Page 40 of Fury

“Don’t forget the cans for recycling out back,” he said.

“I won’t.” She finally left the kitchen, and I breathed again.

My pulse raced as I followed her down a back hallway. A line of vending machines and refrigerators stood against the end wall. Serena walked slowly, stiffly, a slight limp to her gait. My jaw tightened. What the hell had that motherfucking whack done to her?

She opened the door of a large commercial refrigerator. “Load them in here.”

I bent over and took the cold soda cans from the crate and lined them up on the shelves. “You all right? What happened?”

“Are you crazy?” she said her voice low, eyes flashing.

“I told you I’d come for you.”

“You did, but—”

“You didn’t believe me?”

Her eyes searched mine. “I don’t believe in anything.”

My lips curved up. “That’s why I had to come.”

Her eyes flared, lips parted. A mental stutter. I’d shocked her. Something in my chest slid into place. Locked and primed.

“They’ve gone to California for the week.”

“I know. Who’s here?”

“A couple of prospects at the gate, and three more in here wandering around.”

“You got a car?”

“Me? No. But Jan does. The girl inside.”

“Can you borrow it and get us out of here?”

She grinned. “No, she hates me, but I’ll get her keys.”

“You can’t take anything with you.”

She let out a huff of air. “Nothing I want from here anyhow. I’ll be right back.”

She took off down another hall and was back within a few minutes carrying a pink handbag.

“It’s Jan’s,” she said and fished out a pink teddy bear key chain. “Car.”

I smiled, and she smiled back, and that unique heat shot through my veins adding its special hit of spice to my adrenaline rush. She took out Jan’s wallet, grabbed the cash, and tucked it in her front jeans pocket. “All set, let’s go.”

Serena took my hand in hers, and I gripped her tight. She led me down the other end of the hallway. We got outside, and the hot sun roiled over my skin, shocking my eyeballs into submission. I pulled my cap down lower.

We headed for a small gray Ford Fiesta with Oklahoma plates out in the lot.

“She’s from Oklahoma?”

“Yeah.”

I opened the trunk, and she whispered, her voice shaky, “You know I trust you.”

“Good.”

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