince’s words were clipped. He didn’t give a shit.

  “Maybe not, but apparently you need a babysitter so yo
u don’t go trying to kill yourself and then latch on to some broad who would much rather scrape you off the bottom of her shoe like some bug she stepped on.”

  Vince stared at him, incredulous. “Is that what you think happened tonight? You think I was trying to kill myself?” From the expression on Pound’s face, Vince could tell the man was dead serious. How could his best friend think something like that?

  “I’ll tell you something, Pound. I’m a lot of things, and not all of them are good. But I’m not and never have been suicidal. I miss Kristi, but I sure as hell don’t want to follow in her footsteps.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Absolutely.” If he’d wanted to die, he’d be staring the devil in the face right now, not Pound and his annoying concern.

  “And what about this chick?”

  Vince threw up his hands. “What about her? She was a good lay. You saw how hot she was. I was a dick to her on the way to the hospital, and when I apologized, I thought I’d see how far I could take it. That’s it.”

  Pound narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “It really wasn’t just some ‘fuck you’ to Kristi’s memory?”

  This time, Vince laughed for real. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “No way. Even I’m not that cruel. I loved Kristi, and I hope her soul is at peace now that she’s had enough time away from me. And I hate what she did. It screwed with my head for a long time. But tonight was all about a good ride and an ego boost. It felt really good to make a proud bitch swallow her opinion of bikers.”

  Apparently relieved of his worry, Pound finally grinned, the dimple in his right cheek betraying that hard expression and reminding Vince of the kids they’d been together. “Man, you had me freaking out, you know. I thought maybe you’d checked out.” He stepped forward and smacked Vince on the back. “If you want, I can crash on the couch, keep you company. I’m still not sure you should be alone.”

  “No way, I’m fine. Besides, you probably still have women at the clubhouse waiting for you to come back so they can jump your bones.”

  “That’s true.” Pound turned on the charm and cocky confidence Vince had come to expect from him. “Alright, I’ll get out of here and take Jude with me. But I swear, if I find you dead tomorrow, I’ll find a way to bring your ass back so I can beat you to death myself, you got me?”

  “Loud and clear.” Vince practically shoved him out the door. Finally, he was alone, and he could hear himself think.

  Only maybe he should have let Pound ramble for a while longer, since the thoughts he had only made his head hurt even more. He could still feel Ariana’s hands on his chest, her lips on his neck, and he could hear her moaning as she came. He slammed his hand against the door, not caring about the pain. He just wanted to erase the whole incident, but he couldn’t put her out of his mind, and he had no clue what to do about it.

  Maybe a second round with her, somewhere a little more private and comfortable, might work her out of his system—but that sure as hell was never going to happen. He didn’t even know her last name. Heaving himself up, he limped to the couch and grabbed the remote, intending to turn on the television and try to blast the memories away.

  Instead, he sat there in silence, wishing that what he’d told Pound was true. Vince wanted to believe it was all about the conquest, but he knew damn well he could charm a nun into the sack. Ariana hadn’t exactly presented the biggest challenge of his life. No, he’d had other reasons, reasons he wasn’t about to share with even the closest of his brothers.

  How could he tell bunch of roughriders he missed and needed the tenderness Kristi had given him when they’d first gotten together? It was embarrassing, and the guys would call him a pussy. And they would be right.

  He didn’t understand his own penchant for it, and he certainly couldn’t describe what Ariana’s touch had ignited in him tonight. Not only had it reminded him of the way Kristi made him feel when she was sober; it had been even better, even more satisfying. He’d never felt like Kristi’s tenderness was personal—it was just the way she was with people. Ariana’s touch was completely different, as if she softened her touch just for Vince.

  Ridiculous! He was being sappy, and it pissed him off. He had to get over himself and stop blubbering. He could easily get through this, if he could just get Ariana out of his head. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone but the brothers in his club.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?” Ariana didn’t look Bozeman in the eyes as he fell into step beside her. She didn’t think she could lie to him if she had to face him.

  “I was taking inventory in the bus, making sure we had plenty of supplies. We haven’t restocked in a couple of days, and we’ve had a lot of runs.”

  “We just restocked yesterday, Ariana,” he scoffed. “Look, just be honest with me. If the kid bothered you and you needed a moment, it’s fine. I had to go scrub my face and calm down for a minute after I talked to CPS, so I understand.”

  She stopped walking. It was a good enough excuse. Considering her other choice was to tell him, I was out shagging the piece of trash we hauled in earlier, she’d latch onto it. “Yeah, I was pretty upset. There, I said it. Can we just get back to the bus and finish our shift?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, and she fought not to shake it off. But any sign of weakness, especially at the hospital, would only set her further back. “Sure, Ariana. Let’s do it, and move on.”

  To Ariana’s relief, there was nothing else major to deal with that night. She took a sleep aid and went to bed, waking up mostly refreshed the next morning. Unfortunately, her dreams had taken a wrong turn somewhere—they’d been plagued with so many vivid memories from the night before that she’d woken up aroused, her panties soaked. Damn that man!

  Vince Larson was nothing but a wolf who’d donned sheep’s clothing for the three seconds it took to get her in bed, and she was the lamb who’d fallen for it and let herself get eaten alive. She took a shower and scrubbed herself, as if she could remove his touch with soap and water. But as she ran her loofah over her hips, it only reminded her of his hands resting there as she took the initiative and rode him like a wanton fool.

  She screamed, the sound echoing against the tiles and ringing in her ears. She was going to be in a foul mood for a long time because of this one stupid mistake.

  It didn’t help knowing she was scheduled to attend a lunch-and-learn with some of her coworkers today, probably led by some doctor whose ego needed a garage door to get into a building. The topic was some crap that had to do with bedside manner and a gentle approach to combative patients. She laughed sarcastically at the idea.

  Of all the paramedics she knew, her bedside manner was the best. At the same time, she obviously couldn’t handle ‘combative patients’ if her first response was to sleep with them.

  Ariana wondered if anyone would be able to read her and present her as a prime example of what not to do. And her newfound self-doubt was all courtesy of Vince Larson.

  She was already running late and resented that this was the way she had to spend her day off. When this little meet-and-greet was over, she decided, she would hit the gym and work off all this aggression.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ariana arrived at the small conference center a few minutes early and sat in the car, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she watched people enter the facility. She didn’t exactly like a lot of the other paramedics in her territory, but she had a much greater hatred for the rest of the medical community. She saw doctors with watches that cost more than her car laughing and strolling along without a care in the world.

  They’d probably just come from some elective surgery, when they could have been helping a kid with club feet or a cleft palate.

  Too many doctors were all about the money, and Ariana had no intention of becoming one of those. Her aspirations of being a surgeon had nothing to do with making bank. She truly wanted to help people, and she knew she was delus
ional to think she could singlehandedly change the face of the medical community, but that was her futile journey in life.

  Eventually, she got out of the car and strode into the conference room, stopping to be sure her attendance was registered. She needed the credit for this, and she refused to do it again. She searched the crowd, counting about two dozen coworkers she recognized and not finding any of them she cared to talk to. The three women gave female paramedics a bad name, flirting and sleeping with anything that had two legs and something hanging in between.

  That, more than anything else, was the reason she hated what she’d done the night before. Now she was just like them, the shameless women who slept their way to the top.

  As for the men, most of them were chauvinistic, and the only reason she appreciated Sal was that he was a family man. While he may have flirted with some of the girls, to her knowledge, he’d never followed through. Of course, she’d managed to dupe him quite easily last night, so how did she know for sure he wasn’t sneaking off and banging one of these poor excuses for independent women against a wall somewhere?