Page 2 of Fury
"Dad, you didn't have to…"
"Try telling that to your uncles. Whole club's been counting down the days." His voice drops lower. "Some more than others."
My heart stutters, but I force myself to ignore it. Two years is a long time. Whatever childish crush I'd harbored for Greyson Reed was surely extinguished by now. He's probably married with kids, running the Devil Souls with the same commanding presence as his father.
The house is exactly as I remember—family photos covering every available surface, the worn leather couch that's witnessed countless movie nights, the kitchen where Mom taught me to bake. It smells like homecooked food and, well, home.
"Your room's just how you left it," Mom tells me, following my gaze up the stairs. "Though I may have washed the sheets once or twice."
"Appreciate that." I laugh, dropping my purse on the counter.
"So," my oldest brother, Mason, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "How long before you get bored with small-town life again?"
"Mason," Mom warns, but I wave her off.
"I'm not the same kid who left," I tell him, meeting his gaze head-on. "I needed to go then. I need to be here now."
Something in my tone must convince him because he nods, his posture relaxing. "Good. Because Aunt Brittany's already booked you solid for the next month."
"Speaking of which," I say, pulling my phone out, "I should probably stop by the salon before it closes. Get the lay of the land."
Dad frowns. "You just got here."
"And I'll be back for dinner," I promise, kissing his cheek. "I just want to see the space. Maybe start setting up my station."
"That's my girl." Pride is evident in his voice. "Always ready to work."
If only he knew how much of that work ethic came from trying to prove I could make it on my own. But that's a conversation for another day. Right now, I just want to savor being home, even as I brace myself for whatever complications tomorrow might bring.
Greyson
I grip the handlebars of my Harley tighter than necessary, knuckles white against the black leather. Two fucking years. Two years of checking my phone whenever her name came up in conversation. Two years of pretending I didn't pay attention when her mother showed new pictures at club gatherings.
I fucking stalked her, found out where she was working in LA, and then I would watch her to make sure she was fucking okay.
Her little blue Honda crosses the town marker, and something inside me unlocks. I exhale a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding since she left. The late afternoon sun catches her dark hair through the windshield, and even from this distance, I can see she's rolled down her window. Probably taking in the pine-scented air she couldn't get in LA.
"Welcome home, Livie," I mutter to myself, watching until her car disappears around the bend toward her parents' place.
I feel a presence behind me before I hear his voice.
"You know, there are laws against what you're doing."
Trenton, the old vice president's son and my number two, smirks when he sees me. He leans against his bike, arms crossed over his chest, looking way too satisfied with himself. The bastard enjoys catching me like this.
"Fuck off," I mutter, swinging my leg over my bike. "Just making sure she got home safe."
"Right," he drawls, his smirk widening. "Because that's what normal people do—hide behind trees to watch women drive by."
"I wasn't hiding." The defense sounds weak even to my own ears.
"Of course not, Prez." Trenton pushes off his bike, moving closer. "You were just admiring the foliage while coincidentally positioned at the exact spot where you could see the town line."
I glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. Trent's been my best friend since we were kids throwing dirt clods at each other. When I took over the club last year after my old man stepped down, making him VP was my first decision. He knows too many of my secrets to be anywhere but at my right hand.
"She looks good." His tone shifts to something more genuine. "LA didn't break her."
"No," I agree, feeling pride swell in my chest. "It didn't."
