Page 79 of Fury
The tension at the table shifts, my brothers' expressions changing from hostility to reluctant respect as they process Greyson's words. I squeeze his thigh under the table, heat pooling low in my belly at his fierce declaration.
"I need to use the restroom," I announce abruptly, standing so quickly my chair nearly topples. "Avril, where…"
"Down the hall, first door on the left," she says, her eyes darting between me and Greyson with newfound understanding.
I practically flee the dining room, locking the bathroom door behind me and leaning against it, trying to calm my racing pulse. The raw possessiveness in Greyson's voice, the absolute certainty with which he claimed me—it's ignited something inside me that won't be denied.
After splashing cold water on my face, I return to find the conversation has shifted to safer territory—club businesses, the garage expansion, my brothers' transfer to the local college. But the undercurrent remains, electricity crackling between Greyson and me with every shared glance.
"We should probably get going," I say as soon as dessert is finished, not caring how obvious my eagerness to leave might be. "I have an early appointment tomorrow."
"It's barely eight," Harlan points out, his knowing smirk making it clear he sees right through my excuse.
"I know, but…" I flounder, searching for something plausible.
"She's tired," Greyson supplies smoothly, though the heat in his eyes when he looks at me communicates a very different message. "It's been a long day."
Avril, bless her, comes to our rescue. "Of course! Don't worry about helping clean up. We've got this!”
My brothers exchange a look that says they know exactly why we're rushing off, but mercifully, they don't comment.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, hugging Avril. "It was wonderful meeting you."
"You too," she replies warmly. "We'll do this again soon."
The goodbyes feel interminable, with handshakes and hugs and promises to meet up later in the week. By the time we're finally outside, I'm practically vibrating with need.
"Drive fast," I whisper in Greyson's ear as I climb onto the back of his bike.
His answering growl sends shivers down my spine. "Hold on tight."
The motorcycle roars to life, and we tear out of the driveway with more speed than strictly necessary. I press myself against his back, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, my hands slipping dangerously low. Even through his jeans, I can feel his muscles tense as my fingers trace the edge of his belt buckle.
"Careful," he warns, his voice barely audible over the engine. "Or we might not make it home."
The thought of pulling over, of taking him right there on the side of the road, sends another wave of heat through me. I nip at his shoulder through his leather jacket, unable to resist.
We're about halfway to Greyson's house, taking the back roads that wind through the more isolated parts of town, when I notice headlights behind us—too close, too bright, moving too fast.
"Greyson," I start to warn, but he's already seen it, the bike accelerating as he tries to put distance between us and the vehicle.
The SUV surges forward, its front bumper nearly touching our back tire. Greyson swerves, trying to evade, but the road is narrow with steep ditches on either side.
"Hang on!" he shouts as the SUV rams us from behind.
The bike fishtails wildly, Greyson fighting to maintain control as we skid across the asphalt. I clutch him desperately, terror replacing desire in an instant.
The SUV pulls alongside us, the passenger window rolling down to reveal a man in a dark suit. He reaches out—not toward Greyson, but toward me, trying to grab my arm.
"Greyson!" I scream as fingers brush my jacket.
He jerks the bike hard to the right, putting his body between me and our attacker, but the sudden movement sends us into a spin. The world blurs as we careen toward a ditch. In the final seconds before impact, Greyson twists, wrapping himself around me as we're thrown from the bike.
We hit the ground hard, rolling across gravel and dirt. I feel the sting of road burn even through my clothes, but Greyson takes the brunt of it, his body shielding mine as we finally come to a stop.
"Are you okay?" he gasps, hands moving frantically over my face, my arms. "Livie, talk to me!"
"I'm fine," I manage, though every inch of me throbs with pain. "Are you?—"
