Saving Glory (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club Book 4)

by Paula Marinaro

  “So just so to be clear one more time—you want to hotline me for the occasional hook up? Booty call? Friend with bennies kind of thing?” His tone had turned more aggressive now.

  Men and their fragile damn egos, Glory thought as she saw Jules cross his big forearms and flex slightly.

  “Well, I guess it could go both ways. So yes—I mean no—I just meant—” she stammered at the sudden realization that while this sounded like a great idea to her, it had probably sounded pretty insulting to a man like Jules—to a total control freak, used to getting his own way—guy like Jules

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Jules. Forget I said anyth—”

  “I’m in,” Jules interrupted her.

  “You’re in?” Glory asked breathlessly, and felt a shiver run through her body. Before she had time to completely digest the possible ramifications of her reckless proposal, Jules closed the narrow distance between them.

  “I’m definitely in,” he repeated in no uncertain terms. Then he sealed the deal with a long, slow kiss that made her head spin.

  Chapter 17

  After Jules made arrangements with a prospect to bring Glory home, he went to the club house to see Prosper and find out what the fuck was going on.

  “That was a hell of a lot longer than five minutes,” Prosper growled out in greeting. “Close the damn door.”

  “Sorry, I was—uh—busy.” Jules looked around the room, surprised that it was just the two of them in it. “What do you need?”

  “What I need is to smoke a pack of Marlboros and to shoot back a hit of whiskey without my woman breathing down my goddamn neck,” Prosper told him. “But what I want is for you to get your head out of your ass.”

  “What’s this about?” Jules narrowed his eyes. Because this conversation better not be going where he thought it might be going.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Jules?” Prosper challenged.

  “What the hell kind of question is that?” Suspicion at what the boss was getting at stabbed Jules like a hot poker.

  “Thought that ship had fucking sailed.” Prosper glared at him.

  “You got something to say, Prosper, you better well say it. ‘Cause I got things to do,” Jules snarled.

  “And I got an idea what those things are and who you plan on doing them with,” Prosper snarled back.

  Yeah. The prez was definitely going there.

  “With respect, boss, I sure as hell would like to know when what I do on my own time became your personal business.” Jules clenched his jaw. Then he went over to the bar and poured himself a shot, his hand shaking in anger.

  “Everything that touches this club is my business, brother.” Prosper's tone held an edge of weariness.

  Jules remained silent, but splashed another shot of whiskey in his glass.

  Prosper moved next to Jules and, in a show of brotherhood, put a hand down hard on his shoulder. The he reached for the bottle and poured out a double shot.

  “Thought you were laying off the stuff?” Jules frowned. “Doctor’s orders?”

  “Yeah. I was. I am. But near beer ain’t gonna cut it this time.” Prosper raised the glass to the light, swirled it around a couple of times then shot it back. His face contorted in an expression of pure bliss before he opened his eyes, focused them straight on Jules and got down to it.

  “Unless you’re planning on going the distance with her this time, do me a favor and leave the woman alone. The strong bond that Glory and my girls share had them bitching and moaning every damn day she was gone. For fuck’s sake, it even had me flying across the country to bring her back here. My daughters are happy and my wife is damn delirious. So all of that means peace at home for me. And I damn well like it that way. Happy wife—happy life and all that bullshit. And now, you’re about to blow all that out of the water because you got it in your mind to dick around some place you’ve already been before—and failed.”

  “Glory said pretty much the same thing.” Jules rubbed the back of his neck and scowled.

  “Smart woman.” Prosper grunted.

  “Maybe it’ll work this time.” Jules’s voice held a glimmer of hope.

  “With your track record?” Prosper snorted. “Not a chance.”

  “My what?”

  “Your established pattern with woman.” Prosper told him. Then he nodded to Jules’s back pocket and commanded. “Open your wallet.”

  “My wallet?” Jules shook his head in impatient confusion. “What the fuck does my wallet have to do with this, boss?”

  “Just open your goddamn wallet and empty it out on the bar.” Prosper drained the rest of the whiskey from the glass in one long gulp. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Jules expectantly.

  Jules frowned his response. Wherever this was going, Jules had a real strong feeling he wasn’t going to like it. But then again he really didn’t have much choice, Prosper was his president, and you didn’t say fuck no when he asked you to do something. Might as well get this shit over and done with once and for all.

  Jules shrugged his shoulders, then slipped two fingers into his back pocket, unhooked the chained leather wallet and threw it open. Then he pulled out his driver’s license, a couple of credit cards, a hundred dollar bill and a few ones.

  “That it?” Prosper stared at him with suspicion.

  “Shit, yeah, that’s it.” Jules wished the boss would get to the point.

  “That’s everything?” Prosper asked again, his expression one of disbelief.

  “Well, yeah,” Jules assured him. After a slight pause he added. “Except for these.”

  Then Jules pulled out six Crown skinless condoms from the billfold.

  “Aha!” Prosper stabbed his finger at him. “And there you fucking have it.”

  “Have what?” Jules cast a wary eye.

  “My point.” Prosper smiled with satisfaction.

