Prosper (Hells Saints MC Book 7)

  Prosper

  © 2019 Paula Marinaro

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.

  The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

  The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity or resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  The world needs strong women. Women who will lift and build others, who will love and be loved. Women who live bravely, both tender and fierce. Women of indomitable will. -Amy Tenney

  For the beautiful Tina Caron, whose unwavering determination, strength of character, and steadfast love and devotion to her family all serve as a shining example.

  Thank you for all the times I played in your yard, swung from your willow tree, drank from your garden hose, and ate pastina at your dinner table.

  And thank you for the years later.

  When you watched for my own little girl as she sped on her tricycle straight towards you. To the place where she knew she would always be welcomed with open arms, a warm hug, and a gentle smile

  Tina, with heartfelt gratitude, undying respect and much love…this one’s for you.

  Title

  Poem

  Dedication

  Contents

  Prologue

  1986

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  1992

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Special Thanks

  Also by Paula Marinaro

  About the Author

  Prosper Worthington stretched out on the deep cushioned lawn chair and enjoyed what Pinky called the “Sunday Negotiable.”

  With the occurrence of a second heart attack, Prosper had finally given in to the pleading of his worried wife and the stern lecture from his pain-in-the-ass doctor. If Prosper’s physician wanted to blame the heart attack on old habits, then so be it. In truth, being limited to a single cigar and a lone cold beer once a week was a small price to pay if it calmed Pinky down.

  But Prosper knew this abstinence crap was total bullshit.

  When it came right down to it, Prosper knew what had almost caused his heart to stop, and it had nothing to do with a couple of shots of tequila or a few cigarettes a day. It was the stress of the damn lifestyle that was killing him.

  There was a reason there were no old soldiers fighting in the trenches or sixty-year-old warriors wrestling on the battlefield, and Prosper felt every one of those reasons deep in his bones. Old injuries had settled into joint pain, and the pleasures of eating anything rich in dairy or deep fried in oil had become a fond memory of a distant past.

  Well into his sixties now, he knew he was still a strong, badass motherfucker with keen instincts and a sharp intellect.

  But Prosper was tired. He was weary in a way that he knew wasn’t going to pass, and now with his damn ticker sending him a message he couldn’t ignore, Prosper had made some hard decisions.

  A few weeks ago, he had handed the reins of the International Presidency of the Hells Saints MC over to his oldest friend and most trusted confidante, Derringer Gage. Derringer was no spring chicken either, but he was one of those anomalies. He belonged to a rare breed of men who were born with an age-old soul and the heart of a lion. Derringer was a warrior to the core, a loyal friend, and one crazy, brutal, mean sonofabitch when it suited him. Prosper had met Derringer at a point in his life when he had reached rock bottom. He’d had changed the course of Prosper’s life and therefore had saved him.

  They had been two young men full of piss and vinegar and fury. Two men who were fighting their inner demons and struggling to find their place in this world. Eventually, Prosper and Derringer, together with a handful of PTSD-suffering veterans, ex-junkies, and ex-cons, had formed a brotherhood. That brotherhood became the Hells Saints Motorcycle Club. Their symbol: an angel with broken wings. Now, over thirty years later, that small group of miscreants had turned themselves into an organized crime syndication. Its membership boasted a thousand strong and expanded into Europe.

  Because Derringer wanted to stay in Florida, the international headquarters would be moved to the Southeast, which meant the home chapter would now be taken over by Prosper’s son-in-law, Diego Montesalto. Reno McCabe, also a son-in-law, would become vice president. Prosper would, for the time being, sit in on some of the meetings and have a voice in some of the decisions, but his full intention was to take a back seat and let his sons-in-law have at it. Diego and Reno were a couple of smart, loyal, and tough sons of bitches. Prosper had no qualms about turning his legacy over to them. Although, in life’s darker moments, Prosper would confess to having a wish or two that his girls had married doctors or lawyers or teachers. Or just about anything other than outlaw bikers.

  However, when it came right down to it, Claire and Raine hadn’t exactly had a conventional upbringing. When Prosper considered all that they had been through and the choices they’d had to make, he was damn happy that they’d chosen the men they had. Diego and Reno would never have a solid nine-to-five, that was for sure, but they loved their women and treated them well.

  For Prosper, that was enough.

  Raine and Claire Winston.

  The daughters of that damn fool-of-a-man, Jack Winston.

  Maggie’s daughters.

  What a surprise and a damn miracle it had been when they had found their way back to Prosper.

  Maggie’s girls.

