Bitter Sweet Deception (The Kingsmen M.C Book 4) (19 page)

Dana passes me and disappears through the swinging door. I stop at the nurs
e’
s window, glad to see someone other than Nurse Bitch-face from earlier. I borrow a pen and paper, scribbling my phone number down.

On my way out, I spot an orderly, cleaning an area on the floor.

“
Hey
,
”
 
I call to him as I approach. I reach in my back pocket and grab a handful of hundred dollar bills.
 “
You looking for a little side job
?
”

He eyes the bills in my hand before nodding, carefully looking around us to see if there are any witnesses.

“
Good. Ther
e’
s a patient in the recovery room. Names Charlize Griffith. You text me updates every hour on the hour until sh
e’
s left. We clear
?
”

He nods and takes the cash, concealing it in his pocket.

I throw my shades on, continue on my course to leave the hospital, get out of here.
I’
ve already stopped to see Vince and Jean, said my goodbyes. I even got to see Ja
y’
s new kid. If I thought I was surprised, holy shit was Vince surprised. Dana spoke to him for a while to clear things up.

I know she wo
n’
t be alone.

She does
n’
t deserve my concern. Sh
e’
s never thought about anybody but herself, but I needed to know that she would
n’
t be alone. She has them now.

And m
e…
I just need to get the fuck out of town.

PROLOGUE

CHARLIE

THE NEXT DAY

“
You ca
n’
t keep refusing them, Charlie. They just keep coming back. They want to see you
,
”
 
Dana argues.

I shake my head.
 “I’
m not ready to see them, Dana. I ca
n’t
…”

She looks exasperated.
I’
m waiting on the discharge nurse to stop by so I can get the hell out of here. Jean and Jay have stopped by at least a half dozen times each asking to be let in to see me. Each time, I turned them away. Vince is in surgery, receiving the donation
I’
d given yesterday.

Li
l’
s is still down in maternity, recovering from her c-section from yesterday.

And Clin
k…
Clink is gone.

“
All righty, Charlie
,
”
 
the nurse finally returns with the papers.
 “
You know the drill. Wheelchair just for precaution, my dear
.
”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I do
n’
t make an argument about sitting in the vinyl seated chair. I
t’
s policy. Even though it sucks.

Dana gathers my things and places them on my lap, before kicking up the break and beginning to wheel me forward.

The elevator empties as people see an approaching wheelchair and I shy my eyes to the side to avoid their looks of pity.

“
Dana, please just get me out of here
,
”
 
I beg my sister.

She backs me into the elevator and presses the number 2 button before the door begins to close.

“
What are you doing
?
”
 
I ask her.

She exhales,
 “
Something that needs to be done
.
”

I move to raise myself from the chair.
I’
m not doing this.

“
Sit your ass down, sis
.
”
 
She is firm in pushing back down on my shoulder. 
 “
Nobod
y’
s there. Vince just got out of surgery. Everyon
e’
s gone to see him. Sh
e’
s alone. I checked
.
”

I bite my tongue. The elevator has a couple of other occupants and
I’
m not in any rush to make a scene.

“
I wo
n’
t do it
,
”
 
I whisper to her.

She laughs.
 “
Yes, you will. Because you know you will never forgive yourself if you do
n’
t
.
”

The elevator door dings open and she supplies the momentum necessary to push us forward.
I’
ve worked the maternity ward often enough to know which way sh
e’
s leading. The door is open, warm sunlight filling the room. Li
l’
s is in the far bed by the window. Dana parks the chair close enough, where I can see the white blanketed bundle in Li
l’
s arms.

“I’
ll just leave you two for a bit
,
”
 
Dana retreats and Li
l’
s nods her thanks.

She sets her eyes on me, her arms bouncing the swaddled baby in her arms. She looks beautiful. Radiant.

“
S
o…
did they leave you crippled
?
”
 
she eyes the wheelchair.

I exhale.
 “
No
,
”
 
I stand and leave the chair behind.
 “
Just a precaution. Li
l’
s
I….
”

She waves me off.
 “
You came to meet your niece
.
”

My eyes widen.
 “
My niece? I
t’
s a girl
?
”
 
I move to close the distance between us, to get a better look. Li
l’
s angles the baby so I can see through the excess material folded around her. Her tiny little eyelids are closed, fluttering. Her perfect miniature nose twitches and her plump cheeks are rosy pink.

