Page 183 of Romeo

Fiona.

I’d spent weeks hearing that woman tell me she missed me while one thing after another kept my ass everywhere except where I wanted to be.

Now I was finally going back.

My hand went toward my phone before I stopped myself. I wanted to tell her. Hell, I wanted to call and listen to the exact second she realized I was coming. But I’d already given Fiona enough promises before the road beneath them was solid. This time, I wasn’t telling her I was coming until nothing could stop me.

King was staring at me. “What the fuck are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.”

“Wipe the fucking smirk off your face.”

I tried.

I couldn’t.

King had just learned Chasm was married to his sister. Sal was going to lose his fucking mind. Rosewood was about to be invaded by angry bikers and Irishmen, and the whole situation had disaster written all over it.

I probably should’ve been concerned.

Instead, all I could think was that somewhere in the middle of that disaster was Fiona.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Fiona

The Sons of Hell clubhouse was busier than usual for a weekday afternoon, the parking lot crowded with bikes and trucks that shouldn’t have been there at this hour. I’d come by after my shift at the Creamery, still smelling faintly of vanilla and cream, hoping to catch Nash for a few minutes before heading home. We’d been talking about taking Granny out for dinner that weekend, and I wanted to pin down an actual day before he found some excuse to bail.

The moment I walked through the heavy wooden door, dinner plans slipped to the back of my mind.

Something was wrong.

Banks stood at the bar talking to Enigma, his broad shoulders rigid while Enigma listened with an expression that made me wish I could hear what they were saying. Usually, the common room was filled with laughter, insults, and the kind of rough camaraderie I’d gotten used to around the club.

Today, conversations stayed low. Brothers sat in small groups, and several glanced toward the door when I entered without calling out the usual greeting. The tension reminded me of the air before a summer storm, when everything went strangely still even though the sky hadn’t opened yet.

I stayed near the doorway, one hand resting on the frame while I tried to decide whether I should find Nash or quietly leave.

The door opened behind me before I made up my mind.

I stepped aside to let two men enter.

The first looked to be in his fifties, with silver streaking the dark hair slicked away from a face that gave nothing away. He wore a dark suit with an open-collared black shirt, but it wasn’t the expensive clothes that made me notice him. It was the way everyone else did. Men shifted aside without being asked, leaving a path through the room as naturally as if they’d been expecting him.

The man beside him was younger and built like a wall, his face expressionless as his gaze moved across the clubhouse. He didn’t wear a suit—just dress pants and a black button-down shirt—yet he positioned himself slightly behind the older man, close enough to intervene if anyone came near him. Maybe bodyguard wasn’t the right word. Enforcer seemed closer, but I didn’t know if that word was used outside a motorcycle club.

Whatever he was, neither man belonged to the category of people I wanted to accidentally piss off.

Banks crossed the room to greet them. I’d seen him welcome presidents, club officers, and men who carried enough patches to tell me they mattered, but there was something more formal about the way he approached the older man. Several brothers stood while they spoke, drifting closer without anyone calling them over.

I eased another step toward the door.

“Fiona.”

I turned and found Nash beside me, his attention already moving between me and the men in the center of the room.

“You okay?”