Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Romeo
The clubhouse still felt like the aftermath of a fucking explosion.
Three hours of meetings had torn through every bit of calm we’d managed to scrape together.
The Death Dogs were rolling into Diamond Creek looking for Irene Cooper.
King’s secrets about the Microdrive were unraveling in real time.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough shit for one night, Cash and Kytten had told us what Syrena had done.
I sat on the edge of my bed with my elbows on my knees and stared at the scarred floor between my boots.
That last part was the one I couldn’t get out of my head.
Syrena had been inside our clubhouse. She’d sat at our table. She was a member of the Nyght Nymphs—women we’d trusted enough to welcome through our doors.
And she’d abused Kytten.
My jaw ached from how hard I’d been clenching it.
I could still see Kytten standing beside Cash with her hand locked in his. Her face had gone pale while he spoke, but her chin never dropped. She hadn’t hidden. She hadn’t acted like she owed any of us shame for something someone else had done to her.
Cash had sounded different. Flat. Controlled. Every word measured as if letting too much emotion into his voice might crack something open he couldn’t put back together.
Nobody had interrupted him.
That alone told you how bad it was. Getting an entire room full of Silver Shadows to shut the fuck up at the same time usually required King’s gavel and at least three threats.
Tonight, nobody needed either.
Then the anger had hit.
I’d felt it move through the room as brothers looked at one another and realized the same thing.
Kytten was family.
Someone had hurt our family.
I scrubbed both hands over my face and stood. I should’ve been downstairs with the others, figuring out what came next. Death Dogs in our backyard. King’s secrets. Syrena. Too many problems moving at the same time and too many ways for one of them to get someone killed.
Instead, I’d come upstairs because I needed five goddamn minutes where nobody expected an answer from me.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it automatically because I knew it was her, and I needed her.
Ma Belle: Bad day?
Two words, and the shit downstairs moved out of the center of my head.
Me: What makes you ask?
Her answer came almost immediately.
Ma Belle: You’ve sent three one-word answers.
I scrolled back through our earlier conversation.
Fuck.
She was right. I’d been answering her without really talking to her, my brain stuck on club business while my fingers sent whatever response required the least thought.
Me: Maybe I’m becoming mysterious.
Ma Belle: You’re terrible at mysterious
A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it. She was right; I’d stopped being mysterious with her, slowly letting her see what she meant to me.
Me: Wounded again.
I stood and walked toward the window. The clubhouse lot below was still full of bikes. Most of the brothers hadn’t left, even though the meeting had ended. Nobody wanted to go far tonight.
Ma Belle: What happened?
I stared at the question, wanting to tell her everything but knowing I couldn’t tell her anything.
Me: Club business.
Ma Belle: That means you can’t tell me.
Me: It means I don’t want it in your head.
I sent the message and immediately knew exactly how it sounded.
Still didn’t make it untrue.
I didn’t want Fiona thinking about territorial bullshit and men who used women as leverage. I didn’t want what Kytten had endured anywhere near her thoughts. I especially didn’t want her lying awake wondering what the Death Dogs being less than an hour away might mean for me.
Fiona had enough shit from her own past living in her head. She didn’t need mine taking up residence too.
Ma Belle: You don’t always get to decide what I can handle.
My thumb stilled over the screen.
Well, fuck.
I read it again.
She wasn’t wrong.
From the second I’d realized the La Croix curse had finally come for me, I’d been making decisions about Fiona in my own head.
I’d decided I would wait. Decided I would protect her.
Decided what parts of my world I wanted anywhere near her.
I’d done all of it without asking what she wanted because I’d convinced myself I was protecting her.
Sugar’s voice came back to me.
Let her set the pace.
Apparently, that applied to more than keeping my hands off her.
Me: Fair.
The response felt weak, but I didn’t have a smartass comment that could make her less right.
Ma Belle: Are you hurt?
I stopped pacing.
There it was.
She hadn’t demanded answers about the club. Hadn’t pressed me for names or details.
She just wanted to know about me.
Me: No.
Ma Belle: Are you angry?
I looked toward the door.
Angry didn’t begin to cover it. I wanted the Death Dogs out of our backyard. I wanted every secret King was keeping dragged into the light before another one blindsided us. I wanted Syrena somewhere I could get my hands on her—although Mimic had already taken care of that.
And part of me was pissed at myself for being upstairs talking to Fiona instead of downstairs doing something useful.
Me: Yes.
Ma Belle: Do you want to talk?
I stared at the words for a long time. I wanted to say yes; I wanted to tell her more than I could.
Not every club secret—those weren’t mine to share. But I wanted her to understand the kind of life that existed behind the cut she’d seen me wear.
Someday, if she chose me, she would have to know there would be things I couldn’t tell her. There would be danger. There would be days like this one.
And there were things I’d done for this club—things I might have to do again—that a high school girl in Rosewood had no reason to imagine.
What scared me wasn’t the thought of Fiona knowing every ugly corner of my life.
It was what she might decide after she did.
Me: Not about what happened.
Ma Belle: Talk about something else.
I looked at the words for a second and felt my shoulders loosen.
No argument.
No demand.
Simply an offer to take my head somewhere else.
Me: Like what?
Ma Belle: Tell me what you’d cook if I showed up hungry
A laugh escaped me. Of all the questions I’d expected, that wasn’t one of them.
Me: Gumbo.
Ma Belle: That takes hours
I walked back toward the bed and sat down.
She wasn’t wrong. A proper gumbo took time. You couldn’t rush the roux without ruining the whole damn thing. You stood there, stirred it, watched it darken, then let everything else simmer until it became what it was supposed to be.
For Fiona, I’d stand over the goddamn pot all day.
Me: You’d be worth the wait.
I stared at my own message after I sent it.
That one wasn’t flirting.
It was just true. More honest than she probably realized.
Ma Belle: Better answer
My smile widened.
Five minutes ago, I’d been sitting here thinking about Death Dogs, Syrena, Kytten, King, and about six different ways the next few months could go straight to hell.
Now I was thinking about Fiona sitting at a kitchen table eating my gumbo and probably telling me I’d used too much spice.
She did that to me.
Me: Thank you.
I sent it and leaned back against the headboard.
Nothing downstairs had changed. The Death Dogs were still too damn close. Kytten still had to live with what Syrena had done. King still had explaining to do, and the brothers were still trying to figure out how all of it fit together.
But my hands weren’t clenched anymore.
Fiona hadn’t fixed anything.
She hadn’t tried to.
She’d just stayed on the other end of the phone until I could think about something besides who I wanted to hurt.
That mattered more than I knew how to explain to her.
I picked up the phone again.
Me: Get some rest, Ma Belle. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Ma Belle: Promise?
One word.
That was all.
But she’d noticed something was wrong tonight. She’d noticed my answers were different and stayed with me until they weren’t.
Now she wanted to know I’d still be here tomorrow.
Me: Promise.
I set my phone on the nightstand and pushed myself off the bed.
Downstairs, I could hear the low murmur of the brothers talking. Club business was waiting for me, and I’d already taken longer than five minutes. I headed for the door, then glanced back at the phone.
I’d known Fiona was mine from the first night I saw her in Virginia.
What I hadn’t expected was how quickly pieces of me would start becoming hers too.