Page 7 of Fury
Two years disappear in an instant. I'm eighteen again, stealing glances across crowded rooms, pretending not to notice when he noticed me.
Except we're not those people anymore. I'm not that girl, and he's not that boy. He's the president of the Devil Souls MC now, and I'm…
I'm still staring at him like an idiot, my soda halfway to my lips, frozen in place.
Lani's elbow in my ribs breaks the spell. "Breathe," she whispers, amusement clear in her voice.
I inhale sharply, suddenly aware that I'd been holding my breath. Greyson's mouth curves, the same slight lift at one corner that used to make my teenage heart race. Still does, apparently.
My heart leaps into my throat. I resist the urge to check my hair or straighten my dress, forcing myself to stay still, to appear composed even as my pulse hammers wildly.
"Livie."
His voice is deep, with a rough edge that sends a shiver down my spine. I turn slowly, meeting those blue eyes directly for what feels like the first time.
"Greyson." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, though I can hear the slight breathiness that betrays my nerves.
He's closer now, close enough that I catch the scent of leather and something distinctly masculine that makes my stomach flutter. The noise of the party continues around us, but it feels muted, like we're in our own bubble.
"Welcome home," he says, and there's something in his tone. Relief, maybe? Or something deeper that I don't dare name.
"Thank you." I take a sip of my drink, needing something to do with my hands. "Congratulations on taking over the club. Dad mentioned it in passing."
A shadow crosses his features. "Yeah, well. Time moves on."
There's an awkward beat of silence, filled with all the things we're not saying. Two years of distance, of carefully maintained boundaries, of pretending the pull between us didn't exist.
"You look good." His eyes do a quick sweep that makes heat bloom in my cheeks. "LA treated you well."
"Most of the time," I reply, then immediately regret the admission. The last thing I want is to get into the messy details of why I really came home.
His expression sharpens. "Most of the time?"
Before I can deflect, Dad's voice cuts through the moment. "Greyson! There you are, son."
Dad approaches with the easy familiarity of someone who's known Greyson since he was a kid causing trouble with my brothers. But there's also a subtle assessment in his eyes, in the way he positions himself slightly between us.
"Mr. Bennett." Greyson extends his hand. "Thank you for including us tonight."
"Wouldn't be the same without the Devil Souls," Dad replies, though his grip lingers a moment longer than necessary. "How's your father doing in retirement?"
"Driving my mother crazy, mostly," Greyson answers with a genuine smile that transforms his entire face. "He keeps trying to reorganize the garage."
Dad chuckles. "Sounds about right. Hard to step back when you've been in charge for so long."
I watch this exchange with fascination. The easy camaraderie between the clubs, the respect between the men, but also the undercurrents I'm only now beginning to understand as an adult. Dad's acceptance of Greyson as the new president, but also his subtle reminder that I'm still his daughter, still under his protection.
"I should go find your mother." Dad’s hand briefly touches my shoulder. "She's probably cornered someone with baby pictures by now."
As he walks away, the bubble settles around Greyson and me again. The weight of his attention is both thrilling and terrifying.
"So." He steps slightly closer. "Hair stylist. Following in your aunt's footsteps?"
"Something like that." I'm surprised he knows. "Though I suspect Aunt Brittany has bigger plans than I'm ready for."
"She's been telling anyone who'll listen that you're going to put Steel Magnolias on the map." Amusement flickers in his eyes. "Apparently you did some celebrity's hair for a movie premiere?"
I laugh, some of the tension easing. "A few times. Though mostly it was just rich women who wanted to feel important."
