Fury: Book 2 in the Vengeance MC series (4 page)

- yourecards

Nine months later…

Slamming the door of my newest pity gift, a fully optioned GMC truck – that’s what I’ve taken to calling the presents my dad’s given me since my ‘incident’ (his word, not mine) – I stomp into the diner like a woman possessed.

Because that is, after all, what I am –freaking possessed. So possessed that my current and only objective is to obtain the largest stack of waffles this side of the border, and demolish them imminently. See, I’m pissed off and there’s only one thing that will make my current mood more tolerable – for myself and the other poor fools that come into contact with me – and that is waffles dammit.

Hefting my ass onto an empty stool halfway down the counter, I bang my fist on the menu in front of me and raise my voice loud enough to be heard over the din of breakfast patrons.

“Hit me. And keep them coming until you have to roll me out of here in a wheelbarrow.”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. Who pissed in your Cheerios today?” Bella asks with no small amount of sarcasm.

“No one, this is my usual brand of happy. Something I’m more than willing to spread around like a hooker does herpes if you don’t hurry up and fetch my food, woman,” I snap back taking a sip of the coffee she’s placed in front of me.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, I'm a bitch, and you’d be partially correct. Normally, I’m not this bad. Usually, I reserve my bitchiness for someone who really deserves a verbal ass-kicking, but after the week I’ve had, I think I’m owed a break or two million.

For the last seven months, or as soon as I was able to return to the world of the living and without looking like I’d been accosted by a steamroller, I’ve been working at Lottie’s Daycare.

Now, I’ll preface what I’m about to say by saying; I love my job. Diapers containing God knows what, snotty noses, and grubby hands aside, I freaking adore working with kids. However, the past week has taught me that not all dreams should be pursued, and there is a distinct possibility that me doing this for a living is one of those things. Not that I intend to change my profession any time soon, but it’s something that’s crossed my mind a time or ten this week.

So, let’s take it from the top shall we because hell, where else would we start?

The beginning of my shit-tastic – and yes, I do mean that quite literally – started off with a bang. That being bang two flat tires on my way to work. Who, I ask gets two flat tires at the same time? Me, that’s who.

After engaging the assistance of four burly construction workers, who took longer to change my tires than a blind nursing home escapee due to the fact they were more interested in the size of my boobs, I made it to work phenomenally late. As in, forty-six minutes and seventeen seconds late to be precise.

Why so specific you ask? Well, as awesome as my boss Lottie is – and she is indeed wonderful – the woman is a stickler for punctuality. Something I’m horrendously bad at on the best of days. This one being no different, if not worse.

I stowed my purse, change of clothes because Lord knows in this industry you need one – at the bare minimum – and tried to stealthily make it past Lottie’s office without her noticing my tardiness. Fail! Epically at that.

My lack of ninja abilities led to me being formally cautioned about my tardiness and being docked two hours of pay to make up for having to call a temp in to cover my room. If my shit-tastic week had ended there, it would have been bad enough, but it didn’t and I’m positive after what happened next that God has it out for me. Why? I’ve got no flipping clue, but take it from me, he does.

I should probably use this opportunity to set the scene, but to be honest, you don’t give a crap about all that and I can’t be bothered to explain it. Needless to say, toddlers – the room I’m in charge of – are, in fact, demon spawn. Their parents don’t drop them off at daycare centers around the country so that they can work. No, not at all. They’re palmed off onto poor, unsuspecting child care providers, such as myself because they are so demonic that mommy and daddy need sanity breaks throughout the week so as not to drown them in buckets come Friday.

Let me summarize.

One stomach bug, which saw two of the little cherub’s projectile vomiting down the front of my shirt would have been bad enough, but it didn’t stop there. No, three cases of explosive diarrhea – and no, these three cases were not children who still wore diapers – four runny noses later, I still wasn’t done. However, after one broken arm – and again, no, it wasn’t my fault the darling child thought he was Superman and could fly off the craft table – I’m spent. Done. Finished. Freaking over it.

Add to that, my meddlesome but apparently well-meaning local motorcycle club broke into mine and Blaine’s apartment, installed a state-of-the-art alarm system, and changed the locks to indestructible – not even a buzz saw could penetrate them – ones, and you have the recipe for one very unhappy camper. That camper being me, except I don’t camp seeing as I have an aversion to all things bug like. Not to mention, I don’t have the first clue why anyone would want to sleep on the ground when they have a perfectly good bed at home.

“I take it you found out about the “upgrades,” Bella surmises, air quotes and all.

“Mmhmm,” I mumble around a mouthful of waffles she cleverly and expediently provided.

“And from your reaction I take it you aren’t happy with said upgrades?” She asks, fighting to hide her grin.

Dropping my fork onto my plate, I narrow my eyes at her.

“It’s not that I’m unhappy per se,” I sigh. “More like, annoyed with a side order of why the hell didn’t they ask first.”

Cocking her head to the side, she enquires,

“A, why the hell are you annoyed? If I were the benefactor of free apartment upgrades, I’d be calling around to see who I owed a blowjob to as thanks. That shit doesn’t come cheap you know. And B, you damn well know why they didn’t ask first. You would have said no, and then they would have ignored you and done it anyway. This way they cut out the middle man and didn’t have to listen to half an hour of your bitching and moaning before you gave in.”

