He would always be my daddy, and the thought of losing him… It didn’t matter that I was a grown woman with children of my own. And on top of my fury, my heart was breaking. Instead, a Silver Demons club whore, a woman half my age, had thankfully taken it upon herself to call me and give me the devastating news.
On top of that, no one had told me-not my father himself nor my husband, nor either of my uncles, all of whom had known about his condition for quite some time now. My father, my beloved father, was dying of cancer-cancer that had spread quickly throughout his entire body. Forget dealing with the upsets of their own women at that, these men were all utterly clueless.Īs for this latest turn of events, “upset” was putting very, very mildly what my tumultuous emotions were doing, and Deuce’s cluelessness was only furthering my anger. He was a man through and through, and in my experience, men like Deuce, men like my father, they dealt with their own emotions by using their fists, emptying a bottle of whiskey, or losing themselves between the thighs of a willing woman. In all the years we’d been together, through the good and the bad, the thick and the thin, he’d still yet to figure out how to react to me when I was upset. I’d done little else but yell, scream, and cry at him since finding out about my father’s rapidly declining health, something I’d come to discover Deuce had known about all along and had purposely hidden from me.īut my anger with Deuce stemmed from more than just that.
Ignoring the glances I attracted from the staff standing behind and milling around the nurses’ station, I quickly spotted what I was looking for-a group of familiar men clustered together down the hall-and began marching toward them.īehind me-quite a distance behind me, actually-my husband, Cole “Deuce” West, better known as “Prez” to his fellow bikers in the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club, was shuffling along slowly, obviously not in any hurry to catch up with me. I stormed out of the elevator and into the fourth-floor hallway of Queens City Hospital in New York City, NY. To the man in the faded photograph with the wide, handsome smile Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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