Page 276 of Romeo

“Love you too, Cher.”

I ended the call before he could answer and started my bike.

I knew exactly where that motherfucker lived.

Twenty-two minutes was plenty of time to remember the first time I’d found him. I’d put him against a wall, beat enough sense into him that I thought there couldn’t possibly be room left for confusion, and explained exactly what would happen if he went near Fiona again. I had believed him when fear finally replaced arrogance in his eyes. More accurately, I’d believed fear would last.

It hadn’t.

That was another mistake I wouldn’t repeat.

I sat on my bike for several seconds after shutting it down, staring at the ordinary little house and thinking about how many times I’d told myself Fiona was protected because Rosewood was full of people who loved her. Georgie and Frank were nearby. The Sons of Hell were nearby. Granny watched over her like the woman had personally been appointed by God to keep Fiona alive through sheer fucking stubbornness.

None of them had been behind the shop.

Neither had I until the last second.

No one could protect her if they weren’t there.

I got off the bike and felt the weight of my Bowie knife at my side.

My daddy had put a knife in my hand long before most people thought a boy should have one, and every Cajun man I grew up around seemed to have an opinion about blades. How to sharpen them. How to hold them. How to respect what they could do. Guns were efficient. Guns gave distance.

I didn’t want distance from Marcus Webb.

I wanted him to understand exactly who had come through his door and why.

He opened it after my second knock. Recognition wiped the irritation off his face so fast I almost smiled.

Almost.

“What the fuck?”

He tried to slam the door.

I shoved through it hard enough to send him stumbling backward, then kicked it closed behind me. Whatever he saw in my face made him retreat another step before I ever touched him. That pleased something ugly inside me, though not nearly enough.

Webb started talking immediately. Men like him always did when the balance changed. He demanded to know what I was doing there, told me I was fucking crazy, threatened cops and lawsuits and every other shield cowards remembered once they were the ones cornered.

I barely heard him.

All I could hear was Fiona.

He would have if you hadn’t been here.

The Bowie came out of its sheath.

Webb’s eyes dropped to the blade, and his mouth finally stopped moving.

I remembered Fiona’s wrist trapped against the brick.

I grabbed his and held it against the wall as I drove the knife into it.

He screamed as I yanked it free, then tried to get away, but I followed him down the narrow space between the couch and the wall, the fury I’d been carrying since pulling into that driveway finally given somewhere to go.

He would have if you hadn’t been here.

I struck again.