  Prosper loved his wife—he truly did. And despite various and numerous opportunities to cheat, he had never stepped out on Pinky. Not even once. Like Derringer, she had arrived at a time in his life that was filled with such deep despair, it was a miracle he had made it through. Pinky had given him the strength, the will, and the power to live. She had been the light in his darkness, the port in his storm. Pinky had loved Prosper when he was unlovable, when he was incapable of loving. She gave and gave and gave when all he could do was take.

  Yes, Prosper loved Pinky. He love
d her for a million different reasons, but he had loved Maggie more, and he loved her still.

  Even after all these years, even after she had taken the journey from this world to the next, Prosper loved Maggie.

  Although Maggie had died much too young, her light continued to shine. Maggie’s spirit, her lifeblood, and her legacy lived on in her daughters, Raine and Claire. Pinky understood that and had made room for it. She had opened her heart, her home, and her arms to Maggie’s girls.

  It had been many years since that door had been opened, and there had been plenty of bumps along the way. They were all in a good place now, but it had been one hell of a rollercoaster ride. It gave Prosper a headache just to think about it.

  Raine and Claire were sweet girls, but they’d never been easy. They each had an iron will and were stubborn, smart, and too damn outspoken.

  Not. Easy.

  Now Prosper had granddaughters and those little apples had not fallen far from the tree. The oldest was Willow, with her stubborn determination and questioning nature. “But why grandpa? Why? Why? Why?”

  Next, came his middle granddaughter, Patience. What a misnomer that was since she was anything but.

  And the newest addition to the tribe was Journey. True to her name, the little girl crawled early, walked early, and at two years old, was a study in perpetual motion.

  Prosper shook his head at the miracle that had become his family. The family that had been created out of rubble, wreck, confusion, and heartbreak.

  The children of Jack and Maggie Winston.

  The family that had become his own.

  “Prosper?” Pinky’s voice called out to him from the kitchen doorway.

  “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “Everything okay at the club?”

  “Right as rain,” he answered.

  “Reno? He hasn’t gotten himself in a fix, has he?”

  “A fix?” Prosper chuckled. “No, honey. Reno’s been behaving himself. Why?”

  “Claire’s car just showed up on the security camera and she doesn’t look happy.” Pinky frowned.

  “Honey, with all due respect, how the hell can you tell whether Claire is happy or unhappy by looking at a security monitor of her driving up the hill and sitting behind the windshield of a car?”

  “I know my girls.” Pinky lifted her nose slightly in the air.

  Prosper’s first thought upon seeing Claire was that his wife was right. By the anxious look on Claire’s face, this was no social call. Claire looked at Prosper as if she had never seen him before. The freckles that were sprinkled like tiny stars across her nose stood out in stark relief against the pale skin of her face.

  “Have a seat, honey. I made ginger snaps just this morning. You want coffee, tea, or maybe lemonade?” Pinky asked.

  “Could you make that a beer with a bourbon chaser instead?”

  Pinky laughed at what she assumed was a joke. “It’s only eleven a.m.!”

  “Is it really?” Claire looked confused for a moment, then sighed. “In that case, it’s gonna be one long day. You better leave the bottle and bring a glass for Prosper.”

  “Honey, you know that man should not be drinking.” Pinky frowned.

  “Trust me, today he’s gonna want to make an exception.” Claire’s tone was somber. “We all are.”

  Pinky stole a look at her husband. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good, and worst of all—Prosper had not seen it coming.

  In a flash, Pinky was back with a full supply of fortitude. On the large tray sat a pitcher of lemonade, a plateful of cookies, three tumblers filled with ice, three shot glasses, a six pack of Dos Equis, and a decanter of bourbon.

  “Have a seat, Pinky,” Prosper told her.

  “Well now, maybe Claire wants to speak to you privately.” Pinky threw a look at Claire.

  “Darlin’, you know damn well that you’re gonna be bent over and listening through that door anyway. Might as well save yourself the trouble.” Prosper snorted.

  Pinky reddened in embarrassment because Prosper was not wrong.

  She took a seat at the table.

  Claire grabbed an ice cold beer and swallowed down half a bottle with a trembling hand. Then she reached for the bourbon, poured out two fingers full, and downed the shot in one large gulp. Prosper sat silently while Claire’s eyes teared up from the strong drink.

  “I’m not sure where to start,” she blurted out.

  “How about the damn beginning?” Prosper growled. Concern for Claire made the tenor of his voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

  Pinky placed a small steady hand on her husband’s knee and gave it a quick squeeze. “What Prosper means to say is, we’ll do our best to help you with whatever brought you here today, Claire. Isn’t that right, Prosper?”

  “You’ve suddenly taken on the job of speaking for me, wife?” He growled at her, “You managing me?”

  “I would never dream of it,” Pinky said as she winked at Claire.

