Page 70 of Fury

“S’ok, Heidi. It’s the weekend. You’ve nowhere to be.”

“I’ve wasted most of the day.”

“The day has just started, doll. It starts when you wake up and ends when you go to sleep. What were you going to do today, anyway?”

“I…err….I…”

“Work?”

“Probably.”

“Weekends are for relaxing, Heidi. And fucking. What do you normally do on a weekend?”

“I dunno. Work mostly. Read a book.”

Fury chuckled, his laugh vibrating through my skin. But the heavy knock at the bedroom door stopped that chuckle.

“What?” Fury asked brusquely.

“There’s a cop in my bar. By himself. There’s also a dozen hungover bikers.”

“So what?” Fury answered.

“So, he’s asking for you. And I don’t want cop guts on my new carpet.”

“Fuck,” Fury groaned, swiping a hand across his pecs. “Forgot about him. Tell him we’ll be down in a minute. Don’t let any fucker twat him. Mamma Dot’ll be on the warpath and we’ll all be shitting spiders.”

“Hurry the fuck up, Fury. Your blood or not, he’s not welcome in my bar. Fucking mad head coming in here again.”

Fury nudged me towards the edge of the bed, throwing his legs out his side and standing up in front of me, stark, bollock naked. His cock was semi-hard, but it still hung thick and long between his legs. Most of it was the same lightly tanned colour of his arms, and legs and chest, the tip just a little darker that the rest as the foreskin pulled neatly back over most of the head.

“Doll, we’ve been fucking for a couple of days now. Yet you still look at this like it’s the first you’ve seen in your life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a beast. The best you’ve had. I get it.” Fury smiled mischievously, the faint outline of the dimples under his beard and his loose hair sweeping to one side. “Come on. We better get down there before the shit hits the fan.”

*****

“And you say you think your brother Gordon has taken the missing company money?”

He looked so much like Fury, just younger, and thinner, with shorter hair.

“Ms Fischer,” he prompted.

“Hmm. Yes. Well, I’m guessing it must be him.”

“But you have no evidence?”

“No. Not for the money that has been going missing. The cash withdrawals, the cheques. I can’t find the cheque book either,” I added when PC Mini Fury opened his mouth.

He frowned, scribbling in the tiny notebook. Around me bikers lurked, watching our exchange, their arms crossed over their chests, attempts at hostility that the young police sergeant completely ignored like they just weren’t there.

“So, why do you think he is responsible for the threatening emails and texts and the missing money?”

“Fuck’s sake, Jacob,” Fury cursed, stepping closer.

“Back off, Freddie. This is in my hands now. Or you would never text me for help.”

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