Sh
e’s…
perfect.

I look up to her momma.
 “
Sh
e’
s beautiful. Wha
t’
s her name
?
”

Li
l’
s frees her hand from supporting the baby to wipe a small tear from her eye.

“
Charlize. Her name is Charlize
.
”

My heart stops. My mouth drops. I stare at her.

“
I named her after her aunt
,
”
 
she tells me.

I look again at the baby, and just now take notice of the little beanie hat, embroidered with the letters of my name.

“
But-but why
?
”

Another tear rolls down her cheek
.“
I told you I would just know. When the right name came, I would just know
.
”
 
She swallows.
 “
I can never thank you enough for what yo
u’
ve done, Charlie
.
”

What? I stare at her again. What is she talking about.

“
When your sister and Clink came to tell u
s…
I ca
n’
t tell you the relief we had. Jay- h
e
…”
 
she looks away to collect herself.
 “
You have no idea what yo
u’
ve done for him, Charlie
.
”

I shake my head,
 “
I did
n’
t do anything. Bu
t…I’
m glad your family will be OK.

She looks at me, confused.
 “
My family?
Our
  family. We did
n’
t know about you, Charlie. I swear.
Nobody
knew about you
.
”

I shake my head. She may want to believe that, but I know the truth. I know what Vince did.

“
Look at me, Charlie
,
”
 
she demands.
 “
Nobody
  knew. When Clink told your dad
-
”

I interrupt her,
 “
Please do
n’
t call him that
.
”

She pauses, but nods.
 “
When Clink told Vince, he- he pulled out his IV and rammed through three orderlies to try to get to the elevator to go see you before they stopped him. He
never
knew, Charlie. He did
n’
t want to go into surgery this morning because he did
n’
t want to risk not seeing you again, i
f….
”

The little baby begins to stir in her arms. Li
l’
s readjusts her and sets her in close to nurse.

“
He looked each one of us in the eye and swore on anything tha
t’
s ever mattered to him, he never knew
.
”
 
She searches my face.
 “
You do
n’
t need to believe me right now. Yo
u’
ll see for yourself. All you need to know right now, is you are family. Yo
u’
re one of us. We need you
.
”
 
Her eyes dart down to the suckling baby in her arms.
 “
She
needs you. And whether you want to admit i
t…
you need us, too
.
”

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 5

OF THE KINGSMEN MC SERIES

BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS

SUMMER 2015

Please enjoy this sample from

BABY V

Book one in the Chianti Kisses series

bu Tara Oakes

PROLOGUE

The definition of an arranged marriage:

Marriages in which family members take a significant role in bringing a couple together. Relatives, particularly parents, often take the initiative to find, evaluate, and approve potential spouses for their children.

CHAPTER ONE

The church bells finally finish chiming but I can still feel their metallic vibrations course through me. At least I will
never
have to hear those god awful bells again. Ever. Four years of listening to the slightly off-beat tolls have been enough to drive me to loathe them on more than one occasion. In the beginning, they were charming... that lasted all of a week. Soon after, I could sense the daily noon ringing like a well-tuned internal alarm clock, as it usually meant that I was late for class. If I was
really 
lucky, it meant only that my rare, but desperately needed afternoon nap was about to be interrupted. I know
I’
m not alone in my lack of affection for the old bells, because whenever anyone refers to them... i
t’
s always as the
 “
damn bells
.
”

I look around at all of the other girls lined up with me and wonder if any of them are thinking the same thing about that last ringing. It was just another one of those
 “
las
t
”
 
memories we would all share before graduation. Our last exam, last night in our out-dated but charming dorm rooms, last assembly-line styled breakfast, and our last days as students at St. Bart's. Until today, we had all been heading down the same path. In about two hours, we would splinter away into a hundred or so different ones.

“
Well, do I
?
”

I snap out of my daze with a confused
 “
Hmm
?
”
 
to my right.

“
V... do I look like I have too much lipstick on? I want to be able to see my lips in the pictures, but not to look like a cheap pin up doll. Christy says I have too much on. I don't think I have too much on.  Do I
really
  have too much on
?
”

And this is the last time I would have to listen to Katherine Lang ask me one of her mind numbing questions.

