Page 62 of Fury
The bus pulls up to Greyson's driveway, and I'm not surprised to see him waiting on the porch, arms crossed over his chest. Even from here, I can feel the tension radiating from him. He must have heard about the fight already—news travels fast in club circles.
"Good luck," Tiana says with a smirk as I gather my things. "Try looking pitiful. Works on my dad every time."
"I'll text you tomorrow," I promise, hugging each woman goodbye before stepping off the bus.
As I walk up the path, Greyson's eyes widen, taking in my disheveled appearance and the swelling above my eye. In three long strides, he's in front of me, his hands gently cradling my face as he tilts it to examine the damage.
"What the hell happened?" he demands, his voice tight with barely controlled anger.
I open my mouth to explain, but instead, a giggle escapes, followed by another, until I'm laughing so hard tears spring to my eyes.
"Livie," he says, confusion replacing some of the anger, "are you drunk?"
"Not drunk," I manage between laughs. "Just… It was the best night, Greyson. The absolute best."
His thumb traces the edge of the swelling, his touch impossibly gentle despite the storm in his eyes. "You call this the best night? Someone hit you."
"You should see the other girl," I reply, still grinning.
For a moment, he just stares at me, and I can see him wrestling with conflicting emotions—concern for my injuries, anger at whoever caused them, and something else, something that looks almost like pride.
"Come inside." His arm slides around my waist. "You can tell me everything while I put ice on that eye."
As he leads me into the house, I catch him shaking his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "Bennett women," he mutters, but there's affection in his voice. "Absolutely fucking terrifying."
I lean into him, suddenly exhausted but utterly content. "You love it," I tell him confidently.
His arm tightens around me, and he presses a kiss to the top of my head. "God help me, I do," he admits. "I really do."
Inside, as he tenderly cleans my cuts and applies ice to my bruises, I tell him everything—the confrontation at the bar, the fight, even our midnight redecoration of Bethany's yard. He listens without interrupting, his expression shifting between concern, amusement, and unmistakable pride.
"So," he says when I finish, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, "what you're telling me is that you and a bunch of MC daughters and ole ladies beat the hell out of some country club types, then committed minor vandalism, all in one night?"
I bite my lip, suddenly uncertain. "Are you mad?"
His laugh is unexpected, a deep rumble that I feel through his chest where I'm leaning against him. "Mad? Baby, I'm fucking impressed." He tilts my chin up so our eyes meet. "You stood up for family. That's what we do."
"That's what we do," I echo, the words feeling right on my tongue.
Later, as we lie in bed, his body curled around mine, I find myself thinking about everything that's happened since I came home. The danger, the violence, the fear—but also the love, the belonging, the absolute certainty that I am exactly where I'm meant to be.
"What are you thinking about?" Greyson murmurs against my hair, his voice heavy with approaching sleep.
"That I never really understood what it meant to you guys, the brotherhood, to fight and die together if it came down to it," I admit. “I felt that tonight with the girls, it was a sisterhood.”
His arm tightens around me. "And now?"
I turn in his embrace to face him, tracing the strong line of his jaw with my fingertips. "Now I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."
The smile that spreads across his face is worth every bruise and every moment of pain. "Good," he says simply. "Because you were born for this, Livie. Born to be exactly who you are."
As sleep claims me, safe in the arms of a man who understands this world and my place in it, I know he's right. I was born for this—born to be Olivia Bennett, daughter of the Grim Sinners MC, woman of Greyson Reed.
And I wouldn't change a single thing.
I wake to the sensation of Greyson carefully extracting himself from our tangle of limbs. Sunlight streams through the gaps in the curtains, highlighting the determined set of his jaw as he moves silently around the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" I mumble, voice thick with sleep as I prop myself up on one elbow. My eye throbs, a painful reminder of last night's activities.
