Page 120 of Romeo

Hell, it should’ve been over the first time she said it.

That was the part men like Dennis never seemed to understand. They heard a woman’s answer and treated it like the beginning of a negotiation.

I crouched beside him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his face up.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” I said. “You’re gonna call the sheriff when I leave. Tell him someone broke in. Tell him they were covered head to toe. Couldn’t get a good look. Couldn’t describe them if your life depended on it.”

His eyes widened behind the blood running down his forehead.

“You got that, Dennis? Because make no mistake.” I waited until he focused on me. “Your fucking life depends on it.”

He nodded fast.

“You don’t mention me. You don’t mention Fiona. You keep your goddamn mouth shut about that part. Understand?”

“I-I swear.”

“And if you’re smart, if you want to keep breathing, you’ll leave Rosewood. Pack your shit and go. Because if I see you near her again, if I hear you’ve so much as said her name, I’m coming back.” I leaned closer. “And next time, I won’t stop.”

His head dropped when I released him.

I stood over him for another second, flexing my hands through the pain in my knuckles, his blood darkening the skin over them. The rage that had brought me here hadn’t disappeared, but the worst of it had burned itself out.

Dennis understood now.

I could see that much.

I stepped over him and headed toward the broken door.

At the threshold, I looked back. “Stay away from her. Because next time, I will fucking kill you.”

Dennis didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. I’d made myself crystal fucking clear.

I stopped at a gas station outside Rosewood to fill up and grab coffee before heading west. The fluorescent light above the pumps turned the blood on my knuckles almost black. I took a drink and looked down at my hand. Hours earlier, that same hand had rested against Fiona’s back as I walked her through the coffee shop.

She’d trusted it there.

That thought did more to settle me than anything else had.

Fiona would’ve hated what I’d just done.

Or maybe she wouldn’t.

I wasn’t sure which possibility bothered me more.

She knew I was a biker. She was smart enough to know the Silver Shadows weren’t a Sunday riding club. Eventually, she’d learn there were things about my life that didn’t fit neatly beside flowers and prom dates.

But tonight wasn’t the night. I wasn’t hiding what I’d done because I was ashamed of it. I looked down at the split skin over my knuckles.

Nope.

Not one damn bit.

Dennis had ignored her no. I’d made sure he wouldn’t do it again.

What Fiona didn’t need was the burden of knowing someone had been hurt because of something that involved her. She’d spend too much time wondering whether she’d caused it.

She hadn’t.