Page 1 of Prosper

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 loved 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.

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