Page 6 of Fury
The noise hits me first: dozens of conversations, laughter, the thumping bass from the speakers. Then the smell: leather, beer, cigarettes, and the barbecue someone's got going out back. It's so familiar, it makes my chest ache.
As we step inside, and the first person I see is Aunt Brittany, already making her way toward us with open arms.
"There's my girl!" she calls, pulling me into a hug that smells like hairspray and tequila. "I was starting to think you'd changed your mind."
"Just fashionably late," I say, returning her embrace.
When she releases me, I realize the room has quieted. Dozens of eyes are on me, familiar faces from my childhood, members of the club in their cuts, old friends, and women who've known me since I was in diapers.
For a terrifying moment, I'm frozen, unsure what to do under the weight of all that attention.
Then Uncle Derek breaks the silence. "Well, look what LA sent back to us! Even prettier than when she left!"
Just like that, the spell is broken. People surge forward, and I'm engulfed in a wave of hugs, back slaps, and welcome homes. Women who've watched me grow up exclaim over my hair, my dress, how I've "filled out in all the right places." Older members of the club tell me how much they've missed me, how the place hasn't been the same.
I'm passed from person to person like a cherished relic, everyone wanting their moment to reconnect. Some faces show genuine joy, others curious about what brought me back. A few of the younger club members I don't recognize eye me with interest that makes me uncomfortable until my brothers materialize at my side, their presence enough to redirect those gazes elsewhere.
Through it all, I'm scanning the crowd for one particular face.
"He's not here yet," a familiar voice says close to my ear.
I turn to find Lani, her red hair styled in perfect waves, her smile knowing. She's wearing a green dress that makes her eyes pop, and she looks so much like the girl I left behind that it makes my heart squeeze.
"Who?" I ask innocently, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrays me.
"Don't play dumb." She laughs, pulling me into a tight hug. "It doesn't suit you."
"I missed you," I say into her hair, fighting sudden tears. Weekly video calls weren't the same as having my best friend beside me.
"Missed you more," she replies, pulling back to study my face. "You good? Really good?"
The question carries weight beyond simple politeness. Lani knows about the stalker, about the real reason I left LA so abruptly. I called her the night it happened, terrified and alone.
"I'm getting there," I answer honestly. "Being home helps."
Dad's voice booms over the crowd. "All right, all right! Everyone grab a drink. Time to officially welcome my daughter home!"
Someone presses a soda into my hand as the crowd forms a loose circle. Dad stands in the center, his arm around Mom.
"Two years ago, my stubborn daughter decided she needed to see what life was like beyond this MC town," he begins, his voice carrying easily over the quieted room. "And while her mother and I supported her?—"
"Eventually," Mom interjects with a smile, earning laughs from the crowd.
"Eventually," Dad concedes, "we always knew she'd find her way back home."
His eyes find mine with emotion he rarely displays in public.
"Livie, you've made us proud out there in the world. But we're even prouder to have you back where you belong." He raises his beer. "To Livie, our daughter, sister, niece, and friend. Welcome home, baby girl."
"To Livie!" the crowd echoes, glasses and bottles raised.
The surge of love I feel is overwhelming. These people, extended, complicated, fiercely loyal, are family and have always been my foundation. How could I have stayed away for so long?
As the toast ends and conversations resume, the clubhouse door swings open. The crowd shifts, making way for the new arrivals, and my breath catches in my throat.
Greyson Reed stands in the doorway, flanked by several men wearing Devil Souls cuts. He's taller than I remembered, broader through the shoulders, his dark hair slightly longer. The boyish good looks I recalled have hardened into something more defined, more commanding. His eyes scan the room with the practiced assessment of someone used to taking in every detail at once.
Then those blue eyes land on me, and everything else fades away.
