Fury

He leaned back in the rickety lawn chair Gunny had set out for him, watching the big man laugh as he lifted both hands out to the side, three kids of varying ages and sizes hanging off each arm. The swing set in the corner of the yard had become overrun with the older children, and now Gunny was acting as a makeshift monkey bars. The grin and big, booming laugh falsified his claim to being annoyed at the activity, and Fury smiled to hear the kids’ voices clamoring for more.

Tipping his head up, he stared through the sunlit fabric of the awning Gunny had setup over the table. Brilliant, dazzling even through the layer of material, the sun shone down on what he knew was a regular occurrence. One of the greatest things about the Rebels was how the club effortlessly folded families into the mix of celebrations. Not to say they didn’t have brothers-only parties, but since most of the men were building families, it made sense to include them as often as possible. Happy wife, happy life. He grinned, because the adage was still true.

In the weeks since he’d made the trip out to Utah, things had settled down. Even knowing how hard Pike had been working to make life hell for the Rebels, it was still surprising to find how much actual effort he’d been putting into the disruptions that had seemed to come from all sides. Had seemed to, because they fuckin’ were. Myron had spent days putting together a timeline and map of the old man’s work, and then trapped Mason and Fury in a room for hours explaining. It was good to know, because the information allowed them to drop the issues that would be dying on their own now that the shit-stirrer was dead, focusing instead on the real threats.

There were threats, of course. Given the paths they’d chosen to follow, the lives they led, there would always be threats. Always. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with stiffened fingers. Last night had been an example of that always, because there’d been a series of attacks on several clubhouses on the easternmost edges of Rebel territory. Pressure from an east coast club who were responding to the encroaching tide of Rebels. The men on the edges of things knew where they stood, they expected more action than the members in long-established cities like Chicago and Fort Wayne, but it didn’t make hearing the litany of injuries easier on anyone back here.

He’d told Mason they would need to push harder, expand a bit more before making a controlled contraction to consolidate clubhouses. Unblinking, his stare still unnerving even after so many months of being joined at the hip, Mason had listened and agreed. They couldn’t be seen to backdown from a few hits like last night, but they still needed to protect their men. For now, they’d try patching mostly single members on the fringe cities, redirecting others with interest back to a more centralized city like Columbus, Toledo, Lexington, or Knoxville.

A gliding touch on his shoulder was all the warning he needed and Fury lifted his arms, holding his beer out of the way as Bethy tumbled over the arm of the chair and into his lap, laughing and clutching at his neck as the chair threatened to collapse. “Hey there,” she said softly, palm coming to rest on the hinge of his jaw, fingers scratching and threading through his beard. “Food’s nearly ready. Want me to make you a plate?”

Luckiest man alive. He stared down into her grey eyes, corners of her lids crinkling up as she smiled. I’d do anything for you. He would, too. He’d tackle any task, level any mountain, and clear all obstacles out of the way of her happiness. Anything. “Sounds good.”

“Mmhmm.” She lifted her chin, brushing her lips across his. “I’m kinda stuck here right now.” He tightened his arms around her, chuckling as she gave him a pretty pout. “Help me out, Gabe.”

“Pay the toll, woman.” She rolled her eyes, lifting her chin again. He slipped a hand between her shoulder blades, lifting her up as his mouth descended, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. She made a frustrated noise and he smiled, laying the next kiss on one cheek, trailing soft caresses along towards her ear. “What do you want, Bethy? Tell me.”

Her hands twined around his neck, pulling him down as she arched up. “Kiss me.”

“You got it,” he murmured, mouth hovering over hers. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Gunny lifted his arms again, a new batch of kids dangling, bare toes in the breeze, giggling laughter filling the air around the big man.

For today, life was good.