Holding Onto Hope Read online

  Table of Contents

  Also by L. Grubb

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The End

  About the Author

  Holding Onto Hope

  (Crusaders MC #3)

  L. Grubb

  Text copyright © 2018

  L. Grubb

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any other means without permission from the Author.

  Cover copyright © 2015

  The cover of this book is primarily the author’s, any illegal distribution will have legal action taken against them in a court of law.

  Contents

  Also by L. Grubb

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  The End

  About the Author

  Also by L. Grubb

  Crusaders MC Series

  An Honest Mistake

  The Last Betrayal

  Champ & Lauren

  Cobra & Alexis

  Holding Onto Hope

  MMA Bad Boys Series

  BEAST

  ROOFIE

  JASE

  Destroyed Series

  Destroying the Soul (Co-Author; Abigail Davies)

  Destroying the Game (Co-author; Abigail Davies)

  Acknowledgments

  Firstly, I want to thank my amazing cover designer, Clarissa Wild - www.boomingcovers.blogspot.com - for designing my AMAZING cover. I love it. And because perfection is her middle name, she’s made it that way. Amazing talent and an amazing friend.

  To Abigail Davies at All The Feels Formatting & Graphics for formatting this for me! Abi is amazing at what she does and she’s an awesome friend. You can find her page here - https://www.facebook.com/allthefeelsformatting/

  My BETA readers, without them I don’t know where I’d be! Lisa, Louise, Emma and Keren. Love you ladies! <3

  My STREET TEAM, Bonnie Mancuso, Lisa Morgan, Emma Parrott, Louise Bailey and everyone else, thank you so so much for all your support, even before reading my work you showed untimely support and I will be forever grateful.

  Keren Hughes, by far my #1 fan! You’ve been nothing short of fantastic to me, making me swag, designing my bookmarks and telling me how much you love my book. Both of them seeing as you read this one as I wrote! I love ya to pieces, remember you’re like a sister to me. Xx

  My mum, Jacs Dugdale, for supporting me in my adventure into writing, and who buys every single one of my books!

  My auntie Liane, you’ve inspired me so much! When you wrote your first book, I knew I wanted to follow in your footsteps, and here I am! Thank you for always believing in me.

  My gorgeous man, who without you I wouldn’t know where I’d be. Thank you for being you and I love you.

  Lastly, My little princesses; Sofia and Alexis. I love you both so much, you both inspire me every day to be a better person, to not slip off the deep end. I love you unconditionally and I love watching you both grow into your own little people. Sofia, you battle your severe eczema with so much pride, that I envy you for your not letting other kids pick on you because of your face, and how brave you are through your asthma episodes. I love you so much, princess. <3 Here’s to our future! *raises can of coke*

  Mack

  Present

  The sound of gunshots resonates through my skull, the constant banging causing my brain to bash about in its confines.

  Bolting upright, I survey my surroundings. In bed. I’m safe. I can feel the droplets of sweat trickling down my back, making me physically shiver. The uneasiness making me want to scratch my skin off, layer by layer.

  I try and scrub the remnants of the nightmare from my face with trembling hands, but all it does is spread my sweat around my tired face.

  Fuck. I can’t remember sleeping a full fucking night. These dreams haunt me. Will I ever be free of them? Or will I suffer with PTSD for the rest of my God damn life? Only time will tell, I guess. Time that I don’t want to waste living in the past. What choice do I have though? I don’t choose these damn nightmares…they chose me.

  I thought becoming the Prez of the Crusaders MC’s UK chapter, that my mind will be filled with other shit that erases everything else. In a way, it does…in the day time; night time is a different story. I’m sick of feeling like this, sick of being so exhausted that half the time I feel like I’m letting my club down. But no one knows what I’ve been through, except my VP, best friend and confidante. Not trusting any other fucker in this place anymore, he’s the only one I can turn to.

  A matter of months ago, we had an inside snitch, a patched brother who I trusted but wish I didn’t. He was sneaky, undetectable…at least for a short time anyway. Our big boss, from the LA chapter in America came over, not at all happy with the shit that’s happening here. Everything got cleared up, the rat has been offed and for now, all is calm.

  You know the saying, ‘the calm before the storm’? That is how shit always is here. Other MC’s in the area batting to be top dog. Fuck them, they can’t get any higher than me, not for as long as this club is alive.

  Hope

  Present

  Sagging against my staff room locker, I take a deep breath. Tears aren’t an option in this place. When someone dies, you have to knock it on the chin and keep on going. Mrs. Jenkins was eighty-five and was in this home for a little over four months. Alzheimers. It took her quicker than any of us had anticipated. She was a sweet little old lady, a sense of humour that made every single person in this joint laugh loudly. She never had any family, she outlived her children, her husband, sisters and other relatives. Being brought here is what she wanted, even going so far as contacting the home and explaining everything. And I mean everything, her whole life story was told in a forty-five-minute phone call; a phone call that I happened to take on a slow day. Losing her will be hard on all of us, she was one of the most well behaved people here, always taking her medications, never fighting the staff, and she’ll be missed dearly.

