Saving Glory (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club Book 4) Page 2

  Jules.

  In her darkest moments she feared that she had imagined the man who had rescued her from another dark place of pain and horror. She was afraid that the memories of the time spent in his strong arms were not really memories at all, but rather a fantasy born of a desperate need to feel safe and whole again.

  She feared her dreams were fed by an urgent desire to be in a place that was not lit by fluorescent lighting.

  A place where lush green grass replaced the hard industrial tiles that she now felt daily underneath her feet.

  A place that was not filled with the constant hum of injury and despair.

  A place where a scarred, blonde, beautiful Hells Saints soldier had healed her, protected her and maybe even loved her for a little while.

  Glory started in surprise as the automatic door of the grocery store flew open, scattering her memories with a cold rush of air. Then she shifted the heavy bags, pulled her light coat tighter against the Maryland winter, and braced herself for a brisk walk home. Glory knew that she had better be quick if she were to stand any chance at all of sneaking past the creepy, ubiquitous Mr. Taylor.

  Chapter 3

  Glory’s hands fumbled with the door handle at the back entrance. When she found it to be unlocked, just as Annie said it would be, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. From the trail of muddy footprints leading in and out of the building, Glory guessed that not only Annie and she had reason to be thankful for unlocked back doors.

  The apartment complex was badly lit, poorly maintained, and mightily over-priced. And to add insult to injury, Gerald Taylor also charged a hefty late fee to any tenant who was more than ten days past due. To what she could only imagine further fueled her landlord’s profound annoyance, Glory had always managed to scrape up the payment just in time.

  A wave of nausea rose up into her throat as the smell of a man’s cheap, heavy cologne washed over her. She felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck. Glory tightened the hold she had on the groceries, glanced over her shoulder and flashed the middle-aged man an award winning smile.

  “Hey, Mr. Taylor.” She shifted the bags in her arms and tried not to stare in fascination at his three strand comb-over.

  Beady eyes locked on to hers, then darted to the rear entrance before they swiveled back to her again. “That door is supposed to be locked.”

  “Yeah, I know. The groceries are just so heavy that I thought I’d try my luck.” Glory winced inwardly at how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.

  Mr. Taylor’s eyes touched upon the two brown paper bags and for one absurd moment Glory thought he was going to offer to help her.

  “Humph.” His eyes squinted at her through the dim light of the hallway.

  “You are a week late—” he began his monthly tirade.

  Glory balanced the grocery bag awkwardly on her knee and mentally prepared her I’ll have it to you by tomorrow speech. But thankfully she and Mr. Taylor were both spared the bullshit. Deliverance came in the form of Bobby Jackman, the skinny kid who lived right above Glory and played his electric guitar loudly, badly and without the least consideration of acceptable time parameters. Bobby came bounding down the hallway in a mad effort to outrun the landlord for the front door. Glory saw him coming up from behind and could have easily nodded to the back entry escape route. But then she remembered the dreadful three a.m. rendition of something Nirvana-like and in the spirit of payback, she just stood back and let it happen.

  “Hey, Jackman, you’re two months behind!” Mr. Taylor yelled out, darted past her and took off close on Bobby’s heels.

  Glory took the opportunity to move quickly up the two flights of narrow stairs that led to her own apartment. Once inside she clicked the lock into place, ran to the kitchen window and caught the tail end of Bobby’s escape through the parking lot. Although he lost time slipping on the rain-soaked pavement, Jackman still had a pretty good lead on the older man. As she looked down on the cartoon-like chase, Glory smiled at the landlord’s speed and tenacity. But then greed was a pretty strong motivator. Once Glory saw the two men round the corner, she relaxed enough to take off her coat and start unloading the groceries.

  After the meager indulgences had been put away, Glory lit the pilot light on the old gas stove. Then she rubbed her hands briefly over the small gas flame and put a kettle on for tea. The little apartment faced the north side of the building and got very little natural sunlight. As a result, even in the warmer weather, the rooms always stayed dank and dark. Tonight the wintry dampness seemed to seep into every corner of the room. The wind rattled through the old windows in small bone-chilling gusts.

