Page 41 of Fury

“But I can’t get in there. I can’t. They had me—”

My eyes flared with the memory of her telling me how Med would lock her in his closet whenever he wanted, which was a lot of the time.

“Back seat.” I grabbed what looked like a rolled up workout mat from the trunk and gave it to her and closed the door. She crouched on the floor of the backseat and covered herself with the purple rubber mat.

I got in the driver’s seat, the thick plastic of the wheel burning through my thin gloves. I started the car and rolled to the front gate, my redneck baseball cap pulled down low at an angle, my bandana up high to cover my scars. The grocery truck had just taken off and rounded the corner at the end of the street.

“Who the hell are you?” asked a short, stocky, blond guy, a meatball sub hanging from his hand at the gatehouse.

“Jan’s ex. Bitch took my shit when she left me in Oklahoma. I’m taking back what’s mine.”

“That can’t happen, man,” said the blond, his thick eyebrows rising into peaks. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

“You all can have her whoring ass. I just want my wheels back. Now open the goddam gate.”

“Hey, you look—”

“Stop! That’s my car! Stop!” Jan came running toward us, arms waving, brown hair flying.

I whipped out my Kimber and fired at the blond guy. His mess of a sandwich fell to the ground in a splatter of blood and tomato sauce, his body crumpling in a pile next to it. I jumped into his booth and pushed at the buttons of the control panel box. The gate slid open.

“Holy shit!” Jan screamed.

“What the fuck?” shouted that guy from the kitchen, running toward us, eyes raging, gun in the air. I shot him in the chest, his buzzed head snapping back, his body twisting, falling to the ground.

Lunging back into the car, I reached out to close the door and a blade ripped into my arm, pain tearing through me. Holding a bloodied knife, Jan dove at me again. I grabbed the bitch’s hair with my other hand, pulling her head back. She screeched, and I yanked harder on her. The knife went flying.

Bam.

She dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Serena stood over her, a gun in her hand. Her dark eyes met mine. “No one hurts you. Not again. Not ever.”

The vision of Avenging Serena burned a hole right through me and made me forget any kind of pain.

“You got a gun on you?” I said.

“I’d be stupid not to.”

I let out a laugh. “You ain’t stupid.”

“They’re a couple more men out in the back.”

“Baby, get in the car.”

Serena tucked the Glock in the back of her jeans, and she folded herself under the mat again as I slammed her door shut. I kicked Jan’s body away from the driver side door, got in the car, and tore out of the Smoking Guns property just as two other men came running toward us. I wiped the sweat from my face, and my arm burned, but I ignored it as I gunned the engine.

We finally got into town. I took Serena by the hand and quickly led her to my bike. I lit up the ignition, stealing a glance at her. She grinned at me, her fingers brushing over the scars on my cheek. Her lips landed on mine, and my lungs crushed against my rib cage.

It was true, it was real. We’d made it fucking happen. She was free, and we were together.

“Justin—”

“Get on,” I choked out.

She swung on my bike and settled in behind me with a wince and a small groan.

My hand reached back and squeezed her leg. “You okay?”

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