Page 4 of Fury
Driving back to my parents' house, I feel a sense of contentment settling over me. The road is quiet, with just a few cars passing by. No honking, no road rage, no gridlock. Just the gentle hum of my engine and the stars beginning to appear overhead.
As I park in my parents' driveway, Mom appears at the front door, waving me in. The smell of dinner hits me the moment I step inside, and my stomach growls in anticipation.
"Perfect timing." Mom pulls me into a quick side hug. "Your brothers have just set the table."
Dad looks up from his newspaper, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. "How's the salon look? Brittany keeping it up?"
"It's perfect," I say, sliding into my old seat at the table. "Already has my name on a station and everything."
Mason passes me the basket of rolls. "So, what really made you decide to come home? Last we heard, you were climbing the ladder at that fancy place in Beverly Hills."
The question hangs in the air as my mother shoots him a warning look. I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening around my water glass.
"I was going to wait to get into all this, but…" I set the glass down carefully. "Three weeks ago, I finished with my last client, an actress who always books the last appointment of the day. It was after nine when I left."
The memory sends a chill down my spine even now, sitting in my parents' warm kitchen.
"Someone followed me home from the salon. A man. I noticed the same car making all the same turns I did. When I pulled into my complex, he parked across the street."
Dad's jaw tightens, and I see his knuckles turn white around his fork.
"I ran inside, locked everything. Around midnight, I heard something at my balcony door. He'd somehow gotten past the security gate and climbed up to my second-floor apartment."
"Jesus Christ," Mason mutters.
"I called the police, but by the time they arrived, he was gone. They said without clear footage or evidence that he'd actually tried to break in, there wasn't much they could do." I swallow hard. "That was my final straw. I'd been thinking about coming home for a while, but that night, I knew I couldn't stay there anymore."
Mom reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. "Why didn't you tell us when it happened?"
"Because Dad would've had the entire Grim Sinners MC in Los Angeles within hours," I say with a weak smile. "And I needed to make this decision for myself. Not out of fear, but because I was ready."
Dad's expression is thunderous. "You got a name? Description? Anything?"
"No, Dad. The police said it was probably just some random creep." I don't mention the bouquets that had been arriving at the salon for weeks before, always with the same message: You're meant to be mine. Or the feeling I'd had of being watched for months.
"Random creeps don't climb balconies," he growls.
"Either way, I'm home now," I say firmly. "And I feel safer already."
The tension slowly ebbs as dinner continues, though I catch my brothers exchanging meaningful glances. They'll probably be taking turns driving by my apartment when I move in next week. I should be annoyed at the overprotectiveness, but tonight, it feels comforting.
After dinner, I help Mom with the dishes while Dad and my brothers retreat to the garage, no doubt discussing my stalker situation in more colorful terms than they would in front of me.
"Are you really okay?" Mom asks quietly, handing me a plate to dry.
"I am now," I answer honestly. "LA was exciting, but it never felt like home. Even before… everything."
She nods, understanding in her eyes. "Sometimes we need to leave a place to appreciate what we had."
"And sometimes we need to come back to discover what we want," I add, thinking of the salon, of this town, of the life I could build here.
Later, lying in my childhood bed, I scroll through my phone one last time before I sleep. There's a text from Lani, checking that I arrived safely. Several from former clients wishing me well. And a notification that Greyson Reed has viewed my Instagram story and the one I posted earlier of the "Welcome to Blackridge" sign as I crossed the town line.
My heart does a stupid little flip that I immediately try to squash. Two years is a long time. People change. I've changed.
Tomorrow at the clubhouse, I'll see him for the first time since I left. The thought sends a flutter of nerves through my stomach that has nothing to do with my LA stalker and everything to do with piercing blue eyes I've never quite been able to forget.
I set my phone on the nightstand and turn off the light, listening to the familiar creaks of the house settling around me. No distant sirens, no neighbors arguing through thin walls, no helicopters circling overhead. Just crickets chirping and the occasional rumble of a motorcycle passing by.
