Chapter 46 #2
The first time I beat Webb’s ass, I’d wanted him afraid.
Tonight, I wanted him gone. There was no lesson left to teach, no threat worth making, no reason to hear an apology I wouldn’t believe.
He had known exactly what Fiona’s no meant at the gas station.
He had known exactly what my warning meant afterward.
Then he waited until she was alone and put his hands on her anyway.
The blade came free slick in my hand.
He would have if you hadn’t been here.
I slashed the Bowie across his arm in quick succession.
I thought about the way Fiona’s body shook against mine after the danger was over, as though she had held every ounce of fear inside until she felt my arms around her.
The blade ripped across his chest in one vicious stroke.
I thought about her telling me she was scared on Granny’s porch and the way those words cut deeper than anything Webb could have done to me.
The Bowie flashed again and again, cutting across his torso faster than he could defend himself.
I had gone too fucking slow.
Rage took over as I slashed across his shoulders.
I had left her in Virginia because I wanted to prove I could be patient.
The blade tore across his thigh with all the fury I’d been holding back.
I’d treated the distance between us like protection when all it really did was make it harder to get to her when she needed me.
I drove the knife into his leg, twisted and yanked it out.
Webb tried to crawl away. His hands slipped beneath him, his breath turning wet and desperate while I followed, the knife heavy and sure in my hand. He looked back at me once, and I saw the same terror I’d seen on his face the first time I warned him.
This time, I didn’t mistake it for anything useful.
He would have if you hadn’t been here.
The Bowie swung again.
By the time I stopped, Marcus Webb would never put his hands on another woman.
I stood over him, breathing hard, covered in blood, and the knife hanging at my side, waiting for something inside me to settle.
Nothing did.
Killing him didn’t erase what I saw in that parking lot.
It didn’t change the fact that I’d reached Fiona because I happened to turn into the right place at the right fucking second.
Webb was dead, and I could still hear her crying into my chest. Webb was dead, and I could still feel her fingers locked in my cut because she was terrified I would leave.
My anger hadn’t been the real problem.
Fear was.
The realization pissed me off almost as much as Webb had.
I had spent my life being the man who could make a joke out of damn near anything. Fights, danger, club bullshit, women, myself. There was always something funny if I tilted my head far enough and looked at the world sideways.
There was nothing funny about imagining five minutes later.
I looked down at Webb and knew with a certainty that settled all the way into my bones that I would never gamble with Fiona like that again.
Gator had been right.
God, I fucking hated that.
My cousin had found out Devlyn was pregnant and made the choice I had been too civilized to make. He hadn’t waited for anyone else to approve his plan. He fucking took her somewhere he could protect her, somewhere he could love her.
I should have done the same.
Fiona was coming with me.
She could argue. She could curse me out. She could tell me she hated Nebraska winters and my landscaping plans and every other fucking thing about the life I intended to put within reach of her.
But I was done loving her from half a world away.
First, I had a body in front of me.
I cleaned the knife enough to sheath it, stepped outside, and called the one Sons of Hell brother I trusted to understand the difference between helping me and turning the next hour into a fucking club meeting.
Priest answered after several rings, his voice thick with sleep. “Romeo?”
“Need a favor.”
The silence on the other end sharpened immediately. Priest knew me well enough to hear what I wasn’t saying, and unlike Nav, he didn’t waste time trying to drag it out of me over the phone.
“How bad?”
“Bring something I can move a body with.”
Another silence, this one heavier. “Address.”
Priest showed up alone less than an hour later. By then, I had enough of myself under control to think beyond the knife in my hand, but not enough to stop hearing Fiona every time I looked at Webb.
He would have if you hadn’t been here.
Priest stepped through the doorway, took in the room, then looked at Marcus lying where I’d left him.
His gaze moved to the Bowie at my side before coming back to my face, and I watched recognition settle in slowly as he connected the dead man in front of him to the reason I’d appeared in Virginia without warning.
“Who is he?”
“The dead son of a bitch from the gas station.”
His eyes stayed on me. “Is Fiona okay?”
The question hit harder than I expected. I could still feel her shaking against me, still hear the way her voice had cracked when she begged me not to leave Granny’s porch.
“She will be.”
Priest’s expression tightened. “What the fuck did he do?”
I looked at Webb.
He would have if you hadn’t been here.
“Ignored the first fucking warning.”
Whatever Priest had been about to say disappeared. His eyes dropped to the body again, and this time there wasn’t a trace of curiosity in the way he looked at it.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I got there before he finished what he started.”
Priest looked back at me, and I didn’t need to explain what that meant.
He had known Fiona long enough. So had the rest of the Sons.
She wasn’t some woman attached to a visiting Silver Shadows’ brother anymore.
She was Fi. Granny’s girl. Georgie and Frank’s little sister.
Someone half that fucking clubhouse would tear Rosewood apart for if they knew what had happened.
Priest rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I can help you with this, but I can’t keep this quiet. Not when it involves Fi.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Give her the night before everybody crashes down on top of her.” I looked toward the dark window, seeing Granny’s porch instead of my own reflection.
“She’s still fucking shaking. She doesn’t need Georgie, Frank, and every patched Son in Virginia crowding into that house before she’s even had a chance to sleep. ”
Priest watched me for a long moment before nodding. He understood that kind of protection. Sometimes keeping people away for a few hours was the only thing you could give somebody when everyone who loved them wanted answers.
“Bring her to the club first thing in the morning.”
There it was.
Not a question.
I could have corrected him. Told him Fiona wouldn’t be anywhere near the Sons’ clubhouse in the morning. Told him that before sunrise I intended to have her packed and headed south with me.
Instead, I met his eyes.
“Thank you.”
Priest nodded and together we dealt with Webb.
He didn’t ask me for a play-by-play, and I didn’t offer one.
He had enough information to understand why the man was dead, and after looking once more at what remained of Marcus Webb, he seemed to decide there wasn’t much point discussing whether I’d overreacted.
There were some things men like us didn’t need explained.