Page 2 of Fury

I gotta keep it together. Keep it together.

Would they kill me? Ask for some kind of ransom? I was sure my dad and my club were working to bust me out. Working on some sort of plan, working hard. They had to be.

One figure, a slight one, stood motionless just beyond the men. A girl. Long bright red hair, and her eyes...the most mesmerizing eyes I’d ever seen. An odd combination of blue and green, like pictures of the Caribbean Sea that I’d seen in magazines. Was it ‘cause her eyes were so big? I held her serious gaze, and she didn’t look away. Her expression was somber, not teasing, not mocking. I wasn’t entertaining her. My vision was still fuzzy, and I blinked, but she was gone. She was probably a mirage. A mirage of hope and empathy in this crazy Roman fucking orgy in the middle of Buttfuck, Kansas.

I counted the lines in the cracked flooring, but I got lost. They were only quivering scratches, and I couldn’t keep track of them. My joints ached, my bare body cold against the hard floor. I lay in a ball on that floor through hours and hours and hours. Got kicked, got spit on. Finally, they brought me to a prison cell where I got some sleep. The next night they brought me back out to the main room and chained me back to that post again.

“Hey, Kid! Guess what?” shouted somebody. “It’s been two days, and your club’s playing hard ball. Told ya they wouldn’t care so much about some prospect of theirs.”

Laughs and whoops filled the room, pounding into my aching skull. A kick jabbed me in the leg. My tired eyes lifted.

Med stared down at me. “You’re Fuse’s son, huh? Ain’t that something. Known him a long time. Well, the bad news is, your daddy’s dead, and they’re too busy with his funeral to deal with your ass. How ‘bout that, huh?”

Dad dead? No, no, it can’t be. We’d just started to really hang out. I was a prospect now...not now…not…

Sour bile jerked up my insides and shot up my throat. I retched all over myself. Whatever was left of myself. The music roared again, and I shut my eyes, my body curling into a ball.

My hair got pushed over my arm, away from my face, and I flinched at the contact. A cool towel swept over my skin, scouring my flesh like sandpaper. Those blue green eyes were over me.

“Just cleaning you up,” she said.

I stared at her. Who was she? Why was she bothering? Maybe she’d pull a blade and play with me too. My aching muscles stayed tense as her towel, a thick faded red, stroked over me carefully.

“Why?” I asked. “They’re just gonna do it again.”

Her gaze met mine, and in it I saw a flicker of something, not cold or hard, like indifference or duty, but a split second of warmth that raced over my flesh like the sure strokes of her towel.

“I know,” she said quietly. “They will.” That deep voice was frank, resigned, and I leaned in closer to hear more of it. She dipped the towel in a small bowl of water and soap.

“Did they kill him?” my voice croaked. “My dad? Do you know?”

“No, they didn’t kill him. He was at your club, had a heart attack.”

A heart attack. He’d had a heart attack once before when he’d been in jail years ago. A heart attack induced by something else Reich had done. Now Dad was gone, and I wouldn’t see him again. Wouldn’t ride with him again. He wouldn’t be there when I got patched in.

If I patched in.

If I ever made it out of here alive.

The girl wiped at my leg and down the other. Her attention was some sort of seduction. She was just prepping me for more torture, wasn’t she?

“Get the fuck off me,” I said through gritted teeth.

She stopped and sat back on her heels, her lips pressed together. She took her towel and bowl and slid back into the crowd. I choked down the tears, the ache. I was nothing but pain.

Nothing but alone.

2

One bloodied eye hung onme.

The white was washed with red, but at the center was the most startling eye I’d ever seen, and certainly the most alive. That molten iron eye held my gaze, gleaming, defying, and I was rooted to the cement floor by its brawn.

In the two days since he’d been here, the prisoner had shut down. He’d been brought to this dark basement cell after the first night, and he’d barely spoken since, except just now to tell Motormouth to go fuck himself. He’d tried strangling Motor with his chains, but he was weak and Motor got him down and punched him out, then he’d shortened the chains. I’d heard the yelling from the top of the stairs, and I’d come running.

“You’re gonna feel everything we dish out from here on in.” Motormouth’s sneering voice made me clench my jaw. “Med wants you wide awake, feeling like misery and wishing for death. You got that?” Motormouth’s steel-toed boot kicked at his ribs, and Kid’s body shoved over on the floor closer to my feet, his other eye swollen and ugly. Sealed shut.

“Fuck you!” the prisoner spit out along with blood and goop.

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