Page 43 of Fury
Slate grinned, then tossed another rock onto Mason’s grave as he said, “Wait until Willa gives you a baby girl, see how you feel about someone fucking your baby.”
***
Bethany
Bethany was nervously checking her mirrors yet again because there were three bikes trailing her car. They had been behind her for fifteen minutes as she navigated her way through Fort Wayne, headed from her hotel to the clubhouse where she would be finally able to see Fury and decide if this was more than a one-night stand.Hopefully.
She glanced into her mirror again, same three bikes still reflected there. She recognized one of the riders, the other two she didn’t. At the next light, the one she knew roared around her and swooped back in front of her car, then slowed down, the rider making insistent motions towards a store coming up on the right. She followed his bike in, keeping her eyes on him as he pulled to a halt in an empty section of the parking lot. She had barely gotten the car in Park when her door flew open; Bethy shrieked and lurched away, her seatbelt preventing any real retreat.
“Phone, keys, wallet.” The mass of black leather standing in her door said the three words as if they made sense, and she tilted her head, looking up at him. He scowled, the tattoo on the side of his neck jumping with his visibly racing pulse. Growling now, he snapped, “Don’t like repeating myself, girl.”
“What?” She was confused because he hadn’t really said anything, then things became clear when he leaned into the car, snagging the keys from the ignition. His head moved, scanning the inside of the vehicle and he reached out, pulling the cord from her phone and dropping it to the floor of the car before putting the phone along with her keys in his pocket.
“Wallet.” Down to a single word, she realized what he must want and quickly grabbed her purse, handing him the whole thing, shoving it into his hands. “Good enough,” he said and took a step back.
Hoss moved forward into the opening, holding out a leather jacket. “It’s chilly today. Put this on, Bethy,” he said, and she took the garment from his hands.
Holding it protectively in front of her, she asked, “Where’s Mason?” This wasn’t an ambush in a dark hallway, but even standing in the open in a parking lot she felt the terror trying to claw its way up her throat.
“Takin’ you to him, sweetheart,” Hoss said gently. “He called this in, wants you where he is as fast as we can get you there.”What if Mason’s hurt?They’d tell her if he was hurt, she felt certain of that. If he was okay, that meant it must be someone or something else.
“Where’s Fury?” That question caused him pain, and he had to look away before he answered.
“Not with Mason. I’m not sure beyond that. Put on the jacket, Bethy.” She did, and with a hand on her back, he pushed her steadily away from the car. She looked back as the door closed and saw the lights blink once, heard the beep as the locks engaged. Glancing over, she saw the man with her keys stuffing them and her phone into her purse, watching bemused as he shoved that into one of the saddlebags on his bike.
“Climb on behind me,” Hoss said, and she saw more pain move through his face, remembering it was only two months since his wife had passed. That passing sudden and brutal. If Hope were still here, she would have been riding behind him. Bethy knew that, and couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that today, he wanted her there.
“You’re taking me to Mason?” She wanted to hear him say it plainly. Flat-out, she wanted, noneeded, that certainty. Holding to her control with a brittle grip, close to losing the battle with her fears, she waited.
Straddling his bike, Hoss held out a hand as he nodded. “Yeah, takin’ you to him.”
Wordlessly, she swung onto the seat behind him, reaching up and gripping the sides of his waist.
Within minutes she felt frozen, her fingers so cold she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. Glancing forward over Hoss’ shoulder, through wind-whipped tears she saw the speedometer hovering around one hundred, and decided she didn’t want to know if they went faster. Hunkering down behind him, she tried to protect herself from the wind as best she could. An hour later they slowed, their procession of one entering a small city, riding sedately to a small house on a small street, unremarkable in any way.
Standing up off the bike, Hoss offered her his hand, supporting her when her legs would have given way. Arm around her waist he walked her up the cement path, onto the porch, and into the house without even a knock. She saw a startled woman’s face appear and then disappear in a doorway, Hoss walking them straight through the house and out the back door. Stepping off the small back porch, he strode directly to an older model truck sitting in the driveway. He reached out a hand to open the passenger door and gently, wordlessly, urged her to get in.
Once convinced she was settled, he slammed the door shut, walking around and climbing into the driver seat. Fingers to the visor overhead, he pulled out a set of keys and shoved them into the ignition. Twisting them, starting the truck, he never even looked back at the house as they drove away, but Bethy did. She saw the same woman’s face in the window, fear stark on her features.
Twenty minutes later, they were on a remote back road, tall fields of corn surrounding them on either side. As he slowed and turned into a driveway, she stared at the house they were approaching. Well kept, its yard yellowing from the late season. Still she noticed two things that struck a chord of disquiet in her chest.
It looked like a family house, but there were no kids’ toys in the yard. No tire swing from the oak tree in the side yard, no swing set, no bikes. No family lived here; this was a different kind of place. And regardless of them being so undeniably in the middle of a corn field, there were no outbuildings to speak of. No big barn, multi-level and built up, set-up for animals on the earth-sheltered ground floor, farm implements situated on the main floor, driven up the ramp and inside to keep them out of the unpredictable Ohio weather. No barn, no silo, no garage next to the house, just a small storage building at least a hundred feet from the back door of the house.
Her eyes focused back on the house as the truck rolled to a stop.Mason. Her brother stood on the porch, his presence giving truth to Hoss’ words.Healthy and whole. She didn’t recognize the feeling clenching her chest as fear until it was gone. Fear that she was being taken to his deathbed, the feeling remaining coiled in her throat until it was no longer a possibility.
Tears streaming down her face, she shoved and pushed at the lever holding the door closed, finally working the mechanism and rolling out of the truck at a run. Mason met her at the bottom of the steps and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him, soothing her with soft words. Each moment that passed put more distance between her and a panic attack, and Bethy felt herself beginning to tremble in a delayed reaction.
After a time, when she felt she could speak without tears, she lifted her head from where it was buried in his chest and looked over his shoulder. What she saw caused all the air to leave her body in a big whoosh. Fury stood nearby, hands on his hips, watching her and her brother. There were vivid bruises on his face and an expression of pain on his features as he silently stared at them.
That pain receded when he caught her eyes, and then he held out his hands, opened his arms and she couldn’t extricate herself from Mason’s grip fast enough. Four running steps later, she was up the stairs and in his arms, hearing his pained grunt as he took her weight, but all that mattered was this. The connection they had, the care in his touch, and she knew her feelings were there for everyone to see when she lifted her face to him, when he took her mouth, kissing her hard and long.Love.
***
Mason
“Serious as a heart attack, Bethy. You hit me one more time and I’ll give you something to regret,” Mason growled, scowling down at his little sister.
“You basically had me kidnapped.” She yelled, not quite a shriek, but then again they had heard those already. “Kidnapped. Most people don’t get kidnapped once in their lives.” She leaned into him, face twisting with anger. “Much less twice. And, both times by blood.”
