Fury

by Cat Porter

  “Whose idea was this, fuckwad?” I said through gritted teeth.

  He sat up straight in his chair, his forehead wrinkling. “This came from the top.”

  “From National?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me who.”

  “It was agreed on by the board.”

  “Someone made the pitch.”

  He folded his hands over a manila folder. “Reich Malone. He’s new on the board, lots of ideas. Kick ass ideas, I was told. He’s been working on some new venture out here in Illinois and needs the Silver Crows on board.”

  Reich. Pushing me down, shoving me into his fucking holes to fill gaps yet again. Worst fucking timing in the world.

  I’d been on my way to see Serena for the first time in three months. I hadn’t been able to contact her much lately as things had gotten fucked up with the Smoking Guns again. A small outbreak of tension with Med’s crew, and it was better to lay low for a while until things cooled off. Better to lay low now that I knew that Reich had eyes on me.

  Had he seen us together? With me out of the way would he now swoop in and grab her? I dropped my head in my hands. At least I’d talked to Tania on the phone and gave her the head’s up. She’d go to Serena and tell her. How had she reacted? What was going through her mind?

  I banged my fists on the table.

  Again, I was a prisoner, but this time with a serial number to match and clean clothes provided by the state. Another prison where I had to not feel, not give in, not give up, and survive. A cog in the wheel, the junkyard dog. Kicked at. Maneuvered.

  But this time there would be no Serena to whisper with in the gloomy shadows. No Serena to brighten the wretched darkness. No Serena to touch and be touched by, to hold and be held by.

  The lawyer pushed back from the table and stood, adjusting his jacket, grabbing his briefcase. “I’ll let you know what the DA says. Remember, you don’t talk to anyone but me.”

  I swung my head back. “Fuck you.”

  29

  Tania stood with me at the side of the road where I was meeting Stephanie, a friend from school, who was driving home to Texas. I was hitching a ride with her.

  Anywhere out of Chicago.

  Tania grabbed my hand. “You don’t have to do this.”

  My throat was dry, and I was too weary to even swallow past the soreness. “Tan, I have to.” My heel shoved at my two big duffel bags stuffed with clothes, sketchpads, and my small sewing machine. I’d managed to sell and give everything else away, and even got out of my lease on my apartment.

  I looked away, choking on a breath, tears streaming down my face despite my determination to be stoic. I used to be good at stoic.

  Tania pulled me close. “Honey, I know this is horrible right now, but he’ll be out in a few years.”

  “We don’t know anything for sure.”

  “It seems like a long time right now, but when he gets out, maybe things will be different and then—”

  “Nothing will be different, Tania. Nothing. They’ll still be after us, after me. And I won’t put you in danger, and I can’t—”

  “Shh. I know. We’ve been over it enough times.” Tania didn’t necessarily agree with my decision, but she supported me like a true sister would.

  The bright white headlights of a truck thundering by us on the road flashed over our faces. Here I was again, on the run, anxious. But this time, I was in control.

  “I know you’ll get your second chance together one day,” she said. “You have to.”

  “I’ve had my fill of second chances, Tan. Girls like me have a limited number. You wouldn’t understand. Thank your God that you never will.”

  She only squeezed my hand tighter, and I squeezed back.

  A small car approached, slowing down. Stephanie’s red Honda Accord ground to a halt alongside us, the engine running.

  Tania and I hugged. Tears and laughter and promises surged up like frothing bubbles in that embrace. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice tight.

  “I love you too.”

  “We’re soul sisters, you and me,” Tania said. “I’ll always be there for you, no matter what. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t. Same goes for me.”

  “Let me come visit you. Just once. Just—”

  “No, Tania. We agreed.”

  We let go, both of us wiping at our faces.

  “And no more tears,” I said.

  She sniffed. “Right.”

  I took one duffel and Tania took the other, and we shoved them in Stephanie’s trunk. I got my ass in the front seat and left Chicago behind me.

  For about a year I wandered through a few states, then I decided on a new frontier—California. First, I returned to Chicago to ask Turo for a favor. I’d fed him plenty of information before I’d left and stayed in touch and answered any random questions, confirmed names.

  “It was by far one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.” Turo sat down at the other end of the same bench as me in Olive Park, pretending to talk on his cell phone. He still wore that same unique fragrance. The crispness of it made my insides stand at attention. Or was it the brittle memories of the time I’d spent with him?

  “What’s that?” I asked quietly, pretending to read a fashion magazine.

  “The information you gave me made a huge difference this past year. I used them little by little, month by month.”

  “I don’t want to know details. Although I may have read about a few deaths in the newspaper.”

  He let out one of those expressive sighs of his—an audible smirk. “That’s just on the surface.”

  “Well, I’m happy you’re happy.”

  “We should celebrate.”

  “We don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” He crossed his finely trousered legs, a dark argyle patterned sock peeking out under the cuff, just over his Italian leather shoes. “I haven’t seen you in a long while. Too long.”

  “I picked up a few jobs out of town,” I lied.

