Page 277 of Romeo

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.