Page 179 of Romeo

“Hey, Prez, what’s up?”

King didn’t waste time. If Chasm refused to get his head out of his ass, he wanted me to go check on Morgan.

Now that sounded like a fucking plan.

Not because I wasn’t worried about Morgan. I was. But after being dragged farther and farther from Fiona for weeks, club business had finally decided to cooperate with me.

“I can do that. Yup, I’ll go check on her. You gonna call King and tell him we’re coming up to Virginia?”

Chasm’s chair scraped violently against the floor.

There it was.

He came around the desk and ripped the phone from my hand.

“Don’t fucking call King. I will go check on her, but I don’t want her to know I’m there.”

I leaned back in the chair and smiled.

The asshole could tell himself he was only going because Morgan might be in danger; he could even skulk around Rosewood and pretend that seeing his wife wasn’t the real reason he’d changed his mind in less than thirty seconds.

Regardless, he was going.

“I knew you’d see reason. What about the other names?”

“One of them was Kaitlyn Ward. Also empty. The others were names I don’t recognize, but I’ll get Omen on them and see what he can find.”

“Expect Angel to be there tomorrow, because once I tell him, he’ll be on his way. Banshee might be with him.”

Chasm closed his eyes. “Great, just what I need.”

“You’ll be in Virginia, asshole.”

The call ended and Chasm handed my phone back with a glare. I shoved it into my pocket, equal parts smug bastard and pissed off Cajun.

Of course he was going to Rosewood.

And of course I wasn’t.

I’d spent weeks trying to get there, and Chasm had spent seven fucking years avoiding the place. Somehow the universe had decided he deserved the direct route.

I pushed out of the chair before I could get any more pissed about it.

At least Morgan would have someone watching her.

Fiona would have to wait a little longer.

And apparently, so would I.

By the time I made it back to Diamond Creek, I was fucking tired of motorcycles, highways, and every state that wasn’t Virginia. I sat at the clubhouse bar with my phone in my hand while Fiona sent me photographic evidence of her latest crime against breakfast.

The toast in the picture was black enough to qualify as charcoal.

Ma Belle: She said I’m no longer allowed to make breakfast

Me: Seems harsh. You only tried to burn the house down once.

The dots appeared beneath my message, but before Fiona could answer, Gator’s name replaced them on the screen.