  Sometimes Glory thought that she would never be warm again.

  She went into the bathroom, quickly stripped off her clothes and caught her reflection in the dull, cracked mirrored glass. The icy beads of frozen rain that had formed on her hair had now melted into thin streams of water. The cold rivulets that ran down her shoulders sent violent shivers through her body.

  Glory lifted a dull lock of her white-blonde hair, examined the split ends and sighed. She couldn’t remember the last time her hair had been trimmed by a practiced hand or even washed with anything other than bargain shampoo. Her cheeks were chapped and ruddy, her full lips cracked and dry. Frown lines had taken up permanent residence between her un-plucked brows and her nails had been bitten into waning moons.

  Glory knew she was about a million light years away from the Vegas showgirl that she had once been.

  Thank God for that at least.

  Because she’d take a chapped and ruddy, cracked and dry, fully-clothed Glory over an oiled, perfumed, and perfectly groomed, naked Glory any day of the week.

  So, with a grateful sigh, she gave herself a small smile, willed away those dark memories and despite it all, thanked God for the now.

  Glory stayed under the sputtering shower just long enough for the hot water to take the raw, bracing chill out of her body. After rubbing herself briskly with a thin cotton towel, she tugged on a pair of thick cotton socks, flannel pajama pants, and an oversized sweatshirt. By the time Glory got back to the kitchen, the kettle was whistling loudly and the steam had misted the windows. She made a couple of pieces of toast for dinner, looked out at the bleak, wintry night and willed herself to relax.

  Chapter 4

  Insistent loud banging at the door the next morning woke Glory out of a sound sleep. With a fluttering heart, she automatically reached for her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed a call from the hospital. Relieved to find no messages, she looked to the clock to see it read 8 a.m. Glory’s best guess was that Annie was running late again for her shift at the grocery store and needed her to watch the baby while she drove the older kids to school.

  After yelling out a quick, "Be right there," in the general direction of the doorway, Glory jumped out of bed onto the freezing floor tiles. Huddling deeper in the sweatshirt she had worn to bed, she switched on the coffee pot as she passed the kitchen counter.

  “Hey, Annie ...” Glory swung open the door.

  She stopped short as the rest of the words stuck fast in her throat, because the shadow cast in the dimly lit passage was definitely not Annie’s. Glory braced a trembling arm against the door jamb to steady herself. When she spoke, her voice was filled with amazement.

  “Prosper?”

  The big man scrubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw and chuckled at her.

  “One and the same.” Then he swept her quickly with his eyes. “How you doing, darling?”

  Glory stood agape, struck by his presence as if it were the first time. Prosper Worthington was a big man, made larger by the aura of authority that surrounded him. In his sixties now, the president and founder of the Hells Saints MC remained a person of influence and power.

  He was also the man who, along with his family and his club, had rescued Glory, sheltered her and given her another chance at a life that she had totally screwed up.

  And now here he was again. The silver strands
that the years had threaded through his hair and the deep crinkles that radiated from the corner of his eyes only added to his scruffy good looks. She craned her neck past him, saw he was alone and her eyes grew wide in surprise. “Do you wanna come in?”

  “That’s the idea, darlin’.” The fact that Prosper somehow managed to look mean even when he smiled made him a force to be reckoned with.

  Glory opened the door wider and he stepped inside.

  “Coffee?” Glory felt gratitude surge at the sale of the Nikon.

  “That’d be great.” Prosper nodded, casing the small apartment. He rubbed the palms of his hands together as if creating warmth and shot her a questioning look.

  “Heat isn’t included in the rent, so I try to keep it low,” Glory explained as she put the steaming mug in front of him. “Coffee’s nice and hot, though. And I just bought the cream yesterday.”

  “Black’s good.” Then he murmured under his breath just before putting his mouth to the mug. “Place is so damn small a man could piss from one end to the other without leaning forward. It wouldn’t kill ‘em to throw in some heat.”