  “Are you back for good now?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take you out tonight.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” I closed the magazine and lifted my face toward the rays of the sun, my eyes closed.

  “Ciara is out of town.” He’d read my mind.

  “Ciara has friends all over town,” I replied.

  “True. But I want to enjoy this with you, Ash. I want to offer you a special something.”

  “I don’t want special somethings from you. I want this over.”

  “It is over, officially.”

  “Good.” I leaned back against the bench, clutching my magazine. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted his sly smile tinged with genuine excitement.

  “As a thank you, I’d like to give you anything you want,” he said.

  A thank you for an obligation? Hell no. Was he offering money? A shopping spree? Jewelry? A vacation? All the things he would give to Ciara so freely. I’d never accepted things from Turo. He’d tried from the very beginning, and I’d rejected the first, a super expensive new cell phone. Then I’d rejected money for a new sewing machine. He hadn’t tried again. I didn’t want any of that. I didn’t need any of that. What I needed I couldn’t have.

  “That’s why I asked to see you,” I said.

  “Ah, she does want something.” His voice was mellow and sensual, like a mouthful of fine brandy. “Anything but the Baptist’s head, my little Salome.”

  “Oh, I would never ask that.”

  “I know. That’s why I like you so much,” he whispered roughly.

  I smoothed a hand down the cover of the magazine. “There is one thing.”

  A slow smile warmed his face. I could feel its rays of heat over the side of my body. “Hmm. Tell me. Te
ll me what you need, and I’ll get it done for you. Personally.”

  “I want a new identity. Name, social security number, history. All of it,” I replied.

  He cleared his throat as he removed the cell phone from his ear, and holding it in his hands, flipped it over, rubbing a thumb over its matte black surface once, twice. “Leaving town again?”

  “For good this time.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Necessary.”

  “Understood. Done. What else?”

  “Nothing else. There’s nothing.”

  “There has to be something.”

  Of course there was something. If only I could ask him to get me information on Finger. If only I could ask him…

  But I couldn’t. I didn’t want anyone to know Finger and I had a connection, and I certainly didn’t want Turo to know that I was on intimate terms with a Flame of Hell. He’d use that to his advantage at some point. Whether they wore leather and colors or finely tailored suits and high-priced cologne, if men wanted things, they demanded them from you, then they were done.

  Except one man. One man.

  “Just this—” I slid a business card out from the magazine onto the bench in between us. “I’d like this first name if possible.”

  I wanted my grandmother’s name. If I was to be reborn yet again, this time, I wanted the most beautiful name to me, to honor her, but also to keep a piece of her with me in this new life, a living souvenir. I had nothing of hers, no keepsake, no memento, no nothing, only memories and inspiration.

  Turo casually slid the card into his pocket in one swift move, crossing his legs.

  “May be difficult. But I’ll do my best. When do you need it?”

  “How soon can you get it?”

  “Two weeks, maybe three.”

  “Let me know.” I tossed my empty coffee cup in the metal wastebasket to my left, tucked the magazine into my tote bag and stood up, adjusting my coat. “I have an appointment to get to.”

  He stretched his arms out over the back of the bench, his long legs before him. “Good-bye, gorgeous.”

  Ten days later in the middle of the night, Turo showed up at where I’d been staying, a friend’s small photography studio.

  He placed a padded envelope on the metal console table. “New name, social, driver’s license.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He scanned the room, an eyebrow lifting at the sight of the light stands and filters. Lightboxes, a drafting table, a backdrop screen, a desktop computer. The futon sofa where I’d been sleeping the past two weeks. His gaze returned to me and grew heavy. I held my breath as we stared at each other in silence.

  “Can I have a drink?” he asked.

  “There’s vodka.”

  “Vodka, then.”

  I poured him the liquor in a glass tumbler. He took a drink and handed it to me. I took a sip. He took back the glass and finished it, putting it back on the counter, his oddly colored eyes on me.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  “In a couple of days.”

  “Do you need—”

  “No.” I smiled. “But thank you.”

  His forehead creased. “Where are you going?”

  “Greenland.”

  His eyes flared, his head rocked back and he laughed, a deep rolling rumble of a laugh. Something in my chest tightened. This was a side of him I’d never seen before. Warm. Human.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

  “We barely know each other. What’s there to miss, Turo?”

  “This.”

  In a sudden movement, he yanked on the belt of my kimono and dropped it to the floor. A rush of cool air whispered over my now visible bare skin.

  “Oh, this,” he repeated, his voice low.

  “Turo—”

  He took in a deep breath, his jaw tight, his heady gaze burning over my chest. “I’m going to miss you.” He took another step closer toward me, his hair in his eyes. He’d let it grow out. Shadows fell over his cheekbones. A knight borne of the darkness, walking in shadows.

  “My angel, never wanted anything for herself.” His cool hand cupped a breast, and I let out a short gasp. His lips parted, the amber in his intent eyes now molten in the glow from the desk lamp I’d put on when he’d knocked on the door. His thumb stroked over a curve, and his breath caught.

