Page 42 of Fury

“I’ll be fine.” She put her hair up in a knot and adjusted herself on the saddle. “You’re the one bleeding.”

“Huh?”

“Your arm.”

Blood had soaked through my shirt and streamed down my arm. The sting remained steady, but I pushed back the wave of pain.

“You have something I can wrap it with?” Her hands made quick work of the buckles on my saddlebag. She found a bandana and quickly tied it around my bleeding arm.

The roar of pipes screamed in the air. They were onto us. “Fuck it, we gotta move.”

She wrapped her arms around me, her hold firm. “Get us out of here.”

13

We’d gotten out of townand laid low in a ravine, hiding until I was sure the two men on our tail were circling and couldn’t find us. I stopped at three different rest areas to use a pay phone. Each time was a fail.

No Dig.

Once more, I tapped out my number on the metallic keypad. I waited. And waited. No return call. Through the scratched, cloudy glass of the phone booth, I watched Serena arch her back, adjusting herself on the saddle.

We would head north out of Kansas through Nebraska to South Dakota, a trip that would take roughly five hours. I’d feel better about everything once we got out of Nebraska, but shit, Serena wasn’t looking so good.

She was pale, her thin form curved over the seat. She wore the extra pair of shades I kept on my bike, and they were plenty big on her face, overtaking her delicate features. She was delicate, yeah, but invincible.

Still nothing. No return call.

Where the hell was Dig, goddammit?

I wanted us off the major highways, to lay low, but I also needed access to a goddamn phone. My nerves scraped through my flesh. The Guns could have scouts everywhere.

I abandoned the phone booth. “You sure you don’t want to get up, stretch out?” I asked her.

She only shook her head tightly.

Was she sick? Or maybe they did something to her to match the bruises on her face? I could tell she was uncomfortable with every small move she made, adjusting her ass on the seat, taking in a deep breath as she rolled her shoulders back, flexing her feet, stretching out one leg at a time.

At the next rest stop, I bought us orange juice and a package of small blueberry muffins, which we downed quickly. I made her get up this time, and I wrapped my arm around her, holding her against my body as I again punched the number of the payphone onto the keypad.

No answer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I slammed the receiver onto the phone.

“Shh, don’t attract attention,” she said into my neck, her cool lips moving against my skin, a hand stroking my back.

“I can’t fucking believe this shit. He promised me. I should’ve made sure before I left. Damn it!”

“Is there anybody else you can call?”

I released my hold on the payphone and caught a glimpse of vulnerability and fear gliding over her face like a quick moving cloud.

I had to keep it together. Yeah, things were not going as planned, or everything was fucking unplanned on my part—my fault—but I had to let it go and focus. I took in a breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try him at another number.”

I dialed the number for the One-Eyed Jacks clubhouse. I’d memorized it a long time ago, like I’d memorized a lot of phone numbers out of necessity.

“Yeah?”

“Is Dig there?”

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