Page 20 of Fury

Fucking goodbye.

“I’m going to miss you.” My voice broke.

She sucked in a tiny breath. “Me too.” She grabbed the mug and the spoon. “I hope you can forget all this. Maybe someday you will. Maybe one day everything that happened to you here won’t matter. It’ll just be a story you tell around the fire over a few beers to impress people. A wild piece of your club history.” Her teeth scraped her lips. “You go and have a good life.”

“Forgetting this means forgetting you. And I’ll never forget you, Serena.”

“I’ll never forget you either, Justin.” She scrambled for the door.

Something bright and sharp slid through me. “When I come back for you, will you come with me?”

She stopped in the doorway and turned. Her lips parted as if she were listening to beautiful music, astounding music.

“Hell yes.”

6

Iwas deliveredback to Missouri,dumped on the icy hard ground in a field in the middle of winter like a sack of garbage. Familiar faces filled my vision.

“You’re home now, Kid.” My heartbeat settled at the sound of my Vice President’s deep voice. Chaz held my head in his lap in the back of the van that barreled toward the clubhouse.

Once there and settled on a pool table, needles punctured me, an IV inserted. The doctor scowled as he unwrapped the gauze bandages covering my hands.

“Ah, shit.” Chaz groaned. “Oh man, oh man,” he muttered over and over again, rubbing a hand down his mouth, staggering back a step.

I succumbed to the dull throb of the tugging, cleaning, wrapping.

Where was she?

I searched for her eyes, her touch, those soft fingers skimming my skin. A slight tickle, soothing, slow. Yeah, that was it. Up my arm. A kiss inside my elbow, her lips lingering there, her breath a soothing mist over me.

Rena.

Wait, no, no.

Serena.

A needle pricked my skin.

I sank and flew with her whispering sweet words into my ear, her hands in my hair, fingertips trailing up and down my arms. I reached for her like I always did.

Touch me. Touch me.

“Get these antibiotics, more of these bandages. Pain meds. He’s badly dehydrated too.”

My other hand was being tugged. My eyelids stretched and strained toward the dull ache. The doctor was bent over my hand, concentrating. Stitching. My head knocked back against the table. I searched the faces that hovered over me. I was back at the club. Back at the Flames of Hell.

It all came rushing back like a movie at high speed.

Siggy? Dad? Where’s Dad?

My chest caved in. Siggy was gone. The old man was dead. I’d forgotten. For a split second I’d fucking forgotten.

The bandages on my face were peeled back. I breathed through my mouth, my heels digging into the table, grunts escaping my lips.

“Jesus.”

The medicinal smell of cleaning solutions, careful dabs.

---