  Taking another lungful of stale air, I straighten myself and smooth down my nurse’s uniform. Before I even get to the door, it bursts open and Maria, the senior nurse, comes storming in. “Where did you go to?”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “Obviously, I’m right here. I was having a glass of water. Is that illegal?” I don’t care that I’m being rude, she’s a fifty-something woman with greying hair, thin lips and nose that will give a ski-slope a run for its money. She’s intolerable at times, nasty at others. None of the woman who work here like her, hell, none of the patients like her either. She seems like she hates her job, but performs well enough not to be sacked, though we all know how slimy she can really be when the cameras aren’t watching.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Hope. What’s your problem? You sho
uld be doing your rounds right now.” Maria tries a stern expression; lips pulled into a tight line, eyebrows practically crossing each other and her arms folded tightly under the breasts. She looks utterly ridiculous and I have to cover my laugh with a cough.

  “Actually, I’m due my break anyway, Lorna is doing the rounds today. But if you did your job properly and checked the rota for today, you would have known that.” I turn to my locker and pull the bent, metal door open. Grabbing my bag, I brush passed Maria and leave, saying over my shoulder, “See you in an hour.”

  As I walk through the winding hallways, passed closed doors with patients that don’t even know their own names, my melancholy grows. I love my job, but I hate it when the patients die. In this profession, you grow close to them and treat them as family but when they pass away, their death rips a part of your heart away. Soon, I’ll have no heart left. But this job pays the bills. Just.

  Pushing the bar of the fire exit door, I exit into the rare sun and breathe in the muggy air. I take in lungful’s of fresh air, letting the heat wash over me.

  Taking a deep breath, I swing my bag over my shoulder and begin my trek toward Subway. The thought of my regular sub has my mouth salivating and my stomach growls in response to my thoughts.

  Lost in thought, I don’t hear the roar of motorcycles ‘til it’s too late. They swerve onto the curb in front of me and I jump back, shock making my heart splutter in my chest.

  “Can I help you?” My voice quivers when I ask but I can’t help the scared, wretched feeling I have in my stomach. Gone is the hunger that only moments ago enveloped me.

  “Hello, Hope.” The man eyes me from head to toe, appraising my work attire before a smug smirk tips up the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you won’t remember me.”

  I shake my head and I can feel my brows furrow in confusion. I scrutinize him under my lashes; dark hair that’s tinged with grey, almost black eyes and rings adorning every finger. His chiselled looks could have made him handsome in his hay days but now are covered in wrinkles; showing of a hard life. “I don’t know you.”

  He chuckles lightly before dismounting his bike, coming towards me. I back up, but I soon find myself pressed up against the brick wall of a bank. I’m cornered and the terrified sickness that takes over, threatens to make me hurl chunks on the pavement. “We haven’t laid eyes on each other for years, sweet little Hope. I was…friends with your late father. He died a few months ago, right?” The way he says ‘friends’ makes me believe they were anything but friends and that frightens me all the more.

  His sickening grin widens as he places his hands on the wall on either side of my head, effectively caging me in. I swallow the lump that’s blocking my throat and blink back the tears that are gathering at the corners of my eyes. I will not show fear to this man. Lifting my chin up a notch, I stare into his empty eyes. No emotion shows in them, but he watches every little thing in mine. Never one for hiding emotions, I’m finding it difficult to portray that I’m strong. Inside, my stomach is turning, rolling with waves of sickness.

  Mack

  2 months ago

  “Listen up, boys!” I slam my hands against the wooden table to grab their attention. “We’ve got a problem. A big fucking problem.”

  Ranger, Crank, Pike, Grizz and Tubs stare at me, their blinking eyes telling me they’re listening intently.

  “Wannabe bikers seem to be riding around the city, threatening innocent bystanders for no good reason. Not only that though, remember the window that was smashed in a few days ago? We strongly believe that these arseholes are responsible,” I tell them, looking at each of them to gouge their reaction.

  “Is there evidence that it was these prats that broke the window?” Ranger, my VP asks. I give him one of those looks; the look that says ‘am I stupid?’

  “I wouldn’t have called Church in the middle of a fucking party if I didn’t have the proof, dip shit.” Giving Ranger one last ‘fuck you’ look, I return my attention to the rest of the room. Usually there would be more men in here, but only officers of the highest rank are allowed into classified, urgent meetings such as this one.

  Ranger chuckles beside me before blurting, “I was just pulling your leg, Prez, chill out.”

