Page 103 of Fury

“What are you talking about. Are you sure? Are you—”

She grabbed my arms tightly, facing me. “Listen to me,” her voice was even, firm. “Finger called me. From jail.”

My heart snagged on barbed wire. “What?”

“He got arrested yesterday just outside of town.”

My mind blanked.

She threw off the baseball cap and the windbreaker. “Finger got arrested last night and he’s in jail. He got a hold of a cell phone from some other inmate and called me to tell me to let you know. It was a thirty-second call at best. He didn’t use my name, just started talking at me.”

“Why? What did he—”

“They got him for possession of bomb making material related to this explosion in Springfield the day before. Two related felonies, maybe more charges. There’s no bail. He’s looking at time. Seven years, he said, something like that.”

Arrested.

The FBI must be all over Finger right this very moment like a swarm of flies on picnic food, trying to get info out of him. I was sure the Flames of Hell had a lawyer on retainer for situations like this, but who knew if he’d be able to get Finger out? Was there enough evidence to make a conviction stick? And if so, for how long?

I wouldn’t be able to visit him. He’d be watched by his club and others, and I wouldn’t be able to see him, talk to him. I wouldn’t even trust letters. Would he even be safe in jail? Would rival clubs or gangs or whoever be on his tail?

“The last thing he said was, “Remember this—leave no clues behind, Sunshine. I’ve got my hair up in a ponytail for the ride.’”

My stomach cramped, my chest caved in.

“I’m guessing you know what that means?” Tania asked.

The room swerved out from under me. Tania was a blur.

Goodbye, baby. Goodbye.

I wouldn’t be seeing Finger today or any other day. I wouldn’t be able to tell him about killing Motormouth, about Scrib suspecting he’d been the one to have gotten me out, about Turo.

About our baby.

Our baby.

“Honey, I’m sorry—” Tania reached out toward me.

I shrank away from her. “No!”

I was on my own. Alone. Arctic winds blew loud and fierce around me and the landscape offered no comforts whatsoever. Bleak, barren.

People like me and Finger had plenty of dreams, but mostly we kept our heads down, out of those pretty clouds, and we lived by the skin of our teeth.

The ache building in my heart cracked wide open and multiplied into a thousand aches like fractures rupturing over an ice covered lake, the noise deafening.

Doom.

Tears choked me. I gave in and swirled in the flood of salty water.

Tears were supposed to be cathartic, cleansing, but not mine. My tears were flammable gasoline.

I would have to light the match and set it all on fire.

Tania busied herself in mytiny strip of a kitchen making us tea. I couldn’t listen to her stream of words. I was too busy listening to my own.

One thought overtook me.

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