Page 122 of Fury

Cars. Road. Bikes. Trucks. Trucks. Road.

I’d reached Denver, and a wisp of metal scraped under my chin, the wind lifting the helmet up off my head.

Dammit.

The clasp on my skull helmet had snapped.

I changed lanes, got out of the flow of traffic, pulled over, and tied the frayed ends together. This was one of my oldest and most favorite lids. I’d had it since I’d left Missouri, and I never rode without one. I’d seen too many brains splattered on roads all over the country. I needed a new one, fast. I got back onto the highway and veered off onto W. County Line Road in Littleton, where I knew there was a Harley Davidson store.

The summer heat was suffocating, and I hadn’t realized how much until I’d pulled up in the parking lot. I entered the shop, and my every pore sucked in the stunning air conditioning, my muscles relaxing as I stretched out my back, enjoying the blanket of cold. I avoided what seemed like a shiny Harley souvenir shop section and tracked over to the helmets.

I passed a saleswoman with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail wearing black jeans, black boots, and a black Harley T who was talking to a guy over a new Dyna Glide. He flirted with her more than he listened to her pitch or paid attention to the bike. She was explaining the bike’s new features to him and knew what she was talking about, but he kept sinking the conversation with bullshit.Idiot.

I grabbed a helmet.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yeah.” I turned to the middle-aged balding man who stood in front of me. Lucky me. I raised the lid. “I need this.”

“Very good. Anything else I can help you with today?”

“I’ll take a look,” I said to get rid of him. He took the helmet and moved toward the cash registers.

My eyes trailed back to the woman. Something about her was familiar, but I hadn’t seen her face yet. I didn’t forget a face.

“Thanks for all the info, hon.” The dark haired man waved at her as he walked off, a huge smile on his face.

“Sure. You’re welcome.” She turned, stacking a bunch of brochures into a neat pile, the smile on her face quickly fading.

My pulse thudded in my chest.

It’s her.

Sister, Dig’s old lady. No. Now she was Dig’s widow. I’d heard about his murder just before I’d gotten arrested. What the fuck was she doing here? Why wasn’t she home in South Dakota surrounded by friends and family?

A dull look was stamped on her face. Stamped and sealed there. She was going through the motions of the living. Getting by.

What would Dig say if he could see her now? Like this? Dangling? Coasting?

I rubbed a hand across my chest. I wasn’t dead, and neither was Serena.

Lenore. Her name’s Lenore now.

Lenore was out in the world breathing in the air, and I was grateful she was safe and alive. I didn’t have her with me, but if I really wanted to I could hold her or touch her or hear her voice. She wasn’t buried in the cold, hard ground.

What did Dig’s widow have? Fading memories, thick shadows. Echoes of pounding heartbeats in the dark night.

I got Serena out of her hell. I got her to a safe place, a place where she bloomed and took her first steps in new shoes. I did that. We’d done it together. In jail, I’d clung to a hope that there would be a one day with us, but she didn’t see it that way. Or maybe she just didn’t want that anymore. Want me enough. She’d convinced herself.

I had to stay sane now, stay whole, whatever the fuck that was. Somehow I had to figure out how to live without her, without the promise of her inspiring me. That promise had kept me warm all these years like a slow burning fire in a field of snow and ice. I had to pick myself up from the debris we’d left behind.Somehow…

I squelched down the urge to walk over to Sister. To look her in the eyes and tell her I was sorry about Dig. To tell her—

Tell her what?

My neck flared with heat, and I turned away. She wouldn’t want to see me. I’d bring it all back up for her. Memories of good times, memories of bad times. And every single one of those damned memories had her old man pulsing at its core. Why should I ruin her running away, her jamming the brake on all that pain?

That’s what I have to do, isn’t it? Stop the pain.

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