  Claire took a deep breath and stared at Prosper in that searching way again.

  “Darlin’, I have nerves of steel and the spine to match it, but that look on your face is scaring the shit right outta me. So, out with it ’cause I ain’t got a clue what this is all about.”

  “I find that a little hard to believe.” Claire continued that stare.

  “Wife!” Prosper bellowed out while he narrowed his eyes at Claire.

  Both women jumped in their seats so high that the drinks splattered on the table.

  “What’s the damn date?” Prosper snarled.

  “It’s the twenty-fifth. Why?” Pinky looked confused.

  “I want you to mark it on the calendar. First time in my life I have ever been called a liar—and by my own daughter at that!” he roared out that last part.

  “Oh, I’m sure Claire didn’t mean to …” Pinky looked from Claire to Prosper then back again.

  “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?” Claire leveled a look at Prosper.

  “What’s the fucking point?”

  “You just said that I’m your daughter.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Now you take exception to that? Don’t matter a damn to me who your daddy is. I love you like my own. That’s a problem for you suddenly?” As he said the words, Prosper felt something break a little bit inside of him. His feelings were hurt. Never in his goddamn life had he given two shits about his feelings. But right now, Claire questioning the bond that they shared cut him to the quick.

  “I love you, Prosper, with all my heart and you know that.”

  Prosper scowled and muttered, “Thought I fucking knew it.”

  “Claire, honey, maybe you better tell us what this is all about,” Pinky prodded.

  “I do love you, Prosper,” Claire repeated.

  Prosper continued to stare at her.

  “He knows that. Of course, he knows that.” Pinky gently intervened. “Tell her you know that, dear.”

  “Never mind what I do or don’t fucking know. Get on with it, Claire,” Prosper snapped out.

  “Stop yelling at me!” Claire crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m not yelling!” Prosper smashed his fist on the table.

  “Claire …” Pinky started. “I think you better just say what’s on your mind, sweetheart.”

  “Okay.” Claire’s tone held an element of fear. A here-we-go kind of look was plastered all over her face. “Well, you know how Reno and I have been trying to have a baby?”

  Prosper’s eyes softened just a little.

  Claire’s infertility problems stemmed from a violent episode in her past. It pained Prosper to think of it. Reno had shared with Prosper that this whole baby thing had begun to take its toll on Claire and on their marriage.

  Reno had known early on that his wife was unable to have children. It hadn’t mattered to him then, and it didn’t matter to him now. But having a baby of her own meant the world to Claire, and Reno would do anything to make his wife happy. To that end, Reno h
ad been heading up the club’s more dangerous and lucrative business dealings in order to pay for expensive and experimental fertility treatment plans. All of which had failed thus far.

  “We know how much you want to start a family of your own,” Pinky offered while Prosper brooded.

  “Well, as you can imagine, all of that trying comes with a whole lot of medical workups.” Claire went on to explain, “Half of it is all medical jargon and over my head. And honestly, the other half of it? I don’t pay much attention to. I don’t care about the hows and whys. I just want to get pregnant.”

  “Still don’t know what this has to do with me.” Prosper grouched.

  “God, you really don’t, do you?” Surprise was written all over Claire’s face.

  “Nope. Not a fucking clue.”

  “Pinky … will you give us a minute?” Claire blushed with apology. “It’s not that … it’s just that—”

  “No need for explanation.” Pinky stood up to leave.

  “She stays.” Prosper ground out. “Anything you’ve got to say, Pinky has more than earned the right to hear.”

  “Pinky, I meant no offense …”

  “Hush, honey. None was taken. Now tell us what is troubling you so we can help.”

  After a slight hesitation, Claire reached into her purse and pulled out a document folder.

  “These are some of my medical records,” Claire explained as she handed them to Prosper.

  Prosper took a pair of glasses out of his pocket and scanned the pages quickly. They contained some sort of test results … negative for this, positive for that …

  “I don’t know how to read these fucking things, Claire.”

  “Look at the top of page three where I have it highlighted.”

  Prosper took a minute, then shrugged. “Still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

  “Now look at the top of page four.” Claire leaned in and kept her eyes glued to Prosper’s face.

  “Highlighted in the blue?”

  “No, the green.”

  Prosper nodded. “Okay. So this looks like it’s Jack’s blood type.

  “Yep, it is. That’s been the missing link this whole time. I mean, not that it matters that much in the grand scheme of things, but still, the doctors really want to know as much of my family history as possible. We just don’t have a lot on Jack. But Raine reminded me the other day that the one thing we did have were his dog tags. I had totally forgotten about those. Seems his blood type was on the tags all this time.”