Page 46 of Fury
"I know, Mom," I whisper back. "I'm finally starting to understand what that means."
On the drive back to Greyson's house, I stare out the window at the familiar streets of my childhood, seeing them with new eyes. This isn't just the small town I tried to escape anymore. It's a fortress, protected by men who live by codes older and stronger than any law.
And for the first time in my adult life, I'm grateful to be inside those walls instead of outside them.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Greyson says, glancing over at me as we pull into his driveway.
"Just thinking about how much has changed in a few days," I reply. "A week ago, I was worried about starting a new job and navigating family dynamics. Now I'm in the middle of mob politics and witness protection."
"Not witness protection," he corrects, parking the truck. "Family protection. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
He turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "Witness protection means you're hidden away, isolated, living in fear until the threat passes. Family protection means you're surrounded by people who would die before they'd let anyone hurt you."
The distinction hits me with unexpected force. "And that's what I have now? Family protection?"
"That's what you've always had, Livie," he tells me. "You just haven't been close enough to need it before now."
As we walk into the house, I realize he's right. The protection was always there, waiting in the background of my life like a safety net I never thought I'd need. Now that I do need it, it's closing around me with the strength of steel and the warmth of unconditional love.
And at the center of it all is Greyson Reed, the man who waited two years for me to come home, who fought for me, who's claimed me as his own with a certainty that takes my breath away.
"What happens now?" I ask as he locks the door behind us, engaging the security system with practiced efficiency.
"Now you heal," he says simply. "You work at your aunt's salon, you have dinner with your family, you live your life. And I make sure nothing and nobody gets in the way of that."
"And us?" I ask, the question I've been carrying all evening finally finding a voice. "What happens with us while all this is going on?"
His answer is a kiss that steals my breath and chases away every shadow, every fear, every doubt. When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes holding promises I'm finally ready to believe.
"Us," he says, "is the one thing you never have to worry about. I'm not going anywhere, Livie Bennett.”
And as he leads me upstairs, his hand warm and sure in mine, I know with absolute certainty that whatever storms are coming, we'll weather them together.
That night, I sleep without nightmares for the first time since the attack. Greyson's arms around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, create a sanctuary no stalker or mob enforcer can penetrate. In the morning, I wake to find him watching me, his expression so tender it makes my chest ache.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Just memorizing this," he says. "You, here, in my bed. Safe."
I stretch carefully, mindful of my ribs. "You know, for such a feared MC president, you can be surprisingly sentimental."
His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
Chapter
Eight
Livie
The next few days settle into a rhythm that feels surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Greyson drives me to the salon each morning, where Aunt Brittany fusses over my injuries while teaching me the ropes. The clients are curious but kind, many remembering me from before I left for LA. No one mentions Richard Keller's murder or asks uncomfortable questions, though I catch whispered conversations that stop when I approach.
Word travels fast in a small town, especially one dominated by two motorcycle clubs.
Each evening, Greyson picks me up, sometimes with club members riding escort, other times alone. We have dinner at his house or with my family, where conversations avoid any mention of Diane or mob connections. At night, he holds me close, his touch growing more exploratory as my bruises fade, though he's careful to respect the doctor's orders about "strenuous activity."
A week passes. Then two. The danger feels more distant with each day that nothing happens, though I notice Greyson never fully relaxes his vigilance. His phone is always within reach, and club members still patrol the perimeter of his property at regular intervals.
