Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone’s life. When they’ve stolen important things. Things that didn’t belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.
What? Have I offended you? I’m not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I’m a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I’m here for my revenge.
I’m Ethan Moonsong…And this is the story about how I went from the world’s most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
**CONTAINS SPOILER FOR GREED (BOOK TWO)**
Fury follows Ethan Moonstone after his break-up with Cricket. We experience his pain, his downward spiral, and eventual salvation. We follow his discovery of what and who he is, of what he will do for love, and what love actually is. Fury was a moving and heartbreaking story, on more levels than I can even begin to explain.
We were broken, the both of us, apart, but together we were whole. perfect, flawless, and intact. Collectively we were absolute. Together we were conclusive. Period.
Ethan Moonstone did not win me over in Greed, in fact, I kind of hated him, I was sure that I wasn’t going to be a fan no matter what he did. I was so wrong. So, so wrong. Ethan was amazing, he had won my heart in no time. He was a character with so many dimensions I could feel him in every word, without a single mention of his thoughts I knew what he was thinking and feeling. Ethan was a powerful character with more loyalty and determination than almost any other hero I’ve read.
Then it dawned on me…
Maybe coming here won’t just be for Finley. Maybe I was destined to come here for myself as well. Maybe this is a time for retribution on my part. Maybe I’m here to shed my false complacency.
I was convinced.
Finley Dyer won me over in Greed; there was something about her that I just instinctively cared for. She has a brightness about her that belied the tragedy of her past. From the minute I met Finley I knew she carried more pain that she wanted the world to see. Finley was strong in a way few people have reason to be. She was optimistic in a way that amazed me in light of her life.Finley Dyer was a fighter of the highest degree.
“Nothing could ever bring you to ruin, Finley Dyer. And because you are so permanent, I will sew you together again. You’ll see the seam will only make you stronger.”
Fury had me riveted from the minute I started it. It was an intense and all-consuming ride. Even in the moments where things seemed to be calm there was a tension floating which made me leery of the next page turn. Until the very end of the book, I was kept a live wire of anticipation and fear. There were moments when I was sure that everything was going to turn to devastation. For much of the book, my heart was racing, and I simply could not keep up with the pace of it. I needed to process the words faster than I possibly could, and that is exactly what I want when I pick up a book.
The sun had almost completely risen, the morning that serene and brief limbo between light and dark, a cross between suffering and relief, strangely. The only hope was in the awareness that light would indefinitely arrive to wash out the pained darkness. But in the interim, there was peace in that murky shine and we soaked in that place, that place without hope or fear.
Fisher Amelie was already on my list of go to, don’t even need to read the synopsis, authors and she did not disappoint with Fury. The writing was superb, the characters well-developed, and the pace never lagged. Ms. Amelie’s imagery was so spot on that I felt like I was seeing Vietnam for myself. Though I have never experienced Vietnamese culture in any way, I now feel like I have. There are some authors who constantly outdo themselves with the originality of their work and the way in which they present ideas that are very sensitive, Fisher is one of those authors. She brings to light issues we know about in the abstract in a fashion that makes the reader have an awareness that will not allow for the blinders to be replaced. I am a changed person for having read her work, and will continue to read anything that she publishes for that reason.
“Now you can never say you didn’t know. You can choose only to dismiss the memory.”
That was the last of my fury, the last of my wrath, my bitter, confused anger.
It belonged to them now.
I took a deep breath as my fingers found their purchase and pulled out my keys. The key I needed somehow hit home and the lid sprang open, the knives staring at me, daring me. I watched them, waited for them to tell me what to do, but nothing came. They laid still, gleaming in the moonlight waiting for me too, it seemed. I sat in the passenger side seat, one boot still on the gravel, and made the first move. Raising a trembling hand toward the temptation, my fingers felt the cool length of each blade.
The rage still burned in my veins and I felt myself sobering, hesitating. No, I kept hearing. Pick them up, a voice said, so I did. Their weight felt good in my hands, comfortable. I breathed three breaths before gripping their handles and twirling them quickly in my palms. Even drunk, I could slaughter anything that moved. I was made to hunt. And hunt you shall, the voice urged.
I nodded and stood, shutting the passenger side door, tucking the blades into the back of my jeans, and camouflaging them with my shirt. My boots echoed with each step back toward the bar, heavy and dark like the night that surrounded me, like the thoughts in my head.