  “Your point?” Jules scrubbed his hand over his face in frustration. Really? He was going to make a big deal out of a few shields? “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your point?”

  “Established. Fucking. Pattern.” Prosper paused between each word. Then he added smoothly, “You carrying half a dozen rubbers on standby is a pretty clear indication that you’re not exactly commitment minded.”

  “The only thing that that’s a clear indication of is a desire not to get the clap,” Jules snorted. But when his eyes met Prosper’s, he winced with sudden uncertainty.

  “Look, Jules.” Prosper laid a heavy hand down on his shoulder. “I know that it bothered you that things weren’t right with you and Glory when she left. But the fact is, from what I remember, things weren’t exactly all hearts and flowers between you before she went away either. And then Bambi lying about you being the father of her kid? I know that didn’t go down easy.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you that.” Jules scowled in agreement, because all things considered, the last year or so hadn’t exactly been a bowl of cherries. “So what are you saying?

  “Just take a minute to think things through, that’s all. I just don’t know if you’re sure you wanna go there, brother.”

  “And why would that be?” Jules wanted to know. “I thought you liked her. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you say on more than one occasion that Glory is a damn good woman.”

  “She is a damn good woman,” Prosper agreed. “You get no argument from me there.”

  “So if we’re both cool with keeping it casual, what’s the harm?” Jules pressed him.

  “Brother, I’m an old fuck and don’t mind saying I’ve had my share of women.” Prosper looked down at the empty glass in his hand.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’ve learned a few things about females along the way. No matter what Glory thinks she wants now, or whatever she’s telling you she agrees to, she’s kidding herself. Because she sure as shit ain’t the kind of woman you fool around with casually. I just want to make sure you know that. Because after what that little girl has been thr
ough, I don’t know if she can take another disappointment. Even if she brings it on herself.”

  A myriad of wise-ass comebacks flashed through Jules’s mind—Mind your own fucking business, you don’t know what the hell you are talking about, and fuck off topped the list. But of course, he didn’t say any of them. The first reason being that he had nothing but respect and love for the man. The second reason was, that deep inside, Jules knew that Prosper’s take on the situation was dead-on.

  Jules slumped his big shoulders slightly and said miserably, “I hear ya, boss. It’s just that nothing felt right when she was gone. And I’m pretty damn sure it’ll feel all wrong again if she leaves. From the minute I found out she was coming home all I have wanted to do is to keep her here with me. I guess I haven’t really thought much beyond that.”

  “I get it, brother.” Prosper gave him a commiserating look.

  Through all this bullshit interrogation about his personal, the one thing that Jules was sure of was that his boss had his back. And really when it came down to it, he knew that Prosper only wanted the best for Glory too.

  “Hey, boss?” Jules was the first to break the comfortable silence that had settle between them.

  “Yeah, brother?”

  “What kind of woman is she?”

  “What?” Prosper looked up from the joint he had begun to roll.

  “You said that Glory wasn’t the kind of woman you fool around with. What kind of woman is she?”

  “Ahh—that’s easy, my man.” Prosper chuckled softly as he regarded the intense look on Jules’s face.

  “She’s the kind of woman you marry.”

  Chapter 18

  Glory awoke the next morning to a breeze blowing softly across her cheek. The dapples of light that streamed through her bedroom window served to wash away the lingering darkness. The room was bathed in the beautiful rose colors of dawn.

  Gloria walked to the window just in time to see the sun begin its glorious ascent. Proudly it lifted over the soft, lapping waves and seemed to cast warmth and light on whatever it touched.

  It was a beautiful and serene and majestic sight.

  Meant to fill the earth with hope and light.

  Liar! Liar! Liar!

  Glory slammed down the window and wrenched the curtains closed against the promise of the coming day.

  After that she crawled back under the covers and pulled the pillow over her head.

  Because of Santino Abiatti.

  With a violent heave Glory uncovered her head and threw the pillow across the room.

  And when she did the sundress that was draped over the chair fell to the floor.

  The sundress she had worn to the bakery opening.

  The sundress that Jules had no trouble slipping right off of her.

  Jules.

  Oh God.

  She had made a deal with the devil.

  She clutched a hand over her heart as if to ward off the vividly erotic memories of her body’s willing response to his every touch.

  But it was no use.

  Because images of Jules’s big beautiful body propelled through her mind with the force of a jet plane. She felt weak at the knees at the thought of his mouth on hers. Her body still tingled in the places where he had touched her. After all Glory’s resolve, when the moment came to resist the undeniable pull that Jules had on her, she had been putty in his hands. Shamelessly nuzzling against him like a kitten seeking shelter from a storm.

  No. Not quite. A small inner voice corrected her. More like a stray in heat circling the neighborhood tomcat.

  With a decisive frown, Glory got up and gathered the clothing she had worn to the opening. Then in what she considered a symbolic move, Glory threw the offending garments in the small wastebasket by the side of her bed. Because, despite the little speech Glory had given Jules yesterday about the whole relationship thing, a small part of her had thought, and even hoped that maybe somehow they could work things out. Maybe someday get to a place of understanding, or something more.

