Broken: Claiming her place

Ariana’s POV

I paced the scuffed linoleum outside the private room they’d turned into a makeshift ICU, boots echoing too loud in the quiet hallway. The air stank of bleach, motor oil, and the copper tang of fear no one would admit out loud.

Dad’s been in there twenty minutes with Dr. Ramirez, the only doctor the club trusts. Because “whatever happens in the club stays in the club,” right? That stupid fucking code. The same code that means we can’t fly Dad to a real hospital in the city where they might actually know what this poison is. The same code that means we’re letting him die slowly in this shithole because some prospect might talk to the feds if we go outside.

I mouth the words I’ve heard since I could walk.

Blood in, blood out.

Loyalty above life.

Whatever happens in the club stays in the club.

I hate it tonight. I hate every word.

Finally, Doc Ramirez pushed through the door. He didn’t bow; nobody bowed to me anymore, not really, but he did dip his chin the old-school way, out of respect for my old man.

“How is he?” I asked, skipping every nicety. My chest felt like someone had parked a Harley on it.

Doc rubbed the back of his neck, grease still under his nails from working on bikes earlier. “You should come in.”

That answer punched me harder than any words could.

I shoved past him into the dim room. My father, President Valenti, looked small in the hospital bed, tubes running everywhere, the steady beep of the monitor the only thing proving he was still fighting.

Doc cleared his throat behind me. “Ariana…it’s bad. The poison’s winning. We’ve slowed it, but we can’t stop it. Whatever poison is eating him from the inside, it’s not anything I’ve seen in thirty years of stitching up wolves and men. We’re keeping him comfortable, but… we’re losing him.”

The words slammed into me. I gripped the bed rail until my knuckles went white.

“You’re telling me the club can’t even keep its own president alive?” My voice cracked on the last word.

“I’ve called every favor I’ve got left,” he cut in quietly. “Human doctors, rogue wolves, even that witch down in NOLA. Nobody recognizes this shit running through his veins.” He handed me a crumpled tissue from his kutte pocket. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Sorry. The word tasted like ash.

I buried my face in my hands. The tears came hot and fast, but I refused to let the sob out. Not here. Not where any prospect walking the hallway could hear the President’s daughter break.

I dropped into the chair beside the bed and took my father’s hand. It was cold, too cold, the skull ring he always wore loose on his finger now. Today was my twentieth birthday. I was supposed to be getting drunk at the clubhouse, cutting cake with the brothers, not sitting on the back of Liam’s bike while the club threw a party that shook the whole block.

Instead I was here, watching the strongest man I’d ever known fade away.

I leaned close, whispering so only he could hear, “You’re not leaving me, old man. Not today. Not ever.”

He didn’t answer. He never did anymore.

I wish he could open his eyes, smile brightly at me like he always does, and speak to me.

But that never happened.

He lay there as usual, with no response, no expression.

I slowly looked away to the corner of the room when I couldn't take it anymore. I felt terrible for not being able to do something to save the life of someone who was so dear to me.

I never knew anything about who my mother was, my father was practically the only one I had always known ever since I was a child.

He showed me parental love and made sure I never lacked. Even when he remarried; that didn't alter his affection for me as his daughter.

Hours bled into each other, I lost track of time.

I was tracing the worn Valenti-moon club MC tattoo on his forearm, the one that matched mine, when his fingers twitched. Just a flicker, but my heart stopped.

“Dad?”

His eyelids fluttered. Then, impossibly, they opened.

“D-Dad!” I shot to my feet, ready to scream for Doc, but his hand clamped around my wrist with surprising strength.

“No… doctors…” His voice was gravel scraped over broken glass. He fumbled at the oxygen mask, pushing it aside.

I froze, my heart racing. "Dad, what are you doing? You need the oxygen!"

He shook his head, his eyes filled with a determination that scared me, "I love you, Ariana and it hurts me to see that you will be left all alone in this cruel world”, he managed to say while breathing heavily.

“No dad, you’re not going anywhere!”, I cried out, I was not sure of how I would handle his situation “the doctors are working tirelessly to get a cure.”

“Ariana ... .I…I…I…I’m sorry I…..”, he struggled to speak. 

“Just hold on dad, I will get the doctor”, I tried to fix the oxygen back on him but held my hand from fixing it.

I hesitated, unsure of what to do. My father's gaze held mine, and I knew I had to listen.

"B-but, Dad," I hesitated, my voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with effort. "Ariana...I… I…" He was struggling to speak with me.  

Seeing him battle like this caused tears to flow down my face again, and I clenched his hand, my heart breaking and mending at the same time.

"Take it easy, Dad, I am right here," I told him.

"I need...to tell you...something..." His face squeezed in pain, he was struggling harder to speak but it was difficult for him.

He wants to tell me something. What could that be?

"What’s that dad?" I softly asked, but the curiosity was evident in my voice.