Page 41 of Fury
"Yes, you do." The words come out sharper than I intended, but I can't bring myself to make them gentler for her. "He nearly killed me, Diane. He had his hands around my throat. He shot at me."
"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I never thought?—"
"That's the problem," I interrupt. "You never thought about what could happen to me. You used our apartment to hide evidence against a violent stalker without telling me. You put a target on my back without giving me a chance to protect myself."
Greyson squeezes my hand supportively as I continue.
"Do you know what the worst part is? If you'd just told me the truth from the beginning, I could have helped you. We could have gone to the police together. Instead, you let me think I was crazy when I felt like someone was watching me."
"I was trying to protect you," she says weakly.
"No. You were protecting yourself." My voice breaks slightly. "Friends don't do that to each other, Diane."
The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken regrets.
"His wife is alive," I tell her, gentling my tone slightly. "They found her in the trunk of his car. She'll recover, physically at least."
"Thank God," Diane breathes. "And the evidence? Did they use it?"
"They have everything. He's not getting out anytime soon." I pause, wrestling with my anger and the friendship we once shared. "Your plan worked, for what it's worth. You stopped him."
"We stopped him," she corrects gently. "You fought back. You survived."
I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all. "I need time, Diane. I'm not ready to forgive you yet."
"I understand," she says, and I can hear the resignation in her voice. "Just… know that I love you, Liv. You're my best friend, and I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, if you'll let me."
"Goodbye, Diane," I say, ending the call.
Greyson pulls me against his body, careful of my ribs, as tears I didn't know I was holding back spill down my cheeks.
"That was hard," he murmurs into my hair. "I'm proud of you."
"I don't know if I'll ever trust her again," I admit, my voice muffled against his chest.
"You don't have to decide that now." His hands trace soothing patterns on my back. "Some betrayals take time to heal, if they ever do."
I pull back to look at him, struck by the wisdom in his words. "When did you get so insightful about friendships and forgiveness?"
A shadow crosses his face. "When you're president of an MC, you learn quickly who you can trust with your life and who you can't. Betrayal isn't something we take lightly."
"What happens when someone betrays the club?" I ask, though part of me already knows the answer.
His eyes darken. "Depends on the betrayal. Sometimes they lose their patch. Sometimes they lose a lot more."
The reality hangs between us, a reminder of the world he inhabits—a world of brotherhood and loyalty, but also violence and retribution when necessary. A world I was born into but tried to escape, only to find myself drawn back to its center.
"Does that scare you?" he asks quietly, studying my face.
I consider the question, wanting to give him an honest answer. "Not as much as it probably should. I grew up in this life, Greyson. I know what it means to wear that president's patch."
Relief flickers across his features. "Most women wouldn't be so understanding."
"I'm not most women." I manage a small smile. "I'm Wilder Bennett's daughter, remember?"
"Trust me," he says, his eyes warming, "that's something I could never forget."
My phone buzzes again, a text from my mother this time, asking if I'm coming for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow. I show it to Greyson.
