Page 49 of Bear

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bear

Jupiter stalks intothe clubhouse on my heels, bypassing Leah and Tyra entirely when they approach us. She prowls right into church, up to Chaos, and points her finger in his face as he sits at the table with the other bikers. “Where the fuck is my brother?”

He doesn’t look at her—just slides his cool-tempered gaze to me. “Mind telling me what your bitch is doing in my fuckin’ face, brother?”

“Jupiter,” I bark, and haul her off her feet, but she thrashes against me, refusing to back down.

“Where is he, Chaos?” she asks.

“Control your goddamn woman, Bear. Or I will.”

“I’m not his woman!” she snaps.

“Sorted out your little problem with that dead guy, didn’t he? And I’m pretty sure it’s your pussy I can smell all over him. If you’re not his then you won’t mind getting the fuck out of my face and out of my clubhouse before I give you to Bouncer as a chew toy.”

She scowls, but my little wildcat quits thrashing.

“Now, since you’re here accusing me of holding your brother captive, perhaps you can tell me where his dumbass has run off to. I sure would like to sit and have a heart-to-heart with him.”

A few of the brothers chuckle, and Jupiter glances around the room. Her gaze meets Ruin’s, and his responding glare has her eyes darting back to mine. He can’t help her here. Truth be told, none of us can if Prez gives the order. I’d fight like fucking hell to protect her, but outnumbered like this, we’d both be dead before I could even draw my pistol.Fucking woman’s gonna get me killed.

“Prez,” Crow says, coming in from the bar with a laptop in hand. “We just ... There’s something you should see.”

“What is it?”

“Er ...” He turns to Jupiter. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch this. I don’t think it’s gonna be good.”

“Crow,” Prez says. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re babbling on about?”

“It looks like our OnlyFans account has been hacked.”

“What the fuck?” Ruin says.

“A video was just posted to the account.”

“Crow!” Prez demands, slamming his fist on the table.

“One second,” he says, and patches into the flatscreen on the wall.

The video begins a little grainy, too dark to see clearly, and then as it pans out, the image of a man strapped to the Saint Andrew’s Cross in Ruin’s studio becomes crystal clear. Bobby Ray is naked as the day he was born, his body decorated in stab wounds, blood glittering in the studio lights. His face has been beaten black and blue, and his head hangs limp against his chest.

“No!” Jupiter shouts. Her hands fly to cover her mouth.

A fat man in one of the skull masks Ruin and Sterling sometimes wear on film enters the screen. His clothing is plain, black, and nondescript.

“This is what crossing us gets. We want double the money he stole, and if you can’t deliver, your pretty little purple-haired bitch is next.” He raises a wicked knife, the studio lights glinting off the blade as he slashes it across Bobby Ray’s neck. Blood gushes from the gaping maw, and I blink in shock. I’ve seen death and bloodshed. I’ve seen my brothers in arms blown up, shot, and maimed right in front of me, but the sight of that crimson flowing from Bobby Ray’s neck like a river sends me spiraling.

I close my eyes and I’m right back there in that war zone, watching my buddy hold onto a limb that dangled by sinew and only a few strands of muscle. He’d screamed like a little girl then, hadn’t kept his cool under pressure and through torment the way we’re trained. He’d screamed, and I can still hear that sound echoing through my head three hundred thousand miles away. I can still feel the blood on my hands, wet and vicious, tacky as it dried. The scent, coppery and rich—like rusty pennies—turns my stomach. I’ve killed men in war, and I’ve killed men in cold blood for my club, but I haven’t been filled with that rage again since.

Until now.

Jupiter howls beside me and collapses to the ground.

“Motherfucker!” I hiss. I’m not sure if I’m talking about myself or the biker who’s about to be dead fucking meat.

Ruin pushes back from the table and stands, kicking his chair over. He’s known the Jones family his whole life. Sterling, too. Fuck—they shared classrooms with these kids. “Jesus Christ!”

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