Page 61 of Fury

“That was the Aces,” Indie continued now. “Apparently, they’ve been going after the Vandals. Thought he was one of theirs. That’s if we believe the story. Either way, the Hand are already going after bike clubs.”

“Aye. Reckon it’ll have been them going after Ciara a few weeks back too,” Tony Cannelloni’s voice popped up from the other side of the table.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Fucking great. Now Demon was in full Demon mode and Big Red was still eyeballing me, as if he’d caught me fucking Tori not defending my honour from her. This meeting had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Fury left me alone in a biker bar, and nearly every man that had filled it followed him through that door at the back, swallowed up somewhere in the bowels of the building. The booth seat dipped, the small blonde woman sliding in beside me.

“Hi. I’m Suzy,” she said, smiling encouragingly. “It’s been a mad couple of days, hasn’t it? Heidi Fischer, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Your dad did my mam’s funeral. Good few years ago now. He was great. So kind.”

“Really? Doesn’t sound like him, kind I mean. I didn’t think he’d stepped foot in the business properly for over twenty years.”

“No, I guess he hasn’t. She died when I was sixteen. Be twenty-two years ago. Might have even been the last funeral he did. We couldn’t really afford much,” she said sadly. “But I’d had my heart set on a horse-drawn hearse, and we didn’t have the money for it. I bawled my eyes out in his office in front of him, as I listened to your father and my father discuss what we could get for the money we had. Our puny budget could only reach to one funeral car, the hearse. You know what he said?”

I shook my head, staring at her, at the tears that filled her blue eyes. Blue eyes like mine, only paler. A strand of hair fell across her face, blonde hair like mine, just straighter.

“He said he would hate for his own daughter to feel that way. He paid for the horse and carriage for my mam. And he paid for another car for us to get there too. I cried even more.”

A tear dribbled down her face and the back of my throat burned.

“He’s a good man. Heidi. Please tell him I said thank you, even if he doesn’t remember me.”

We sat silently for a few minutes, both of us staring ahead. There were a few more people in the bar now. Most of them wearing plain clothes, and some with plain leather waistcoats on, the only thing on them a badge that read ‘prospect’.

A woman walked by, almost passing us, but then turning back, as if something caught her attention. I’d seen her yesterday in the church, recognised the tattoos down her arms, across her chest and the long raven hair that skimmed the top of her arse.

She approached, stopping at the edge of the table, staring at me.

“Who’s this?” she asked Suzy.

“Fury’s girlfriend.”

I opened my mouth to complain. That wasn’t what I was. Wasn’t what we were. The woman looked me up and down, her lips almost pulling into a snarl.

“Not last long,” she said to Suzy. “Fury goes through girls like a dose of salts. He’ll be bored soon enough, then he’ll move on.”

I stared back, wondering whether to respond, but then she turned and walked away.

“Ignore Tori. She was Ste’s ol’ lady. None of us like her, only put up with her because she was the Prez’s girl.”

“Maybe you’re all free of her now?”

“Wish that we were. Kings’ rules, they always look after the ol’ ladies of dead members until the day that they die too. It’s sweet, just inconvenient sometimes.”

“That’s true,” another voice added to the conversation. An older voice, deeper, more rugged. “The Kings have looked after me every day after my fella died.” The woman had dark hair striped with grey, pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “You two can help me in with the food. Thought the boys would need some good old-fashioned hangover food tonight.”

Suzy nudged me out of the booth, and I followed the older woman out of the pub and to the back of a taxi. She was portly, in a cuddly granny sort of way. She waddled in front of me on thick sturdy legs, a little limp now and then, like something hurt. And then we followed her back in, my arms outstretched with five silver trays balanced on top of each other precariously, my muscles tight with tension as I thought about every step, hoping I didn’t catch my toe or wobble, making our way back through the pub to the bar.

I slid the tower of platters carefully on to the bar top, just as the door beside me burst open.

“I’m going to fucking kill them all!” The tall man with the short dark hair bowled through.