Page 42 of Fury
“Fury,” I warned.
“Later, doll.”
He passed me the black helmet that had been hanging on his handlebars. The one I’d caught swinging in my peripheral vision as he’d fucked me from behind in full view of the fucking CCTV cameras.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I stared at the shiny black helmet with the black visor.
“Put it on. It’s illegal to be on the back of a bike without a helmet.”
“That’s fine. I’ll not be on the back of a bike.”
“You will if you want that CCTV. We’ve got a wake to get to,” he added when I stood and glared.
*****
The motorbike vibrated angrily, the sound of the engine drowning out nearly all the other vehicles that we passed. Mercifully, the pub we pulled up to was just round the corner and the vibrations that were thundering up and down my spine stopped. The same sea of motorbikes covered every bit of tarmac outside of the pub. Every bike the same, save for a different colour or a design on the tank. They were spotless too, like they’d just been polished, the chrome sparkling even in the dull, grey day.
Music bounded out from the venue, thick, heavy rock, and as I peeked through the doors, all I could see was a mass of bodies crammed in.
“We’re going in there?” I asked, pulling off the black helmet that squashed my hair to my face and freeing a strand that was working its way to my mouth.
“Aye, doll. Welcome to the Northern Kings’ clubhouse.”
I glanced up again at the sign. Newly painted, it was stark against walls where the render was chipping off in large patches and exposing the brick underneath. The windows were already covered in condensation from God knows how many sweaty bodies.
“The Dog on the Tyne,” I said aloud.
“The one and only.”
“Not very biker sounding.”
“It’s a play on words, babe.”
I looked at him blankly.
“Lindisfarne?” He shrugged, watching me.
I shrugged back.
“They’re a band. You haven’t heard of them?”
“Thought you were talking about the place up north.”
“Well, that’s also the connection. Ste’s one true love lives there. Grace, Indie’s mam,” Fury continued when I said nothing.
“Oh. Right. We’re going in then?”
Fury nodded, taking a step forward to push the door open and then flourishing his hand at the gap in an overly gentlemanly gesture. But then, as I went to step into the crowd, he caught my arm, pulling me back into him.
“Just before you go in there,” he started, his expression serious. “Stay close to me, and whatever you do, don’t touch anyone’s back patch.”
“Back patch?”
“Aye. The badges on the back of jackets. It’s a cardinal sin. Don’t touch the back patch.”
“What happens if you do?”
“Carnage. That’s what happens. Just don’t do it.”