  I decide to ignore his stupid arse and carry on addressing the issue. “We have yet to find their residence or place of work but be assured that Rexx is hacking into everything he can to get their whereabouts. I want to try and reason with them first, see what the fuck they want with this part of London but not knowing who the hell they are, we need to be armed and ready for anything that comes our way. No fucker comes to London without us knowing. These dickheads either have a death wish or have no idea who we are. Those motherfuckers are about to find out who the Crusaders really are.” Everyone nods their heads in understanding, faces stoic. “Keep your eyes out and ears pinned open. Anything you find out, bring it straight to me. Understood?”

  Murmurs of agreement float around the room along with the loud clicking of Grizz’s neck. I raise my eyebrow at him. “That was disgusting.” Grizz just shrugs and laughs.

  “Okay, you can go.” I wave my hand around and shift a little in my chair with a groan. Sleeping on the beds in this place is like having a death wish for your spine. I should really get them replaced but it only seems to be me that finds them uncomfortable. Doesn’t really matter, I only stay here when I’m too fucked up to drag my arse home. Which seems to be a lot recently.

  “You okay, Prez?” Ranger hangs back as everyone leaves and asks.

  “Yeah. Except for these fuckers.” Scratching at the scruff on my face, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. That isn’t the only reason and Ranger knows that. “Why you asking me that?”

  “Mate, you’ve been getting steaming drunk every night this past week. It’s unlike you.” Ranger’s concerned eyes stare fiercely at me and I glare back. Ranger knows me too well. We’ve grown up together and he’s the closest to a brother that I have any more. But I’m getting fucking lonely, even with my brothers around me all the time, and the whores that hang around, just aren’t doing it for me anymore.

  “Am I not allowed to get pissed?” I sneer. I don’t mean to be a bastard to him, he hasn’t done fuck all wrong. This shit is all on me. “Sorry, Ranger. A lot of shit in my head and I’d rather not discuss it and make a prat out of myself.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave ya to it then, Prez.” He stands and gives me another concerned look before he walks through the church room doors.

  Alone, my thoughts run wild and I fucking hate that they’re even in my head. This isn’t fucking cool and I ain’t a fucking pussy. I need to man the fuck up and keep going; that’s what my dad always used to say.

  A knock on the door has me groaning. Can’t a guy catch a fucking break in this joint? “Come in!”

  A petite, bottle blonde girl stumbles in on her heels. I glare hard at her and say, “Women aren’t allowed in here, Shelina.”

  “I’m sorry, but…” she stutters, standing there wringing her hands in front of her.

  “Spit it out, for fuck sake!” I scream at her, pounding a fist on the table.

  “Your mum is here,” she squeals and turns to hurry from the room.

  This day is just getting fucking better and better. My junkie mum only comes to me when she wants cash. She’s in for a fucking surprise. This time, she’s not getting jack shit. I bang my head on the table a few times, contemplating whether to fucking go to her or just pretend I’m not here.

  Five minutes later, I rise from the chair and leave the room, heading to the main room to face her. I fucking hate the bitch and she knows it. I only ever give her money so she can leave us the fuck alone. Old Ladies here want to knock her around but because she’s my mother, they reign it in. I wouldn’t actually give a fuck if they did hit her because I’ve been done with her for years.

  Checking out the room, I notice everyone’s eyes are on me. My eyes zone in on the mess that is my mother sat on the edge
of the sofa in front of the plasma TV. Walking over, she notices me and gets to her feet. She looks a fucking mess. Her brown hair is straggly, hanging loose and greasy over her shoulders. Her eyes are sunken and dull, her cheekbones prominent and her super skinny body would make any bloke cringe. I look at her bare arms and notice fresh track marks and it makes me even angrier than I was in the first place. “You told me the last time that you were packing in the drugs, Pauline.” I don’t call her mum; she doesn’t deserve the title.

  “I really tried, baby, I did.” She comes toward me and I swallow the bile that’s rising in my throat. “I just couldn’t do it when I have no one.”

  “You had me! Did that ever fucking occur to you when you were shoving a needle in your arm or when you were scouting around for your next hit, huh?” My voice booms across the room, and I hear people scattering away. Good idea. No one needs to see this. I don’t even want to fucking see this. Being so close to her makes me sick to my fucking stomach.

  “I never had you. Your father forced me out, refused to let me see you!” The desperate look in her face tells me that she’s just saying this because she needs cash. I’m not fucking stupid. Her hand touches my arm and I recoil. “Please, son.”

  “Don’t you ever fucking touch me! And I am no son of yours, Pauline,” I sneer at her. I hope she can see and feel the hatred I have for her. The bubbling anger is sizzling just under the surface of my skin, begging to be released. Hearing her call me son always fucks me off. I hate hearing it coming from her lips.