“
No. I
t’
s not too much. The photographers are like ten feet away from the stage and I don't think they're taking close up shots
.
”
 
I really have no idea what kind of photos they were going to take, but I probably wouldn't have worn as much of the pale pink lip lacquer that the petite blond slathered on herself.

Thanks to the inescapable alphabetizing of last names, I have had to endure random questions like this for the last four years. I look down the line of endless burgundy gowns toward the covete
d“T
”
 
section of the group with envy. Stephanie catches my eye, giving me an overly enthusiastic and sarcastic thumbs up.

I would give anything to change my name right now. Nothing too crazy... something generic like Tate or Thatcher will do. But
nooo
. I'm a Lombardi and stuck with th
e“L”
s for just under two more hours. I hope. 

I don't think this can last longer than that. Father Cross is known to give a long-winded Sunday morning sermon but even he wouldn't want to stand out here in the blazing sun any longer than he has to.

Before I can finish rationalizing the merits against a drawn out graduation day, the familiar orchestrated beginning o
f“
Pomp and Circumstanc
e
”
 
begins to play loudly. Taking a deep breath, I follow Katherine's lead toward the stairs of the newly erected stage. As I grab hold of the bannister, I stand tall on my toes to try and see out into the crowd.

Hundreds of happy faces and flashing cameras are staring back toward us. Quickly glancing over the waving children, pointing parents, and people fanning themselves with folded programs, I scan for the large group of familiar faces that are waiting to see me take a seat behind the podium. I am about to give up and turn my attention toward the last step, when I find what I am looking for. A dozen or so adults and a gaggle of little kids all with the same light olive skin and dark brown hair as mine, stand out against the background. I smile knowing that my family is beaming looks of pride in my general direction.

Concentrating on the task at hand, I carefully walk halfway across the stage to my assigned seat, sitting as gracefully as I can. Mission accomplished. The last thing I need is to trip over my tent of a graduation gown and fall flat on my face before my brothers. They would never let me live it down.

The sun beats down on us like a fry lamp at any given fast food establishment. Our gazes respectfully aim toward the back of Father Cross' head, but I'm sure I'm not the only one stealing glances of their personal group of fans every few moments.

Mine is probably one of the larger ones. Sister Mary Francis wasn't thrilled when I handed in my seat count for the ceremony. I'm sure she would have told me to trim it a bit but held her tongue thinking about the amount of zeros on my family's endowment check to the school every year. 

Most of them are here today. Well, the ones living on this side of the Atlantic, anyway. Mom, Nonna, Aunt Rosie, my brothers with their wives and kids... and Theresa and Dom.  I take inventory of each of them as I check them off my mental family list.  And then I notice it.

“
Miss Katherine Lan
g
”

Father Cross turns slightly toward us as Kate gently squeezes my hand before getting up to receive her diploma. I smile and nod in return... chuckling a little when I notice the pink smear on her left hand.  She had decided to remove some of her war paint before having her perfect smile immortalized for her graduation pictures. Smart move.

I quickly move my attention back to my personal group of troublemakers starting to share collaborative looks between one another as they sit up in preparation. This is
not
good. If the four of them are communicating through silent glances and nodding with little smirks thrown in, that means they are all thinking somewhere along the same line. I'm on the receiving end of those lines of thinking more times than I care to recall.

The applause is loud but polite for Kate. Her family makes the expected cheers with her name being added to phrases such as,
 “
Go Kate!
,
”
“
That's my sister
,
”
 
and
 “
Yay Katie
!
”
 
Perfectly fine, tasteful and acceptable.

She grasps her diploma, faces the small group of men with wide-angle lenses stationed below the stage, and I can imagine her flashing the megawatt but slightly plastic smile she is famous for. It's the same smile she gives everybody, every time, exactly the same. I'm sure it was perfected somewhere around thirteen years old in the company of her vanity mirror. Lipstick was probably added somewhere around her sweet sixteen for dramatic effect.

The applause dies down while Father Cross angles himself back towards the microphone perched atop of the podium. 

“
Miss Vincenza Maria Lombardi
.
”

I hold my breath and stand up, preparing for the noise.

I lock eyes with Father Cross, steadily heading in his direction. I have tunnel vision.
Just concentrate on reaching the podium and take my diploma when he hands it to me.
This is all I can think of to drown out the spectacle starting to erupt about ten rows deep into the crowd. 

