Page 219 of Romeo

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.