  But now, that was all shot to hell.

  Because of Santino Abiatti.

  *****

  Glory swam laps in the lake like demons were chasing her. She flung her arms out in long strong strokes, her feet kicking hard and propelling her body forward in a frantic motion. Her soul felt like it was being squeezed by the weight of her fear and sorrow.

  Santino had said that he would be in touch. He had wrenched her purse out of her hand, and rifled through it until he came up with her phone. Then he had logged her number into his cell and handed her purse back to her.

  She was just supposed to wait.

  In every song ever written it was said that waiting was the hardest part.

  And it was true.

  Yet in a lifetime of uncertainty, Glory had learned that waiting could be a gift. And she was going to use that gift to figure out how she was going to prepare herself for whatever diabolical plan Santino wanted to involve her in.

  Men like Santino Abiatti always had a damn plan.

  Glory let out a small cry as a muscle in her stomach began to spasm. She'd lost count of how many times she swam laps around the buoy but her shoulders had begun to ache and now her abdomen was beginning to cramp up. Glory switched over to her back and floated until the cramp subsided, then she resumed her long measured strokes. When she got to the dock, she heaved herself out of the water and glanced to the house. She could see straight into the window to where her brother was working the elliptical like it was his job.

  She wished for the millionth time that she could tell Hal about this latest nightmare.

  Not if I kill him first. And Glory had no doubt that Santino meant every word.

  Her brother was getting stronger every day. His progress was slow and steady but Hal was definitely making measurable gains. His body was healing.

  It didn’t dare not to.

  Hal worked it like he was trying to punish it for surviving. He was in that weight room from dawn to dusk. Long before Jules came and long after he had gone. The war Hal was waging against his injuries was filled with grit, perseverance and fortitude.

  And by all accounts, it was a battle he was winning. But that was only half the fight.

  Because Glory knew that the night terrors hadn’t stopped. After the third or fourth time she heard the washer running in the middle of the night, she had gotten in the habit of leaving a clean set of sheets for him on top of the dryer.

  Glory’s fervent prayer every morning was that Hal had rested peacefully the night before.

  But every morning the clean set of linens would be gone and the washer would be filled with the sweat-soaked sheets from the night before.

  Glory had taught herself to keep walking past the open door that led to Hal’s room and ignore the bag of weed, pack of rolling papers, and beer bottles on his night stand.

  And last week, after she had been jarred awake to the sound of something shattering in the middle of the night, she had closed her eyes tight against the sound. When she found the jagged remains of a mirror piled high in the kitchen trash the next morning, she fought back the burst of sobs that threatened to defeat her.

  Hal was trying his best to work it all out, but it was no secret to her that he was hanging on by a thread. And Glory was going to do her best to make sure that lifeline held.

  Glory grabbed the towel off the softly rocking dock and briskly dried herself off. She reached into the cooler that her brother kept stocked with beer and twisted off the cap. Then she plopped herself down into the deep Adirondack chair and began to hatch a plan of her own.

  She would not meet Santino alone. Or unarmed.

  She would go to see him at the hotel. She would demand that they have drinks in the restaurant.

  Now she just needed a gun.

  *****

  Glory busied herself with household chores while she kept one eye on the clock waiting for Hal to go out for his daily cross training.

  Feeling like a third-rate
spy, Glory hid behind the kitchen curtain while she watched Hal lift the aluminum road racer from the side porch and carry it to the driveway. Glory sent up a silent prayer of thanks that, in his circuit training schedule, today was his biking day. Hal would be gone for at least a couple of hours. She ran to both doors and quickly twisted the locks in place. Then she finished washing the kitchen floor and plopped the mop in the bucket. No time to waste in emptying the wash water. She could do that later.

  She had thought it would be easy. She knew that he must have put that bag somewhere in the cabin. Before they left Maryland Hal had insisted that they made a quick stop at a rundown apartment house at the edge of town. He had made her wait in the car about twenty minutes before he came out with a small duffle bag. Wordlessly, he had thrown it in the trunk. But not just in the trunk, he had made the effort to hide the small bag under the spare tire hub. Her attempts to ask him what was in it were met with stony silence. Glory’s hope in searching for the duffle now was that there would be something useful in it. Something that she could use for protection when she went to meet Santino.

  She just had to find it. Today.

  It had been two days since Glory heard from him and she couldn’t imagine that Santino would keep her waiting much longer.

  With a rapidly beating heart, Glory decided to search Hal’s room.

  But where to start?

  Most obvious first, she supposed. She turned to the dresser sitting against the wall and began her search. Gingerly, Glory sifted through what looked like some sort of clever T-shirt filing system.

  Blacks on the left. Whites on the right. Greys in the middle.

  And they were all folded with the precision of a Downton Abbey valet.

  Although she really couldn’t bring herself to give her brother’s underwear drawer more than a cursory glance, she scrutinized the other drawers thoroughly. She searched his pants pockets for maybe a key or any slip of paper that would give a clue as to where he had stored that damn duffle. She even went so far as to pull out the drawers one at a time and run her fingers along the edges of the dresser's wooden frame.