  Glory laughed in spite of herself. “I think the same damn thing every day.” Her eyes drank him in. “I can’t believe you’re here. How is everyone? The babies? Raine? Claire? The boys? Pinky and Dolly?”

  “They’re all still a big pain in my ass, but everybody’s okay.”

  “Oh. Good to hear.” Glory smiled her relief while a question lingered in her eyes.

  “I had some club business in Miami,” Prosper explained. “I could lie and tell you Dulles was a stopover, but that just ain’t true. I made a special trip, darlin’, just to see you. The girls are worried about you. You haven’t been checking in as much as you used to and that’s been driving them crazy. And Raine and Claire being crazy? It sends Pinky and Dolly into a goddamn tailspin—those two mother hens. And that ain’t pretty for any of us. So here I am.”

  Prosper looked around again at the dreary, dismal apartment.

  “Government ain’t helping you with this shit?” he growled when his eyes hit the moldy water stains on the ceiling tiles.

  “Hal’s service pay helps with the rent, but the cost of housing is over the top high in the areas surrounding the hospital. Once my brother is released, he’s going to be able to apply for disability.” Glory moved to the counter, grabbed the pot of coffee, refilled Prosper’s cup and then her own. “I started looking into the application process myself to get a leg up on things before Hal gets out. But from what I’ve read and been told by the other families, the system is in a real mess.”

  Glory grimaced as she recalled how the formal inquiries she had made into the monthly compensation had resulted in her being handed a menu of grievous injuries. The list had included service-related amputations and what they were valued at cash on the dollar. She had gotten physically ill when she realized what she was looking at and had thrown the offending pamphlet into the bathroom wastebasket after she had vomited out her disgust.

  She could not bring herself to ask again.

  Prosper’s voice broke into her thoughts. “That’s fucking war for you. We send our boys away whole and in the best condition of their lives and they send them back in goddamn pieces. Seems by now that we should have learned to do better for our troops.” Prosper shook his head. “Makes me sick.”

  Then he turned his hard gaze to her.

  “How are you holding up, darling?”

  Glory readied her face to deliver the same artificial smile and platitudes that she had been spouting for months. Just fine, great, better all the time….

  But she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lie to him.

  Because Prosper wasn’t the kind of man you lied to. Part of it was respect, part of it was fear, and part of it was that you just knew that he would see right through the bullshit anyway.

  Glory began hesitantly, “I spent every waking minute of the first months after the bombing praying that my brother wouldn’t die. I was so grateful when he was finally stabilized that I never really thought about what surviving that awful day would mean for him.”

  She gripped her hand tightly around the mug to stop it from shaking. A shiver ran through her body as she got up and began to pace in the tiny room. “When that IED exploded under Hal’s vehicle, it shattered his heel and ankle. All that shrapnel cut through him like he was made out of butter. The blast left him bleeding so badly that they had to line up almost a dozen Marines to donate blood. Thank God for them. And for the medics and surgeons that patched up the holes in Hal’s leg and saved it. Luckily the Medevac planes were able to get him out of there alive and in time to do the rest.” Glory paused and looked at Prosper as if to gauge his reaction. When she saw that his face maintained an intense focus, she took it as unspoken permission to continue. “After a lot of really, really painful hard work, my brother has regained almost full motor control of his leg. I honestly don’t know how he did it, Prosper. I would have given up a million times over if I was Hal, but thank God he didn’t. The courage he showed…”Glory shook her head, blinking away sudden dampness at the thought.

  “Must run in the family,” Prosper said softly, still watching her.

  Glory blushed slightly at the compliment. “The left side of Hal’s face is messed up now, though. All that shrapnel just came blasting towards him. He’s scarred pretty bad. They told us that some of those bits of metal will work themselves out eventually. What will that be like for him, picking bits of spent explosives out of his skin? But in the grand scheme of things and compared to the injuries he came back from, that’s really not so bad.”

