Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
Romeo
I sat with the dead phone still against my ear for several seconds after Fiona ended the call.
Some asshole had cornered her at a gas station, grabbed her hard enough to scare her, told her he knew where she worked, and walked away with a gun tucked into his jeans.
Frank had gotten there in time.
That was the only reason I was still sitting in Diamond Creek instead of listening to Fiona describe something much worse.
I lowered the phone and stood.
The rage moving through me wasn’t wild enough to make me stupid. It did the opposite. By the time I crossed the common room, I already knew what I needed.
I ignored Tank when he called my name and went upstairs for the go-bag I kept packed. Five minutes later, it was strapped to my bike.
King would be pissed when he found out.
Right now, I needed Nav.
I called as I pulled onto the highway.
“Yo.”
“I need a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I need video from a gas station in Rosewood, Virginia. I need you to identify a man on it.”
There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of Nav’s fingers moving over a keyboard. “Does King know about this?”
“No.”
“Romeo—”
“Save me the fucking lecture, Nav.”
“King’s gonna lose his mind.”
“Probably, but I need you to find the video.”
Nav sighed. “What am I looking for?”
“Man, around thirty to thirty-five. Brown hair. Scruffy beard. About six feet. Grabbed a woman outside the station while carrying a gun.”
“Jesus Christ. What the fuck happened?”
“The footage, Nav.”
“What gas station?”
“Rosewood only has one fucking station.”
That earned a short laugh despite the tension in his voice. “You’re riding to Virginia right now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course you fucking are.”
“The footage, Nav. I want a name, address, job, criminal history—whatever you can get.”
“This is going to take a minute.”
“You’ve got the time it takes me to reach Virginia.”
“Romeo, think about what you’re doing.”
“Already did; that’s why I’m on the fucking road.”
That was the problem. I disconnected before he could say anything else as the highway opened in front of me.
I rode as if Satan himself was behind me. Gas, coffee, piss—those were the only stops I made. Even those took too fucking long.
I didn’t waste energy pretending this trip was about checking on Fiona. She was safe at Granny’s. Frank and Georgie knew what had happened, and half the Sons of Hell would probably be watching her by morning whether she liked it or not.
I was going to Rosewood for the man who’d grabbed her.
Nav’s message came sometime after midnight.
I pulled into a rest area and opened the files.
The video showed the front of the gas station from an angle high beneath the awning. Fiona appeared at the edge of the frame, went inside, then returned a few minutes later with something in her hand.
The man moved while she was inside.
Brown hair. Beard. Exactly as she’d described.
He stopped near the car.
My jaw locked when his hand closed around her wrist.
Fiona pulled back, but the motherfucker didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped closer and crowded her against the side of the car while his mouth moved.
I already knew what he’d said.
I played the footage again, this time watching his face instead of Fiona’s.
Casual.
That was what pissed me off most.
He didn’t look like a man doing something reckless in the heat of the moment. He looked comfortable. Like putting his hands on a woman who’d told him no was familiar enough that he didn’t expect consequences.
Then Frank’s bike entered the edge of the frame.
The change was immediate.
I could practically feel the earth shake when the big bastard stomped toward the asshole who had the au-fucking-dacity to touch my girl.
I couldn’t hear what Frank said; I didn’t need to.
Fiona had told me what Frank said. Even without knowing, seeing the stranger’s hands go up as he took a step back told me all I needed to know about a pussy who went after someone weaker than himself.
The man retreated toward his truck while Frank stayed between him and Fiona.
My eyes were glued to the video until the pickup disappeared from the frame.
Then I watched the beginning once more so I remembered his face.
Nav’s second message contained the rest.
Marcus Webb.
Thirty-three.
A local address outside Rosewood, though he’d only been there a few months. Odd jobs. Minor arrests scattered across several states. Nothing that explained why he’d chosen Fiona, and nothing serious enough to keep him locked up.
I memorized the address and put the phone away.
Frank had done exactly what Fiona needed in that parking lot. He’d stepped between her and danger without hesitation and gotten her home safely.
I owed him for that.
It didn’t change what came next.
I started the bike again.
Rosewood was dark as I drove through town a little after three in the morning.
I didn’t go to the Sons of Hell clubhouse or Granny’s house. Seeing Fiona would only create questions I had no intention of answering. Fiona would never know I was even here.
Marcus Webb lived in a tired little house outside of Rosewood in a neighborhood that nobody paid much attention to after dark. His truck wasn’t in the driveway, and the house was dark when I arrived. It didn’t take much to let myself inside.
The place smelled like stale beer and cigarettes. Dirty dishes crowded the sink, empty bottles covered the coffee table, and a dark television sat across from a sagging couch.
I sat in a chair facing the front door and waited.
The anger I’d carried from Nebraska had burned itself out on the highway along with the tread on my tires. What remained was colder. Cleaner.
I’d lost track of how long I’d been sitting there when headlights finally swept across the front windows. The sound of a truck door slamming was followed by keys scraping against the lock.
I didn’t move a muscle.
Webb stumbled into the house without turning on the lights. He made it three steps before he realized he wasn’t alone.
His body went still.
“Evening, Marcus.”
His eyes widened, and his hand reached toward the back of his jeans.
“Don’t.” One word was the only threat he needed to drop his hand at his side for about two seconds. Then Webb made the mistake of looking toward the door. I stood before he got the chance to decide whether he was fast enough to reach it.
“You really don’t want to fucking do that.”