I shouldn’t be surprised at her words, but Bella has a knack for catching me when I least expect it. And she’s not wrong. I would have done all that and more. I would have eventually caved too, so I guess she has a point. Not that I’ll be telling her as much.

Coughing to dislodge the piece of waffle stuck at the back of my throat, I swallow a gulp of coffee and pray for patience. Something I’m in short supply of at present.

“Well, when a bunch of bikers breaks into your house scaring the crap out of your best friend seeing as she’s dressed in nothing more than a towel camped out on our couch watching Netflix, they take over your pad and cut holes in your drywall, I’ll be sure to remind you of this little chat. Until then, shut your pie hole,” I gripe.

Laughing at me – not with me – Bella exchanges my almost empty plate with a full one.

“While I do love our chats, what are you doing here on a Friday morning? Shouldn’t you be at work, or should I say, weren’t you meant to be there over an hour ago?”

“I was, but Lottie gave me the day off due to good behavior,” I mumble.

“Bullshit,” Bella exclaims. “Rumor has it you were spreading your herpes laden cheer around the center, so she gave you the day off so she wouldn’t fire your grumpy ass.”

Hmm, while that could be true, I’m admitting to nothing. Especially seeing as it’s not entirely my fault why I’m in this mood to begin with.

“I plead the fifth,” I groan, taking another bite of my delicious, sugar coma inducing treat.

Bella props one fist on her hip and bats her eyelashes at me before launching into her newest round of questioning.

“If you’re not going to answer that, then you can answer this. Why didn’t you tell me he was coming back today?”

Genuinely confused, I ask,

“Who?”

Blinking rapidly, Bella gapes at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Um, you don’t know, do you?”

“Obviously not, Princess of the land of stupid freaking questions.”

“Oh, shit!” She mumbles. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Ree.”

Interrupting her before she can add five hundred more words to her quota for the day, I offer,

“You could start by spitting it out, and then do me the favor of leaving me in peace so that I can demolish one or five more of these plates that are going to go straight to my ass.”

“Put down the syrup, and back away from the powdered sugar,” Bella warns severely. “You don’t need to take your anger out on condiments, poppet. And I have a feeling after I tell you this, you’re going to do just that.”

“How would you know, Princess Perky? You’ve never had a week like mine, so don’t judge me. Not to mention, I would never defile the goodness of syrup and powdered sugar by using them as attack missiles,” I snap back waspishly.

“Like hell I haven’t. I’ve had plenty of weeks like yours but you don’t see me drowning my sorrows in saturated fats,” she returns. “But in all seriousness, I think you need to lose the utensils for this.”

Reluctantly putting down my knife and fork, I look up at her and wave my hand in the universal gesture to get on with it.

“So, I heard it from Simone, who heard it from Mabel, who spoke to Leanne who saw, Fury ride down Main Street an hour ago heading toward the clubhouse,” Bella imparts quickly as if her declaration was all one word. No breaks. No pauses. Just mumbled jargon, of which I heard every word.

I’m not sure what she expects me to say to that, but I’m positive it’s not this.

“That’s nice.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She all but screeches. “Nice would have been him keeping his promise to call you every day even if you didn’t answer. Nice would be him contacting someone, anyone before he rode in on his chrome horse so that we could give you the heads up. Nice, fuck nice, Ave. That asshole left and didn’t look back. He didn’t check in to see how you were doing. He didn’t text, email, write, not even a fucking postcard from bumfuck Idaho to say, hi. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch for nearly a year, and then what? He shows up here out of the blue? I don’t think so, sister. I’m all for letting men be men, alpha males do it for me and all that jazz, but after he all but deserted you in your time of need, hell no.”

I’m sensing my friend has reasonably strong feelings on the topic, emotions that can only be dulled by a bottle of whiskey, a crack pipe, or say a few moderately good orgasms. None of which by the way, I’m in the position to provide her with.

However, back to the point, which would be, Tanner Scott, a.k.a. Fury the asshat.

I don’t have the same feelings as my friend when it comes to him. Far from it. I don’t think about him period. Full stop. Exclamation mark. Hashtag, HeIsDeadToMe. And if that isn’t enough, I should qualify it by saying, I deleted his number after not hearing from him for three months. Not to mention, I tore up all bar one of the photos of us together – because seriously, what woman actually destroys them all – and banned everyone from mentioning his name in my presence for the foreseeable future and beyond.

So, I suppose when you look at it objectively, maybe I was a wee bit hurt Fury left me in the lurch after he promised he wouldn’t.

But what do you expect? He saw me at my lowest. When I was broken, beaten, violated, and scared out of my mind, he was the first person I saw and my mind irrationally latched onto that.

In saying that, I don’t mean that I needed him to help me heal because I didn’t. That was something I did all on my own. For the most part, my body did what it needed to and I gave it time so it could. My mental and emotional recovery was an altogether different story.

I still suffer night terrors and flashbacks. I still wake up in cold sweats, screaming. And some days I struggle to get out of bed, so much so, I don’t. But my therapist, Doctor Jennings says this is normal for survivors of violent crimes. He assures me that victims of assault often display symptoms ranging from mild to severe PTSD, anxiety, depression, and in some cases even body image issues.