Page 87 of Fury
I explain about the recordings, about Diane's lies, about Volkov's conviction that I'm somehow involved. As I speak, Dad's expression grows increasingly grim.
"So, this Volkov thinks you have evidence that could bring down his operation," he summarizes. "Evidence that Diane stole then tried to pin on you to save herself. She sent you recordings of Richard, but there is nothing on there about the mob. So, I have no clue what it is."
"That's about it," I confirm, leaning against Greyson's solid warmth.
Dad is quiet for a long moment, his thoughts clearly turning inward. Finally, he looks up, decision made. "We're moving against them tonight. Full force, both clubs."
"It's too dangerous," I protest immediately. "These aren't some local thugs, Dad. They're organized, well-funded?—"
"And they hurt my daughter," he cuts me off, voice like steel. "They took you from right under our noses. That cannot stand."
Greyson shifts beside me, his body language changing subtly as he enters the conversation, not as my protector, but as a club president. "What's the plan?"
"Trenton's got a line on where Volkov's crew is operating from, a warehouse on the edge of town. Looks like they've been using it as a base for weeks." Dad's eyes harden. "We hit them hard, fast, and with overwhelming force."
"And Diane?" I ask quietly.
Dad's expression softens slightly when he looks at me. "If she's there, we'll get her out. But, Livie…" He hesitates, clearly weighing his words. "You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that she might not be alive anymore."
The truth of his statement settles heavily in my chest. I'd been trying not to think about what Volkov might have done to Diane after she failed to deliver me to him.
"I understand," I say, though the words taste bitter on my tongue.
"Get some rest," Dad says, rising from the chair. "We move at midnight."
As he reaches the door, Greyson calls after him. "Wilder. I'm coming with you."
Dad turns, his gaze assessing the bandages, the exhaustion evident on his face. For a moment, I think he'll refuse. But then he nods once, a gesture of respect between equals.
"Wouldn't have it any other way," he says simply, before closing the door behind him.
The moment we're alone, Greyson pulls me into his arms, his face buried in my hair. "I don’t want to leave you," he whispers, the words torn from somewhere deep and vulnerable. "Not after what happened."
"You have to," I tell him, though everything in me screams against it. "You're the president. They need you."
"You need me more." His hands frame my face, his eyes searching mine desperately. "What if something happens while I'm gone? What if they come for you again?"
"I'll be surrounded by prospects, ole ladies, and enough firepower to start a small war," I remind him, forcing a smile I don't feel. "Besides, Xavier said I shouldn't put weight on this ankle. I'm not going anywhere."
He doesn't look convinced, his thumb tracing the outline of the bruise that's bloomed across my cheekbone. "I can't lose you, Livie. I won't survive it."
The raw honesty in his voice breaks something open inside me. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that tastes of fear and desperation and love so fierce, it hurts.
"You won't lose me," I promise against his mouth. "But you need to do this. For both of us. For Diane, if she's still alive. For everyone Volkov might hurt if he's not stopped."
Greyson rests his forehead against mine, conflict evident in every line of his body. Finally, he nods, the decision visibly costing him. "I'll go. But I'm leaving Zach and two prospects outside this door. You don't leave this room without them, understand?"
"I understand." I curl against him, savoring the solid warmth of his body against mine. "Just come back to me."
"Always," he vows, his arms tightening around me. "Nothing in this world could keep me away."
As we drift back toward sleep, clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, I try not to think about all the things that might prevent him from keeping that promise. Instead, I focus on the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, the rhythm that has become the soundtrack to my life.
The next morning, I wake to find Greyson already dressed, his expression grim but relieved as he tells me they found the warehouse empty. It appears Volkov and his men had cleared out, leaving nothing but bloodstains and spent shell casings behind. No sign of Diane.
When Xavier arrives to check my ankle, Greyson hovers like a shadow, scrutinizing every movement as the doctor unwraps the bandage.
"Looking better," Xavier murmurs, probing gently at the swelling. "But you need to stay off it for at least another day."
