One Bride for Five Mountain Men

The words echoed in his head. Along with the sound of his favorite Sinatra song coming from somewhere far away.

Am I really dead? he asked himself again. Arsen tried to lift up his body, but he struggled. Raising his head, he saw a soft light. Suddenly through the light, he saw a young woman with long hair and a glowing face extend her hand to him.

Is that the angel that is supposed to come and take me to the beyond? Is that the light at the end of the tunnel?

The thought made him feel strangely relieved. Arsen wondered if this is what everyone who overdosed on drugs and was pronounced clinically dead for minutes talked about when they were resuscitated.

Is this how the story of Arsen Ford ends?

Arsen felt numb. Not remorseful, not content, but emotionless. He was surprised by his own lack of reaction, so he shut his eyes, willing himself to pass on to the other side.

“Hey?… Hey!” the woman shouted. Arsen opened his eyes and rubbed them gently. For an angel, her voice is kind of harsh. He’d expected an angel to have a silky voice, like that of a vintage harp.

“Hey!… Dammit. Lemme call the cops,” she shouted.

All of his senses came rushing back to him as he heard the word cops. In a split second, everything came back to him—rain—Ferrari, Jack Daniels—DUI. Fuck. He forced himself up and realized that he was partially trapped under the airbag that had deployed upon impact.

He stretched his hand out of the window and motioned for the woman to stop. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with cops. Especially when neither his manager nor his lawyer were present. He’d have to think on his feet for a way out of the situation.

“Help me.” He motioned for her to come closer and could sense her reluctance at this request. “Just open the door from the outside.” He tried to speak loudly. She was slender and Arsen wasn’t even sure if she could pull him out of the car if she had to.

Arsen cleared his throat and said out loud, “Just pull me out.” Through the streetlight that blinded him, he could see the woman reluctantly make her way toward him.

She slowly opened the door and he extended his hand toward her. It hurt as numb muscles awoke in his body.

“I’m not sure I can do this.” She hesitated. At least she was contemplating helping him.

“You can. Just take my hand and give a pull,” Arsen said with his eyes half closed. A long forgotten warmth curled through him as her hand clasped his. Arsen pushed against the steering wheel with his other hand and threw his body out of the car. With a thud he landed on the ground, right on top of the soft curvy body of the woman that he had mistaken for an angel.

His eyes looked into hers and Arsen studied her face as if she were the only thing he wanted to look at ever again. The distance between them was temptingly close, and there was heat in the air that was warmed by their bodies, moistened by the rain. Adrenaline spiked in his body, the intimacy of skin touching skin making the feeling unbearable.

She was all woman, a fiery petite storm, that turned slowly in his grasp. A bolt of desire rushed through him, igniting in him a long-forgotten fire, the scent of her feminine body encompassing his senses, and a thin nightgown all that laid between him and her body. For a moment Arsen forgot about it all, choosing instead to stare deep into the most expressive eyes that he had ever seen. Her hand pushing against his chest brought him back to the present. She was scowling.

“Hey!” Even though she was loud, Arsen could tell that under normal circumstances, she was a soft-spoken person. As a musician, he had come to notice such things about people. There was rarely a sound that escaped his trained ears. He rolled off of her, landing on the soft ground next to them.

The woman shot up like an arrow and stood stiffly, clearly not pleased with being trapped under him. Arsen just held up his hands in surrender, a wicked smile forcing its way to his lips. The woman just stood with her hands on her hips. Arsen composed his thoughts and readied himself to deal with the situation.

Dizziness threatened to overtake him as he stood up and looked around. He’d crashed the expensive Ferrari onto the peripheral wall of the house and there it lay, lodged right next to the small gate. Fuck, this is the last goddamn thing I need. Rage overcame him and he kicked the car hard. The pain that shot through his ankle was severe.

“Fuck.” He let out a loud grunt.

The only response he got was the sound of the car stereo kicking in. Strangers in the night, exchanging glances, sang Sinatra. The timing made him laugh. The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Neither was the fact that by some miracle, he had escaped a big disaster today. Anything could’ve happened, but someone above was clearly watching out for me.

Although not a religious man, Arsen reluctantly thanked whichever power controlled the universe that he was still breathing. Strangely enough, he couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so alive.

“Should I call the ambulance? Or 911?” Her voice was softer this time, and it jolted Arsen out of his dizzy thoughts. It surprised him. Anyone else would’ve been scared after watching a half-drunk madman kick his trashed car. He knew that if he was going to get out of this mess, he needed her help.

Strangers in the night…

Arsen didn’t want to freak the girl out, but at the same time, the troubles that would come with a DUI would ruin everything. Even Don couldn’t hide that. He looked up and down the road for the presence of any paparazzi. Even they had given up against the torrential rain and stayed indoors.

He pulled out his phone to call his manager Don and grimaced when he saw that the battery was dead. Fuck. Don would’ve fixed this in a hot minute and no one would’ve known. It was just for such emergencies that he had memorized Don’s number by heart. No matter where he was in the world, he could count on Don to get him out of trouble. Too much was riding on Arsen and Insurrection for him not to.

Arsen felt his back pocket to see if his wallet was there, and thankfully it was. He probably had a couple of grand in there and could throw money at this girl to let it slide under the rug. He stole a glance at her. Stripped by the rainy cold, her face was pale and yet her bright eyes burned with a fiery courage that he rarely saw in people.

Or maybe she’s just pissed at me.