Page 33 of Fury

I pulled over at the side of the road, grabbed the urn and headed into a grove of trees. I hurled my father’s ashes over the straggly green grasses and short bushes, dumping the urn.

“Goodbye, Fuse.”

He belonged here. I didn’t. I knew I didn’t.

I got back on my bike and started her up, my eyes landing on the old narrow truss bridge over the Missouri. My pulse picked up, I grinned. It was hardly a magnificent gateway to a new life, but it was my gateway, my new world.

I would create my own place in the Elk charter, and I would earn it, make it mine.

Up on the slight incline of the ramp I kicked up my speed and crossed over the great river into Nebraska.

9

Reich wanted me out, andhe got it. But I wanted Reich to remember me and my fucking dignity. To remember that I knew. That I’d always be watching him. That he hadn’t put me down; he had to reckon with me.

A few weeks later I returned to Missouri.

A party raged at the clubhouse. One of those open house occasions to ring in the summer. The type of party where the club’s infamous “moon juice” was brewed. A shiny trash can filled with all kinds of booze and gallon jugs of cheap and colorful juice. A whole bottle of liquid LSD would be added to unhinge the ride from the rollercoaster track, and tabs of peace and sunshine acid would be thrown in for extra sparkles. A real Hawaiian Punch bomb.

The club was jammed full of people hunting the ultimate good time, hangers on wanting to prove themselves, chicks wanting to get noticed.

I waited.

I didn’t want to be seen or be recognized by anybody, so the waiting was fine by me when the end result would be so fucking sweet and last so fucking long.

Four a.m.

I slid through the gap in the fence at the back that Gyp had once repaired and done a totally shit job on. A few men staggered through the courtyard, a woman’s laughter rose in the distance. No music, no bike engines.

He’d be in his room off the left hallway.

I pushed at the half open door, rumbling breathing rose from the bed across the room. Reich was on his back naked. A naked blonde lay at his side, her face by his feet, his hand on the ass of another naked girl sprawled on his other side. Perfect.

Reich loved moon juice. He loved making it. He was the master of ceremonies. The showman of the grand cocktail. The warlock of the juju. He always made a big show of mixing it up with this huge wooden paddle he’d found at a hardware store. Then he’d make girls line up, lick it, and he’d paddle their asses with it—the paddle parade contest or some shit, he’d called it—and the prize was licking his cock. So creative. Sure enough, the paddle lay on the floor by the foot of his big bed. The stale stench of berries and alcohol fumes lingered over it, mingling with the odor of sweat and sex.

I bit down on a smile and slid the door closed. I put on my thin latex gloves, slipped the box cutter from my back pocket and leaned over him. Taking his soft dick in my hand, I slashed at his foreskin. Blood spurted on my fingers, and my pulse pounded at the sight, feeding my lust to take more from him. A beast unfurled inside me demanding more. A beast whose hunger was raw and desperate. I cut him in sure, precise strokes. No hesitation, no fear, only satisfaction buzzed through me.

Keeping up with my hand and grip exercises had really come through for me.

Reich howled, his eyes jerking open, his body flinching, hands searching in the dark. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, body twisting, and he whimpered and fought for air, but he was oblivious, clueless, still tripping.

He settled, and I made two more quick slashes until I was happy with my quasi-circumcision. I wanted him to live with a mark, my mark on his precious tool. Let him feel pain and anxiety whenever he got a hard on, and humiliation at his scarred cock. His “intact” cock was his pride for sure; he’d always bragged about how he wasn’t cut and more of a man since there was more of him. Now I’d made his dick ugly. Just enough that he’d always be reminded that he’d been assaulted when he was down. Maybe he’d get some kind of infection, definitely a scar. He would never know how it happened, who did it to him, but it would be there and he would know and so would I. He’d never tell anyone about it, I was sure of it.

I slid my box cutter in my back pocket. “For my dad, you fuck. For me.”

Reich’s eyes jerked open at the sound of my voice and darted over me. Those rubbery lips warbled, sounds croaked from his mouth. His head knocked back on a groan, eyes closed.

My heart pounded full and hard, the surge of adrenaline through my veins intense. I was glad he opened his eyes and saw me. Once he sobered up, he’d never be sure if he’d really seen me or he’d been hallucinating. The question would always be there in his mind, forever teasing him with my venom.

I prowled out of that clubhouse, savoring the rush. Excitement, satisfaction on a whole other level. I rode hard all the way back to Elk, making the ten hours it normally would have taken, barely eight.

My thirst for revenge on that fucker was sated for now. But I knew it was a thirst for a sweet frothy cocktail that would never end.

Damn, I liked the flavor.

10

“You’re gonna love this blast,man. Especially since blowing shit up is your favorite hobby.” Drac burst into a rich rolling laugh, handing me a fresh beer.

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