  “Turo.”

  “I can’t not touch you anymore,” he breathed.

  He got on his knees before me, and my insides plunged like a stone under water. He gently swept my silk kimono away from my nakedness, and his breath caught. His cool hands dragged up and down the sides of my hips, my thighs.

  “Ciara used to tell me you never had a boyfriend, didn’t do hook-ups.” He planted a kiss on my left thigh, my right. “I watched you. She was right. No boyfriends, no hookups. Yet you always look so fucking hungry underneath your cool facade.” His gleaming eyes hung on mine, his one hand circling my leg. “Let me give you what you need tonight. Just this once. For goodbye.”

  A large thumb grazed the sensitive flesh between my legs, and my body seized. He licked his lips. “Only if you let me.” He bent and feathered kisses over my lower tummy, his eyes closing for a moment. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  I shoved at him with my leg. “You’re such a shit, Turo. You have Ciara. You have so many women to choose from all the time, and I’m sure you do just that.”

  He nipped at my inner thigh, and I bit down on my lip. Was he chastising me? His tongue grazed over the bite, and a hot rush of sensation swarmed through me. “None of them are you.” He didn’t grin smugly or laugh. His face was etched with something else, something somber, something dark.

  I hadn’t been with anyone since Finger. I just couldn’t, and I had no urge to be. I didn’t deserve to feel any spark of happiness or relief, not even for the short time it would take to get off. I wanted to keep a clear head. No distractions. No noise. I didn’t want any kind of physical intimacy with anyone; it almost seemed trivial in the scheme of things.

  I’d been in a kind of limbo this past year, but now I was really moving on. If Finger ever got out of jail, he would probably try to find me. But after what I’d done, he’d never want any part of me.

  Why not make it final, that separation? Not just on paper with my new name and identity, but physically as well as in my head? Unglue Finger from me.

  Was that even possible?

  I should try. Shove myself over that edge and crash.

  Turo’s mouth laid a dangerous trail up my thigh, and I grit my teeth.

  “Let me fuck you, gorgeous,” he whispered in the semi-darkness, his light colored eyes gleaming up at me. “Let me give you what you need. You and me. This has got nothing to do with business, or anything or anybody else. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long. You know I have.”

  “I know,” I choked out the whisper.

  “I’ve been a gentleman all this time. I’ve been good to you.”

  Turo had been good to me. He hadn’t been sleazy or pushy. Slightly flirtatious, suggestive here and there, but the man had style. He had gauged me well. He knew better than to push me. There had been knowing looks, but no raunchy comments, or actual physical passes, and he could’ve tried so easily. Any other man in his position would have. He also could have forced himself on me like I’d expected him to from the very beginning.

  But he didn’t. He hadn’t. Not once. He was a tightly tuned instrument of the highest caliber, its music eerie.

  “I’ve missed you. Really missed you.” Another kiss hovered a hot breath away from my core. “Say yes, angel.”

  My heart thudded in my chest, my every nerve on fire.

  “That animal hurt you. What he did to you—” he said on a hiss.

&
nbsp; Huh. He thought I was hesitating because I still suffered from post-Med sexual trauma. Maybe I was, but that wasn’t the reason my weary claws held onto the edge of my cliff.

  “I’ll kill him for you,” he said. “I will.”

  I touched the side of his face. His skin was smooth, flawless under my fingertips, and a piece of my heart broke at the velvety sensation. “It’s not him, Turo. It’s someone else. The man who saved me, who risked everything for me. He’s the…”

  My eyes filled with water and, like acid, dissolved the images of Finger I had stored there. Turo’s grip on my legs tightened, and his warm tongue lashed slowly at my slit. I cried out, my lungs crushing together.

  A groan escaped his throat. “Say yes, say yes,” he said against my skin, his voice hoarse, insistent.

  The great divide was before me: The no going back. The change it all forever. The smash yourself to bits and march over the pieces, sink your own ship as the band plays on.

  I nodded.

  He pulled me in closer, tighter, deeper, and took me fully in his mouth. I squirmed in his grip, and he reached up and ripped the robe off me, yanking me down to the floor.

  He was no gentleman now. He was aggressive, forceful. He was loud.

  I’d always imagined that as a trained assassin, Turo must be extremely still, quiet, and patient in the line of duty. He had to be. But not now. Now, he was the ravenous lion finally consuming his long hoped for prey. Vehement. Unstoppable.

  On the floor of that studio, Turo tormented my body and punished my soul with his generous violence.

  My heart shattered into shards of jagged glass, dripping with my own blood. Everything sped past me in a whirling blur.

  I was the blur, circling the rusted drain of me.

  30

  I’d made it to Los Angeles and, through a friend from school, I’d found work as a tailor, a seamstress, which led to being a wardrobe person, then an assistant to a celebrity stylist. In the beginning I’d volunteered for a lot of different projects and willingly took low pay on a lot of jobs. All in the name of networking, keeping busy.