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“You and I need to have a conversation about the girl you grabbed outside the gas station.”
His face changed. It wasn’t much—just a flicker of recognition before he tried to bury it beneath confusion.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There was no warning. No raised voice or dramatic fucking countdown.
My fist caught him across the mouth and sent him stumbling into the wall.
Before he could recover, I drove another into his stomach.
He folded, wheezing, and I caught the front of his shirt and slammed him back hard enough to rattle whatever cheap shit hung on the wall behind him.
“I was just fucking talking to her.”
“That what you call it?”
He shoved at me, which was almost funny.
Almost.
I drove my fist into his ribs, then caught him across the jaw when he swung back. Webb hit the floor hard, but apparently alcohol and stupidity made a man optimistic, because he tried to get up.
I kicked his legs out from under him, and he went down with a curse.
“Stay the fuck down.”
Blood ran from his nose and split lip as he stared up at me. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The man explaining why you’re never going near that woman again.”
“I didn’t do anything to her.”
I crouched, caught him by the shirt, and hauled him close enough that he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard me.
“You saw a pretty woman working behind a counter and decided being polite to you meant she wanted your attention. Then, when she made it clear you were wrong, you put your fucking hands on her.”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
The excuse scraped across the last of my patience.
I hit him again, and his head snapped sideways. When he looked back at me, there was finally more fear than defiance in his eyes.
“You keep saying that like not beating the shit out of a woman earns you some kind of fucking prize.”
I let go of his shirt and reached beneath my cut.
The moment my knife came into view, all the fight drained out of him.
There it was.
The fear I’d been waiting for.
My hand settled around the familiar weight of my knife before I drew it free. Webb tried to press himself farther into the wall, but there wasn’t anywhere left to go. I used the end of my Bowie knife to tip his head back before running the blade down his throat.
“Now we’re going to try this conversation one more time, and this time you’re going to tell me the fucking truth.”
His breathing turned shallow. “I talked to her.”
The blade pressed tighter. “Keep bullshitting me and you’re going to find out exactly how patient I’m not.”
His throat worked beneath the steel. “I was just trying to get her attention.”
“And?”
“I grabbed her arm.”
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t stop.”
There it was—the answer of every entitled asshole who thought wanting something meant somebody else owed it to him.
“So she tried to leave and you decided she wasn’t allowed to.”
“I just wanted to talk.”
“She didn’t.”
He swallowed carefully. “No.”
“And all of this happened while you had a gun shoved in the back of your jeans.”
“I wasn’t going to use it. I always carry it,” he whimpered as the blade dipped deeper into the skin until a bead of blood appeared.
“I don’t give a fuck if you sleep with the goddamn thing between your ass cheeks.
” I leaned closer. “You don’t get to decide whether she had a reason to be fucking scared of you.
You followed her. You grabbed her. You let her know you knew where to find her.
And you did it armed. That’s what you did. ”
His eyes stayed locked on mine.
“Say it.”
“I scared her.”
“Not good enough.”
His breath shuddered out. “I followed her when she tried to leave. I grabbed her, and I told her I knew where she worked.”
“And?”
“I had the gun.”
I held his gaze for another long second before easing the pressure off the blade, though I didn’t take it away.
“Good. Now you’re finally telling the truth.”
He looked at the knife. “I won’t bother her again.”
“No, you fucking won’t.”
I shifted the blade just enough to remind him how thin the distance was between a warning and something permanent.
“You don’t go near her again. You don’t ask about her. If you see her somewhere, you turn and go the other fucking direction. If I find out you so much as thought about her, this stops being a warning.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not finished.”
His mouth snapped shut.
“If I ever hear that you put your hands on her again, I won’t come back here to talk. I won’t beat some sense into you and leave you sitting on your own floor covered in blood and piss. There won’t be another warning, Marcus.”
His face had gone pale beneath the blood.
I smiled. “You understand what I’m telling you now?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I held the knife against his throat for one more second, long enough that he’d remember exactly what cold steel felt like every time he thought about Fiona.
Then I pulled it away.
Webb sagged against the wall.
I wiped the blade on his shirt before slipping it away.
“You’re fucking insane.”
I straightened. “Maybe.”
My gaze moved over his bloody face.
“But you’re going to remember me.”
I walked out the back door and left him sitting on the floor.
He didn’t need to know who I was.
He needed to know what would happen if I ever had a reason to come back.
By the time I reached the motel on the edge of town, exhaustion had started catching up with the miles. I paid cash, carried the go-bag inside, and locked the door behind me. I stretched out on the bed without bothering to undress.
Marcus Webb had made a mistake.
Not only because Fiona belonged to me.
Webb’s mistake was believing her choice didn’t matter.
She’d tried to walk away.
He’d stopped her.
Everything after that was between him and me.
I stared at the ceiling while the silence of the motel settled around me.
King wanted me to let Fiona choose me in her own time.
I would—that promise hadn’t changed tonight.
Neither had the other part of me that was capable of crossing half the country because someone put fear in her voice.
Fiona would eventually see that man too. Maybe not tomorrow and maybe not because I sat her down and gave her a list of everything I’d done in her name. But if she chose a life with me, she deserved the whole truth eventually.
Then she could decide what to do with it.
For now, she was sleeping safely at Granny’s house, believing the man from the gas station had been frightened off by Frank.
I closed my eyes.
In the morning, I’d call Fiona like I promised.
Tonight, knowing she was safe would have to be enough.