Page 105 of Fury

“Who?” The lawyer squinted, slanting his head as if he’d had trouble deciphering my use of the English language.

“Whose idea was this, fuckwad?” I said through gritted teeth.

He sat up straight in his chair, his forehead wrinkling. “This came from the top.”

“From National?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me who.”

“It was agreed on by the board.”

“Someone made the pitch.”

He folded his hands over a manila folder. “Reich Malone. He’s new on the board, lots of ideas. Kick ass ideas, I was told. He’s been working on some new venture out here in Illinois and needs the Silver Crows on board.”

Reich. Pushing me down, shoving me into his fucking holes to fill gaps yet again. Worst fucking timing in the world.

I’d been on my way to see Serena for the first time in three months. I hadn’t been able to contact her much lately as things had gotten fucked up with the Smoking Guns again. A small outbreak of tension with Med’s crew, and it was better to lay low for a while until things cooled off. Better to lay low now that I knew that Reich had eyes on me.

Had he seen us together? With me out of the way would he now swoop in and grab her? I dropped my head in my hands. At least I’d talked to Tania on the phone and gave her the head’s up. She’d go to Serena and tell her. How had she reacted? What was going through her mind?

I banged my fists on the table.

Again, I was a prisoner, but this time with a serial number to match and clean clothes provided by the state. Another prison where I had to not feel, not give in, not give up, and survive. A cog in the wheel, the junkyard dog. Kicked at. Maneuvered.

But this time there would be no Serena to whisper with in the gloomy shadows. No Serena to brighten the wretched darkness. No Serena to touch and be touched by, to hold and be held by.

The lawyer pushed back from the table and stood, adjusting his jacket, grabbing his briefcase. “I’ll let you know what the DA says. Remember, you don’t talk to anyone but me.”

I swung my head back. “Fuck you.”

29

Tania stood with me atthe side of the road where I was meeting Stephanie, a friend from school, who was driving home to Texas. I was hitching a ride with her.

Anywhere out of Chicago.

Tania grabbed my hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

My throat was dry, and I was too weary to even swallow past the soreness. “Tan, I have to.” My heel shoved at my two big duffel bags stuffed with clothes, sketchpads, and my small sewing machine. I’d managed to sell and give everything else away, and even got out of my lease on my apartment.

I looked away, choking on a breath, tears streaming down my face despite my determination to be stoic. I used to be good at stoic.

Tania pulled me close. “Honey, I know this is horrible right now, but he’ll be out in a few years.”

“We don’t know anything for sure.”

“It seems like a long time right now, but when he gets out, maybe things will be different and then—”

“Nothing will be different, Tania. Nothing. They’ll still be after us, after me. And I won’t put you in danger, and I can’t—”

“Shh. I know. We’ve been over it enough times.” Tania didn’t necessarily agree with my decision, but she supported me like a true sister would.

The bright white headlights of a truck thundering by us on the road flashed over our faces. Here I was again, on the run, anxious. But this time, I was in control.

“I know you’ll get your second chance together one day,” she said. “You have to.”

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