Page 98 of Fury
I hesitate, wishing I had better news. "She didn't make it, Livie. Volkov shot her when we breached the room."
Pain flickers across her face, not surprise but confirmation of what she'd already suspected. "At least she's not suffering anymore."
I gather her into my arms, careful of her injured ankle, and hold her as silent tears track down her cheeks. She's mourning not just Diane's death, but the friendship that was lost long before today.
"It's really over?" she asks after a while, her voice small against my chest.
"Yes." I pull back enough to meet her eyes, needing her to see the certainty in mine. "His organization will fall apart without him. Torch is already working with his contacts to make sure of it. No one connected to Volkov will ever come near you again."
She studies my face, reading the truth of what I've done in my eyes. I don't try to hide it from her. She deserves honesty, even about this.
"Did he suffer?" she asks, and there's something in her voice I've never heard before, something hard and unforgiving that matches the coldness I felt in that basement.
"Yes." I don't elaborate. She doesn't need those details.
She nods once, satisfaction flashing briefly before guilt replaces it. "Is it wrong that I'm glad? That I want him to have felt everything he made us feel?"
"No." I brush away a tear with my thumb. "It makes you human. It makes you a survivor."
She leans into my touch, her eyes closing briefly. When they open again, something has shifted—a shadow lifting, not completely, but enough.
"I want to go home," she says. "Our home. Not the clubhouse, not my dad's place. Ours."
"Are you sure?" I search her face, looking for any sign of uncertainty. "Xavier said your ankle?—"
"I don't care about my ankle." Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with surprising strength. "I need to start reclaiming my life. I need normal again. Or whatever our version of normal is."
Pride swells in my chest at her resilience. Even now, even after everything, she's fighting to move forward.
"Then that's what we'll do." I press my lips to hers—a gentle promise. "Let me talk to Xavier, make sure you're cleared to leave. Then I'll take you home."
She smiles, the first real smile I've seen since before that night, and the sight of it nearly stops my heart. "Thank you," she whispers. "For keeping your promise. For coming back to me."
"Always," I vow again, the word carrying the weight of everything I feel for this woman. "There is nothing in this world that could keep me from coming back to you."
As I hold her, feeling her heartbeat against mine, I know with absolute certainty that we'll get through this. The nightmares may continue for a while. The memories won't disappear overnight. But Volkov's shadow no longer looms over us, and that's enough for now.
Enough to start building something new from the ashes of what was taken.
Enough to remind us both that some things, the most important things, can't be broken, no matter what horrors try to tear them apart.
Our love is one of those things.
And as Livie's breathing evens out, her body relaxing trustingly against mine, I silently thank whatever fate or God or cosmic force brought her into my life. Because without her, I would be nothing but darkness and rage. With her, I am whole.
Complete.
Home.
Epilogue
Livie
Three months later, I'm sorting through a stack of clients' files at my desk in the salon when the bell above the door jingles. I don't look up immediately, focused on organizing tomorrow's appointments.
"Be with you in just a second," I call out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
The door locks with a decisive click. That sound—that familiar, promising sound—sends a shiver racing down my spine. I raise my head slowly, knowing exactly who I'll find.