  Glory’s eyes met Prosper’s in an almost child-like plea for reassurance.

  “Damn lucky if you ask me.” Prosper’s response was gentle.

  “I think so too.” Glory nodded and continued with renewed intensity. “By some miracle the concussion caused by the explosion didn’t bruise or otherwise permanently damage Hal’s brain. He’s got his mind. The list of all the stuff he will probably face in the coming months might be long, but I thank God every day that Traumatic Brain Injury isn’t one of them.”

  Glory stopped in front of a crooked kitchen drawer and tugged hard on it to reach for the contents inside. She pulled out a bunch of pamphlets and spread them out on the table for Prosper to see. She pointed to each individually and spoke as if she were giving a lesson. “I know there is a possibility of PTSD, moral injury, survivor’s guilt, flashbacks, and— depression!” Glory saw a small smile lift the corner of Prosper’s mouth at the drama in her tone. “I met with all the counselors and I know all the buzzwords. Hal will likely face chronic pain, arthritis, and headaches…”

  “You don’t have pamphlets for those?” Prosper said in a teasing tone as his finger skipped along the display on the table.

  “They were out.” Glory shrugged. “I think the no brain injury diagnosis is big though, don’t you?” Glory was back to seeking his reassurance. This time even she recognized the need in her own voice. Glory had carried this burden alone for way too long and with Hal’s imminent release weighing heavy on her mind, she needed all the encouragement she could get.

  While she could get it.

  Prosper looked thoughtful. “The Marine has got a long road ahead of him, no doubt. And you’re right, brain injuries are the game changer for sure. Glad he was spared that.” Prosper ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly. “But my question was about you. How are you holding up, darlin’?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.”

  She looked at him stunned for a moment. She had never thought to put herself in the equation.

  “You know it’s been such a—” Glory paused, looking for the word.

  “Shit-storm,” Prosper volunteered.

  “Yeah, I was gonna say tailspin, but shit-storm is a better word, a much much better word.” Glory suddenly felt exhausted. “It’s been such a continuous shit-storm of ups and downs that I guess hanging on
and hoping to God I have the strength to deal with whatever comes next is how I’m doing.” Glory’s shoulders slumped slightly. “But Hal’s the only family I have. So we’ll figure it out together.”

  “Now that’s where you are wrong,” Prosper told her.

  Glory tilted her head at him. “Wrong about what?”

  “About you and the Marine being alone in this. Because let me tell you something—those girls that you left back in Crownsmount? They think of you as family. And they would be hurt to hell and shocked as shit to hear you say otherwise.”

  Glory sighed. “I love those crazy Hells Saints women and their men and you know that. But I think an international motorcycle club like the Saints have enough on their hands without worrying about looking out for my brother and me. I appreciate you reaching out like this more than you know but I can’t put this on you, or the girls or the club. Not after what you all have already done for me.”

  “What are your plans?” Prosper interrupted her.

  “Well—” Glory hesitated, because it was the same question she had been asking herself for months. “I’m not quite sure. This latest infection set Hal’s release back a little bit, so I have a few weeks yet to figure it out. I still don’t know for certain what my brother will need as far as accommodations go, but I thought that—” Glory made a vague circular motion around the apartment.

  “You sure as shit can’t bring him back here.” Prosper raised an eyebrow.

  “I know that.” Glory’s shoulders stiffened as she felt a surge of pain shoot through her temple. In recent months she had made a resolve to no longer defend or explain the decisions she made—or was forced to make—about Hal’s recovery. "I know this would not be ideal or a long term solution, but I thought maybe just in the beginning—”

  “The beginning is gonna be the worst part of it,” Prosper shot out. “That brother of yours has got to feel that there is some life left for him. He’s going to need room to breathe, work his muscles and clear his mind. Two and a half tiny freezing rooms situated on the fifth floor in a building with a broken elevator is not that place. Not to even mention that it’s within a stone’s throw of the damn hospital he just got himself rid of.”