My eyes do not budge from that diploma as it nears. The last thing I need to do is give them a reaction. I've learned the hard way over too many years, that if they see the slightest bit of frustration or acknowledgement... then it just carries on longer.

Father Cross, headmaster of St. Bartholomew's Women's University, looks like a deer caught in headlights. I'll bet he's never had this happen in the twenty-plus years he's given this same drawn out commencement speech, handing out these leather bound diplomas. I can't ignore the touch of irony in the situation, though.

Here stands the man who time and time again refused to change the outdated school curriculum after countless petitions and student senate meetings. 

Finishing and Etiquette courses are mandatory no matter the degree you were completing. After all, St. Bar
t’
s is well known to be one of the finest (and few remaining) institutions where the daughters of the upper-crust can be educated in all things
 “
proper and polishe
d”
.

With families like this seeking out their services, why would they change protocol? It isn't like the students are paying the bills or granting the ostentatious endowments. The families do, and the last thing Father Cross will let happen on his watch would be for the benefactors to suddenly loose faith in his archaic and traditional policies.

And yet here we are on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, enjoying the fruits of his labor... while the wealthiest, most financially generous family that this school has likely ever seen is making a scene the likes of which St. Bart's gentry have ever witnessed.

A very small, crooked smile is fighting through all of my efforts of suppression. It is the same type of smile this man has given me every time I presented him with the school yea
r’
s latest petition to no longer mandate trivial classes such a
s“
Traditional dance
,
”
“
Entertaining
,
”
 
an
d“
Social graces
.
” 

I extend my right hand out toward the deep burgundy leather portfolio he is grasping and my left hand to take his salutary greeting. Widening into a full smile, I turn in the direction of the photographers below, and the clicking sounds begin. His palm is sweaty, but cold. Weird and gross at the same time.

My peripheral vision begs my attention. They're on their feet, hands in the air, pumping. Fingers are cupped around mouths to project the hooting and hollering further, louder. My little nephew Johnny is being held up in the air to add his own voice to the mix of calls being shouted my way. 

WAIT. There's a sign. Fuck. Really? A sign? I can't resist the urge any longer, and stare full-force in their general direction, taking in the entirety of it.

Mike, the youngest and most mischievous of my three older brothers (and most likely the ring-leader of today's affair), is holding up a rather large white cardboard sign with professional lettering sprawled across it... huge letters shining and sparkling in the bright sunlight.

WAY TO GO BABY V!

The blood rushes to my face before I can try and contain it. Mike is waving the sign back and forth, slowly, while doing his best impersonation of a rabid sports fan. His brown hair flops around from the sudden motion of jumping up from his seat. He sees me watching him and adds a nodding motion to his yelling.

John is next to him, holding little Johnny high above the crowd. Pure glee is painted across Johnn
y’
s
(“
J
J
” as only I call him) round little face. As the eldest of my brothers and head of our family, John should know better than to encourage the next generation to jump on th
e“
Baby
V
”
 
bandwagon.  As angry as I am with him, I can't help but notice the look of pride on John as he holds his first born and only son up to watch me receive my degree.

Tony is next down the line of men making fools of themselves. His perfectly gelled coif and artificial tan stand out among the crowd of W.A.S.P.y alabaster complexions. The Jersey Shore has nothing on my brother Tony. He is suave to a fault and a killer lady's man. My inner Gloria Steinem is itching to add the phrase
 “
man slu
t
”
 
to the mix, but Tony has a heart of gold and has never treated a woman badly. He treated them well in fact...
all
of them. But, he's a tamed man now, and married faithfully for over a year. Tony is so excited and laughing hard enough that he practically doubles over.  Dom is slapping him on the back while laughing himself. 

Dom. Gorgeous Dom with dreamy eyes. Tony was a ladies man, but he was just a wingman compared to Dom. Dom can have any girl he wants... and probably has. Growing up, all of my friends swooned over him like flies on ice cream, and he loved every bit of it. Domenico is not a blood brother to me like the other three, but close enough that I never hesitate adding him to their collective title.  They are simply,
 “
The brothers
.
”

Dom's eyes lock with mine long enough to see his famous grin and sly smile, before he adds the loudest boast yet to the ordeal.