Page 14 of Fury
"Probably both," I admit, the first hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite the circumstances.
Dad looks between us, his instincts clearly warring with his grudging respect for my actions. Finally, he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Let's get inside," he says. "We need to call the police, file a report."
"And then?" I ask, knowing there's more.
Dad exchanges a look with Greyson that speaks volumes. "And then we handle this our way."
As we move toward the house, Greyson falls into step beside me. His hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sends warmth through me despite the night's chill.
"Don't ever do anything like that again," he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear. "I just got you back. I'm not ready to lose you."
"I can take care of myself," I tell him, though the concern in his voice makes my heart flutter.
"I know you can," he replies, surprising me. "Doesn't mean you have to do it alone."
Inside the house, chaos erupts as everyone learns what happened. Mom clutches me to her chest, alternating between relief that I'm safe and horror at what I did. Aunt Brittany paces and swears, while club members make calls and discuss security measures in urgent tones.
Through it all, I feel strangely calm. The fear that's been my constant companion since that night in LA has receded, replaced by a steely determination. I'm done hiding. Done running. Done being afraid.
As I recount what happened to the police officer who arrives, I catch Greyson watching me from across the room, his blue eyes intense. Whatever this is between us, this connection that survived two years of separation, it's about to be tested by fire.
But if there's one thing I learned tonight, it's that I'm stronger than I thought. My father's daughter, indeed.
After the police officer leaves with a promise to increase patrols in the area, I collapse onto the worn leather couch, the adrenaline finally draining from my system. My hands shake as I accept the mug of tea Mom presses into them.
"I don't understand," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "Why me? I'm nobody special. I'm not famous, not wealthy. I'm just a hair stylist from a small town."
Greyson sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "You don't need to be a celebrity to attract this kind of obsession. Sometimes it's random. Sometimes it's not."
"But to follow me across state lines?" I shake my head, struggling to make sense of it. "Who would go to that much trouble for someone like me?"
The front door opens before anyone can answer, and Kyle Reed strides in with the commanding presence that's clearly genetic. His dark hair is streaked with silver at the temples, but otherwise, it's like looking at an older version of Greyson. Behind him follows a striking blonde woman I recognize as Chrystal Reed, Greyson's mother.
"Where is she?" Kyle demands, his voice filling the room. His eyes find me immediately with concern. "Olivia. Are you all right, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine, Mr. Reed," I say, surprised by his presence. Despite stepping down as president, Kyle Reed's arrival still causes a ripple of respect through the room.
Chrystal moves past her husband, coming to kneel in front of me. Her elegant hands clasp mine, her eyes, the same piercing blue as her son's, searching my face. "When we heard what happened…" She shakes her head. "This town was supposed to be safe for you."
"It's not the town's fault," I tell her, touched by her concern.
Kyle approaches my father, the two men clasping forearms in that familiar greeting of old friends and allies. "This bastard followed her from California?"
Dad nods grimly. "Looks that way. Got his plate, but the car's probably stolen."
"We've got guys looking for it now," Mason adds. "Every Devil Soul and Grim Sinner in a fifty-mile radius is on alert."
Greyson shifts beside me, his thigh pressing against mine as he leans forward. "She can't stay at your place," he says to my father. "He knows where she lives. Probably knows the code to your gate now too."
"We'll change the code," Dad says dismissively. "Beef up security."
"That's not enough," Greyson insists, his voice taking on the authoritative edge I recognize from the party. "He's been watching her, studying her patterns. Your house will be the first place he looks."
A heavy silence falls over the room as everyone processes this undeniable truth.
"She's staying with us," Mom argues. "We'll take turns keeping watch."
