Page 23 of Fury

“Just the two of them?”

“Yeah.” She let out an exhale. “Why don’t you take a nap? I’m gonna get a move on and get home. I’m real sorry, baby. Real sorry. We all miss him.” She folded over the napkin she’d used on my mouth, dropped it in the empty chili bowl, and left.

My pulse rattled in my throat, and I took in a deep breath to fight it. My dad never liked Reich. Dad was the veteran, the old codger, the has been, the back seat driver, but a figure to be respected. Around the club, the elders deserved special consideration, and they got it. For the most part. Fuse had made his mark on his club and had been a bro for over thirty years. Reich was the up and coming officer, the Sergeant at Arms with new ideas and a lofty sense of self.

I needed to keep my cool, keep it together, find out more.

My head sank back into the pillow, my eyes landing on the vase again. Urn. Whatever.

A swirl of dizziness overtook my brain, my stomach twisted. I moved my hand, and the numbness and stiffness of that ugly paw only made my chest heavy. That aching, shooting pain was still there where my finger used to be.

I jammed my eyes closed and clung to the fact that my dad had stood up for me to his literal dying breath. I clung to that like it was a piece of scrap metal skimming the surface of the ocean after the plane crash of my life. Whenever he had stood up for me, which wasn’t too often, he did it big.

The first time Fuse stood up for me was when he’d got me out from under my mother’s crazy. He’d actually given a shit.

Ilaid eyes on my fatherfor the first time when I was seven years old. He was this giant of a man from where I was playing on the floor in front of the television at the neighbor’s house. His dark brown eyes flashed at me, his wide shoulders and massive chest expanded under a worn black leather jacket, and a chill raced up my neck. I dropped the Hot Wheels car in my hand.

He plucked me up from the floor, and we sailed through the living room, past Miss Sally, through her front hall that always smelled of Lysol right to the front door.

“Wait, wait, what’s going on now?” Miss Sally said, her voice shrill, her worn house slippers shuffling behind us.

He didn’t stop or slow down as he moved us out the door. “This is my kid,” he said as he lifted me up onto the saddle of his towering, two-wheeled, metal monster. His voice was sure, firm. He would not be denied. My fingertips curled into the thick leather of his jacket.

Finally. Finally my dad had come for me. I had a dad like I always believed I did. Mom would never talk about him. Never ever. She’d just ignore my questions every time, huffing and puffing, making faces, grabbing another cigarette.

Miss Sally made one last effort. “Yes, but his mother—”

“How long she been gone this time?” He slid big leather gloves on his enormous hands. In fact, his whole outfit was leather. Totally cool.

Miss Sally pressed her lips together, her arms stiff. “‘Bout a month this time.”

He got on the monster bike and the thing jerked in his hands. With a sudden movement, it blew up and roared, shuddering underneath us. My heart raced and boomed along with that great big engine. I looked down to see the shiny metal rattling. Would I ever see this place again? Miss Sally? Mom? I didn’t care, this was too exciting. New adventure. I was going somewhere new, somewhere better. I was gonna get more.

He kicked at something and we took off. Whoa. Sitting on that saddle, we were so high. So very high. He picked up speed real fast.

“Hold on, kid.”

And I did. I held on real tight.

I pressed into his huge back, all of me clinging to him, to his motorcycle. He drove so fast, the laugh froze in my throat, my bones vibrating with his engine.

He was taking me home with him. A home where there’d be more than what I’d ever known so far, a more that I knew existed for me.

On the road we stopped for a burger and a milkshake, and he got me my own helmet.

He laid a hand on the top of my head over the helmet. “You like that?”

I loved it. I grinned. “Oh yeah. I like it.”

Ohio.

Indiana.

Illinois.

Missouri.

We arrived at a gate that opened as if by magic. The yard was filled with men wearing jackets with blood red flames. Just like my dad’s. They were all staring at me.

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