War of Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2)

Tommy sends me another filthy scowl. “She’s all yours. I wouldn’t let her suck my dick now even if she begged me to.”

The shit coming out of his mouth stirs my anger, but again, I fight it. I’m here to do a job, not get into Zara’s mess. The minute I take my attention off my job is the minute an enemy can get an in. I refuse to let that happen so instead of letting my fury out, I bark, “Leave!” I then put Zara down and take hold of both her arms as I get in her face. “Stop fucking fighting me. I’m helping you.”

Her eyes blaze with fire. “I don’t need your help, Fury. I can fight my own battles.”

I arch a brow. “Yeah? You can, huh?”

She stands her ground, shoulders squaring like she’s going into battle. “Yes!”

The sound of car doors slamming and an engine coming to life barely registers as we face off. “I beg to fucking differ. If I wasn’t here, fuck knows the shit you would have just gotten yourself into. And let’s not forget the night of the party. You weren’t doing so well by yourself that night.”

“I would have been fine, so fuck you. And seriously, you should just leave. It’s been days and we’re fine here. No one is after us. We don’t need you.”

“Grow the fuck up, princess. You do need me and I’m not going anywhere. Although, trust me when I say, I wish I could leave. Guarding your ass is the last fucking thing I wish I was doing.”

Her breaths are coming faster, her anger touching every inch of her as she glowers at me. “And here I was thinking maybe I’d judged you incorrectly before today. Turns out I was wrong.”

With that, she turns and stalks back inside.

Christ.

Teenage drama is something I have zero tolerance for. The sooner this gig is over, the fucking better.

6

Zara

* * *

Today has been a shitty, shitty day and I am so ready for it to end. However, it’s only just 4:00 p.m., so unless I obliterate myself with alcohol, there are still many hours left until I can say goodbye to the day. And even then, with the way I’ve not been sleeping lately, I’ve got a long stretch of time before it’s tomorrow morning.

I’m trying really hard not to think about how pissed off with Fury I am after what just happened, but it’s impossible. Every cell in my body is alive with that anger. I don’t know what it is about him, but he has this way of frustrating and infuriating me that I’ve never experienced before. I mean, guys like Tommy get to me, but I just let that shit go. With Fury, I’m finding myself thinking about him over and over.

I want to go back outside and give him a piece of my mind, but I know I’ll just end up even more pissed off. Fury doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who backs down easily. He’ll probably just keep arguing with me and not allow me to get my side across.

After pacing in the kitchen thinking about my options of coping with my frustration, my psychologist’s advice from earlier today comes to mind. I didn’t love talking with her, but she did give me some ideas to try.

Exercise. She told me to consider using it as a tool to help my anxiety. I’ll go for a run.

It’s been months since I’ve gone running. I used to love it, but uni kicked my butt this year and I stopped doing it at some point while study took over. Maybe it will be the thing I’m looking for; the thing to stop the never-ending cycle of thoughts that fill my mind and keep both my fear and my shame so loud and alive I can never escape them.

I dig out my running shorts and top, put on my running shoes, find my Nike cap, and head outside. Fury watches as I jog down the front path and then cut across the yard. He doesn’t say anything that I hear, but I see him muttering to himself. I then realise he’s following me. He’s jogging behind me. I’m not sure why I hadn’t thought that would happen. And while I kinda like the idea of having someone with me—because I can’t help but feel the fear when I’m out on my own—I’m not on board with it being him.

Stopping, I spin to face him. He comes to an abrupt stop as I say, “Seriously? You’re going to run with me?”

He looks as impressed with the situation as I am. “It’s my job.”

“I won’t tell King if you take a break and just let me do my thing.”

He shakes his head like he finds me ridiculous. “And how fucking well do you think it’ll go down if something happens to you while I’m taking a break? For fuck’s sake, Zara, think about what you’re saying.”

“I am thinking about what I’m saying.” Just not in the way he means. God, why does he have to be right about this? He’s so damn annoying.

“You’re not.” He jerks his chin at me. “Turn around and get back to what you were doing. This conversation is a waste of time.”

He did not just say that.

I place my hands on my hips. “I get that you’re doing your job, but why do you have to be such an asshole about it sometimes? Telling me I’m having a conversation that’s a waste of your time is so damn rude.”