The adrenaline seared through my body, heightening every nerve, intensifying every sense. My heart pounded like a bass drum in my chest, pressing painfully against my ribs. My skin burned with anticipation.
I reached for the door handle.
“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice whispered, startling me.
I stopped, one hand on the handle. “Finley, go home,” I ordered her.
She stood from her leaning position against the outside wall of the bar, out of the shadows, and walked toward me. Her eyes seared through me. She came to me, stood closely, the heat from her body enveloping me.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she told me, looking up into my eyes. “At least not alone.”
She stood tenaciously, fearlessly. I noted how much taller she was than Cricket and it was a little bit intimidating to me, like what she said was going to happen whether or not I liked it. I respected her and I didn’t know why. I stared at her hard, but she didn’t budge. No, instead, she strengthened her own resolve, her jaw tightening with the decision and glared back even harder. She said and did things with such righteous authority, I felt powerless to her. I’d never felt that way before about a woman. It wasn’t pushy or irrational, it was simply as it was going to be.
My eyes and face relaxed the moment I acquiesced. “Fine.”
Her body followed suit and she nodded once, grabbing my arm and leading me toward my truck. Her hand reached into my jeans pocket, sending an inexplicable electrical charge through me, which I promptly chose to ignore, and yanked out my keys.
“Get in,” she ordered and I obeyed.
She threw herself into the driver’s side and slammed the door shut, sticking the keys in the ignition and turning only once. The engine started, daring not to further goad her. The stereo kicked on, belting something indicative of the moment we were leaving behind us, full of bass and a sharpness so edgy it echoed through my chest and head.
She shoved the truck in reverse, throwing her arm over the back of the bench, and her stare found mine. It was a solid look, packed full with a storm of unspoken words. Without breaking her gaze, she shifted into drive. She held there for a moment, driving her disappointment in me deep down into my soul before finally looking ahead to the end of the parking lot. I know I’m toxic, Finley, I thought, but that didn’t stop my mouth from retching awful thoughts.
“You have no reason to be pissed at me,” I told her, practically begging her to speak.
She didn’t say a word as she pulled out onto the road with more punch than the Finley I knew normally would have, turning toward the interstate. I had no clue where she was taking us, but I wasn’t about to ask.
Just make her turn around, I thought. Tell her you won’t do anything.
I opened my mouth to speak but caught a glimpse of her hair whipping about her determined face from the open windows and forgot what I was going to say. I turned my gaze toward the windshield. The light from the headlights exposing just enough of the road to make me nervous at the speed we were traveling. One hand found the dash to steady myself.
“What’s wrong, Ethan?” she asked.
“Huh?” I asked, whipping my head her direction.
“Too fast for you?”
“Liar,” she said, calling me out.
I wiped my palms down the thighs of my jeans. “Slow down,” I said, swallowing.
“Oh, now you want to play it safe?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re so selfish, you know that?” she asked. I was taken aback. She’d never talked to me like that.
She leisurely drove across lanes as if traveling more than a hundred miles per hour was completely normal.
“What?” I demanded, feeling alert. The adrenaline had sobered me quickly.
“You’re selfish. And stupid. Let’s not forget stupid.”
My blood boiled. “Whatever, Finley.”
“Whatever, Finley,” she mocked. “Don’t you know I’m suffering? That I’m the only person in the world who suffers? Can’t you see that I’m determined to be foolish, Finley?”
“What do you know of suffering?” I asked, incensed.
Wide eyes met mine and her jaw clenched as she pulled over, slamming us to a stop. Her hair flew forward from the force before settling onto her chest and shoulders.
“I know more about suffering than you could ever possibly imagine. You don’t know shit! So you got your heart broken. So what! There are worse things, you know. There are things out there that would curl your toes to know about, Ethan.”
Fisher Amelie resides in the South with her kick ace husband slash soul mate. She earned her first ‘mama’ patch in 2009. She also lives with her Weim, Jonah, and her Beta, Whale. All these living creatures keep the belly of her life full, sometimes to the point of gluttony, but she doesn’t mind all that much because life isn’t worth living if it isn’t entertaining, right?
Fisher is the author of The Seven Deadly Series, The Sleepless Series, and The Leaving Series, and was a semi-finalist in Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award