Page 520 of Hell Hath No Fury
CLYDE + BEAR
JESSICA GADZIALA
CLYDE + BEAR
“What the fuck do you mean you're not going to save him?"
As a general rule, no one spoke to an outlaw biker president that way. And you damn sure didn't do so when you weren't even a part of the club.
I was just a biker's old lady, after all. In this club, I barely had a right to have an opinion on anything. Let alone question them about their decisions to—or in this case, not to—go to war over one of their men.
The problem was this wasmyman.
I couldn't just stand around like my entire world wasn’t falling apart, when the man that I had just started to fall in love with was being held against his will with God-knew-what happening to him.
But I was pretty sure we could all agree that whatever was happening to him was endlessly painful.
"Watch your tone, Clyde," said the president, Dick—aptly named, in my humble opinion, and it had nothing to do with the size of his, as he so proudly claimed to any and everyone who would listen. I'd once had the misfortune of walking in on him getting a blow-job, and let's just say it oddly resembled a baby dill in size and shape.
"What tone would you like me to use when my man is likely being strung up and tortured while his so-called brothers sit here and have drinks and wonder which clubwhores are available to fuck tonight? What is the appropriate tone to use in this situation,Dick?" I asked, adding the silentheadin my tone.
Dick might not have been bright, but he was a man of a lot of pride and a short temper, so he picked up on the subtleties of disrespect.
"I won't be disrespected in my own fucking clubhouse by a slit in a dress."
That was how Dick genuinely saw women, how most of the men in his club saw women.
A slit.
A hole—or three—to fuck.
That was it.
How Bear had managed to be around guys like this his whole life and turned out unlike any of them was a huge mystery. One I hadn't had enough time with Bear to even begin to explore.
And now, thanks to his so-called brothers, I might never get to figure that out. I might never see my man again.
The pain in my stomach was sharp and intense, damn near doubling me over. The only thing keeping me upright was my desire to advocate for Bear, to do whatever was necessary to try to get him home safe. With me.
Biting back my real thoughts, I took a deep breath, and tried to temper my anger.
"Are you going to go in and save Bear or not?" I asked, tone calm, even if my heartbeat felt like it was hammering in my chest, throat, and wrists. Even if I felt like I was choking on my fear and buzzing with anxiety.
"Bear knew what he was getting into when he patched-in," Dick said, shrugging. "That's the life."
Bear patched-in when he was seventeen years old because his father—a patched member—had leaned on him until he did it. He'd never really had much of a choice. Not unless he wanted to be homeless and family-less.
And once you were in, you were in.
You didn't get a chance to change your mind.
Not even if you found out that your president didn't give a single fuck about brotherhood and protecting his crew.
"Silly me," I said, chin jerking up. "I thought that the life came with the loyalty and protection of your so-called club brothers."
"Yeah, bitch, silly you," Dick said, shrugging, and getting slapped on the shoulder by his vice president.
My gaze slid around to the rest of the club, finding a mix of drunken amusement and carefully guarded concern.
