King appears disoriented, staring at Hyde and then back at me.
“King,” Hyde says urgently. “Did you fucking hear me? He’s talking.”
King’s eyes snap back to Hyde and he takes off towards the back of the clubhouse.
I have no idea what just happened, but I don’t have time to think about it. I need to find Fury.
After asking everyone I can where he is, I’m eventually directed to his room.
Ten fucking minutes have passed while I searched, and I’m a jumble of emotions. I’m not convinced my heart hasn’t turned itself inside out. When I reach Fury’s room, I don’t knock, I don’t ask if I can come in, I don’t wait to be invited; nothing is stopping me from entering this room.
He’s sitting on the bed, naked except for boxers. His legs are extended the length of the bed while a man stitches a wound on his calf. A wave of nausea engulfs me as I look at the blood and the needle working through flesh.
“Fuck, Zara,” Fury says as I grab the closest piece of furniture to stay upright.
“Don’t move,” the guy stitching him orders as he jerks forward.
Fury says something, but I’m unable to focus on his words while I get myself together. I have a queasy stomach, and the sight of stitches always does this to me.
It takes me a few minutes to work through the nausea. Once I have, I find Fury’s eyes and close the distance between us, making sure not to look at his leg.
He’s a mess of cuts and bruises and dried blood, and when I reach for his hand, he hisses with pain. “Shit, sorry,” I say, letting his hand go.
“You should go back outside and wait for me,” he says, his expression one of concern.
Although I’m looking at Fury and he’s okay, my heart hasn’t stopped galloping. I know being a member of Storm demands he puts his life on the line daily, and I know how to live with that because I’ve seen enough of it with King, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.
“I thought you were dead.” The words fall from my lips, my fear not easing one little bit, my tears drawing closer to the surface.
“Okay,” the guy stitching him says. “I’m done. Call me if it gets infected.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Fury says, not taking his eyes off me.
The guy packs up and exits the room, leaving us alone.
Fury reaches for me. “Zara,” he says, but I stop him when I look down at his hand and see the swelling and bruising.
“No, don’t,” I say as he tries to take my hand. “You’re in pain.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the pain. I want to touch you.” His tone is determined, as is he, and he forces me to give him my hand. He pulls me onto the bed and brings his hand to the nape of my neck. He cups my cheek with his other hand. “Baby, I’m okay.”
My fear collides with my relief and I can’t hold my tears back any longer. They stream down my face as I sob.
“Fuck,” he curses softly, bringing me to him so he can wrap his arms around me.
We stay like this for a long time because I can’t bear to let him go. When I finally do, I say, “I’m sorry. I want to be strong for you, but—”
He silences me with a finger to my lips. “You don’t have to be anything for me except yourself. If you need to cry, do it. This situation is fucked up; we’re all feeling it.”
I know the guys don’t talk club business with their women, but I ask him the question I desperately need an answer to anyway. “Is it over?”
His eyes give me the answer before he even opens his mouth. “No.”
I swallow the terror that word unleashes. He doesn’t need to deal with my worry when he’s already dealing with so much.
To shift the conversation, I say, “How bad is your leg?”
He glances at it. “It’ll slow me down, but it’s okay.”