Page 31 of Fury

Reich’s eyebrows arched high and tight. “What he thought was wrong. You gonna tell me different now?”

“My dad was fighting for me. For the dignity of the Flames.”

“Dignity?” He let out a dry laugh, his eyes piercing mine. “There’s a fine word. Bet you don’t even know the meaning of it.”

I knew what Reich thought of me. I was the club puppy, the junkyard mutt. I was there to do his bidding only, not be a true brother, not to have a voice.

“You got to learn your place.” His tone seethed.

“My place? All my life I’ve been tucked into a place and stayed there, head down, out of people’s way, convenient for everybody else. Not anymore!” I pushed against him, and he head-butted me.

I reeled backwards, pain exploding through my skull.

“There’s plenty more if you don’t watch your mouth. You have no idea what it takes to run a club, make tough decisions.”

I steadied myself on my feet. “Yeah, you’re really impressing me now.”

His hands flew in my face, his arms snapping my head flat against the ground. He pushed himself on me, his beer breath filling my nostrils. “Don’t you ever fucking open your mouth to me again. I swear I’m gonna finish what the Smoking Guns started by slicing off that tongue and feeding it to my dog. You’re here to obey orders and do as you’re told. Not to question, not to make waves.”

He released me, pushing me forward and kicking me in the back. I skidded to the pavement, the side of my face scraping on the gravelly cement, the pain excruciating. Brand new, pointy, dark brown boots appeared in my sightline.

Reich kicked me in the side. “You feeling me now, kid?”

I choked on the dust and dirt, blood on the back of my hand where I’d wiped my face.

He spit on the ground and walked off.

My head throbbed, and pain radiated through my body. I pushed myself over onto my back and gulped in fresh air, but the air wasn’t fresh. The thick humidity of the night was ripe with pot and cigarettes, beer on cement, scorched rubber on asphalt.

Reich was going to pay. One day I would make him pay.

Two weeks later, our chaptergot back from Texas. We had a meeting to go over old business and new.

“One more thing,” Coop announced, his hands spread open on the table. “Finger, you’re being sent to the northern Nebraska chapter of the Flames of Hell. Membership has been dwindling down there and they need good people.”

My back stiffened. Northern Nebraska? One of the shittiest chapters on the map.

Chaz’s face was set in a scowl as he busied himself collecting a bunch of maps and papers into a pile. The other members muttered and sighed, shifting in their seats, sharing glances.

“Nebraska?” I repeated.

“What the fuck?” Gyp mumbled next to me, a hand tugging through his spiky black hair.

Down the long meeting table, Reich studied me, his muscular arms folded tightly across his chest, a toothpick shifting between his lips.

He couldn’t just take me out, or keep making my life miserable. Nah, he wouldn’t dare. I was a symbol for the Flames now. With my pedigree, POW status, and scars, I was a huge asset, a living testimonial to standing up to the brutality of the enemy, and also of the new treaty between our historically hostile clubs.

Nebraska. Change.

I needed a change. I was chased by ghosts here, wasn’t I? Ghosts of my past and an uncertain present, not to mention a future that seemed distant, unclear. I was still living in that same small dorm room I grew up in at the club, for shit’s sake, surrounding myself with bits and scraps I’d scavenged.

Somewhere else, I could make something of myself without all this drama if I put in the effort. Yes, even in Nebraska.

Something for me.

What do I have?My colors.

In Nebraska I wouldn’t be Reich’s bitch waiting for him to drop kick me whenever he felt like it, however it entertained him. Things in Nebraska were crap, bottom rung on the ladder, but I could work with that. That was an opportunity.

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