Page 17 of Fury

He grabs a first aid kit and practically throws it in my direction. I catch it, watching cautiously as he sits down. “There should be glue in there,” he mutters.

I place the kit on the bench beside him and open it, taking out a piece a gauze to wipe the cut. I hold the back of his head and press it, applying pressure to try to stop the bleeding. “Why are you mad at me?” I eventually ask.

“I’m not mad.”

“I know you,” I remind him, and he scoffs. “I know you,” I repeat more firmly, “and I know when you’re pissed.”

“Why him?” he snaps, pushing to his feet and towering over me. The gauze drops to the floor as my hand falls away from his face. “All the fucking men in London and you choose him? When you weren’t here, I could forget about you and pretend you wereleading a good life,” he continues, anger radiating from him. “You were married with kids and a dog. You had a nice house,” he snaps, tapping his head, “in here.”

“I’m happy,” I whisper.

“But now, I can see that none of that is true and you’re still coasting along in life, still fucking scumbags,” he snaps. “Still making the wrong choices.”

“You’re one to talk,” I mutter.

“I never stood a chance, Xanth. My life was set to this, but yours wasn’t.”

“Which one were you, Reese, a scumbag or a wrong choice?”

“Fury,” he bellows. “My fucking name is Fury.” I can’t stop the tears as they balance carelessly on my lower lash line. “I was a wrong choice,” he hisses, “but you insisted on pursuing it, and where did that leave me, Xanth? On the first train outta there.”

I inhale sharply at his words. “You blame me?” I gasp. “They found you a permanent foster home.”

“They found out I was fucking their daughter,” he cries angrily, stepping back and gripping handfuls of his hair. “I was good enough to foster but not to be with their little girl.”

My mouth falls open, hardly believing his words. “No,” I whisper. “They found a couple who were looking to adopt a teenage boy.”

“When does that ever happen?” he yells. “You know the statistics—no one gets adopted in their teens, especially not a teenage boy.” I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I believed my parents when they sat me down and told me the social worker had found him a new home. “You believed what you wanted to believe,” he almost whispers.

“I didn’t know,” I mutter.

The door opens, and Chevy sticks his head in. “Everything okay? What’s taking so long?”

I immediately turn away and busy myself looking through the first aid bag. “I feel sick,” says Fury. “She thinks I have a concussion. I was just telling her I’m good to go.”

“You should rest,” I cut in to keep up the act.

“Just glue the eye and get back out there. Boss is getting irritated,” he mutters, leaving again.

Fury sits on the bench and tips his head back, closing his eyes. I pinch his cut together and squeeze the glue across it. Being so close to him suddenly feels too much, and when he trails a hand up the back of my leg, resting it against my backside, I inhale sharply. “I missed you,” he whispers. “I told myself that staying away was for the best, but now, I’m not so sure.” He opens his eyes, and we stare at one another. “If you’re going to date a prick, then at least choose me.”

I step back, and his hand falls away. “You don’t mean that,” I whisper.

“Every. Single. Word.”

The door opens, and Donnie storms in. “What’s going on?”

I drop the glue in the bag and zip it closed, turning to smile at Donnie. “Your fighter is stubborn,” I say, my tone teasing. “He should rest. He’s concussed.”

“He’ll be fine,” mutters Donnie, grabbing my hand. “There are people I want you to meet.” And he practically marches me out of there.

CHAPTER FIVE

Fury

Iknock back the whiskey Axel hands me and wince. I’m starting to feel pain in my jaw, and my ribs still hurt from the previous fight. “You should be happy,” says Grizz. “He paid you for tonight even though you owe him.”

“He paid me because he wants me to owe him,” I snap. “I told him to keep my cut, but he wouldn’t.”

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