“My father,” she admitted quietly.
Butcher went still beside her, waiting her out for more information. Princess swallowed hard. “My father runs the Romano family in Chicago.” That seemed to get his attention. Mob families weren’t exactly unknown. Especially not to men who’d spent time around biker clubs. Princess forced herself to keep talking even though she wished that he’d say something to stop her.
“He’s controlling. He’s obsessed with appearances, loyalty, and power.” Her laugh came out hollow. “Basically thinks he owns everyone around him—including me.” Butcher’s jaw tightened slightly. Yeah—he understood men like that.
“He promised me to somebody,” she whispered finally. Princess stared at the dark ceiling above them. “I’m supposed to marry a man from another family who is older and has a reputation for violence.” Her throat tightened. “The marriage was supposed to strengthen some alliance.”
Butcher’s arm tightened around her instantly. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to anchor her. “I told him that I wouldn’t do it.”
His voice dropped dangerously low. “And what happened?”
Princess laughed bitterly. “And men like my father don’t hear the word no very often.”
Anger rolled off Butcher in waves now. She could feel his cold anger. It was the terrifying kind. She knew it well. “He tried forcing you to marry the guy?”
“He tried controlling me.” She swallowed hard. “So I left before he could.”
Butcher was quiet for a long moment. “Does he know where you are?” Princess hesitated, and that hesitation seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. Butcher cursed softly under his breath. “He’s looking for you, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she admitted. The room went silent again, and Princess braced herself for the shift—for him to realize she brought danger straight to his door. She waited for him to regret his decision to take her to his bed tonight. Instead, Butcher rolled onto his side, fully facing her, his expression hard enough to cut steel.
“Then let him come for you,” he growled. “Because he’ll never lay a hand on you again. I’ll make sure of it, Princess.” She shivered at his promise because she knew that he meant it. She wasn’t sure if she should trust him and let her guard down, but she was, and she did. Maybe that made her a fool, but when it came to Butcher, she’d play the fool all day long.
BUTCHER
The second the words left his mouth, Butcher knew he meant them. Let him come. Any other time in his life, he would’ve called himself a stupid bastard for getting involved in mob business. Smart men stayed far away from organized crime and family wars that weren’t theirs. But sitting there in the dark with Princess curled against him, and hearing the quiet hurt in her voice while she talked about her father treating her like property? Yeah, something vicious woke up inside him. because nobody should’ve had that kind of fear attached to the word “Father.”
Butcher stared at the ceiling long after Princess fell asleep against his chest, his arm wrapped around her automatically while his thoughts spiraled hard. The Romano family in Chicago was notorious for trafficking women, although it had never been proven. The courts couldn’t seem to get any charges to stick to anyone in the family. He had a feeling that forcing Princess into a marriage she didn’t want would mean nothing to her father.
He didn’t know every mob family name out there, but he knew enough to understand what kind of danger this was—for both Princess and himself. Men like her father didn’t let thingsgo, especially not daughters. And Princess had embarrassed him, so her father would definitely want his revenge.
Princess shifted slightly in her sleep beside him, her fingers curling instinctively against his side like she trusted him even while unconscious. That feeling in his chest came back immediately—the protective, possessive one. It was dangerous as hell because he barely knew this woman. Yet, somehow, he was already thinking about violence on her behalf. Christ. Ten years alone, and now his life looked like this in under a week.
Butcher glanced down at her quietly. He noticed that she looked softer while sleeping—younger, too. Princess looked less like somebody carrying the weight of the world around on her shoulders every second of the day. There was no attitude, no sharp edges—just exhaustion. Princess wasn’t spoiled, as he thought. She wasn’t difficult to deal with, nor some rich girl playing the rebel for fun. She was tired of fighting and of surviving. She was tired of never being safe, and for some reason, that realization crawled beneath his skin deeper than it should have.
His hand slid slowly through her hair before he could stop himself. “You’re a damn problem,” he muttered quietly. Princess made a sleepy little noise against his chest, and somehow that nearly wrecked him more than the sex had. Fuck.
Butcher woke before sunrise like always. Years of routine didn’t disappear just because there was suddenly a beautiful woman sleeping in his bed. Though admittedly, that did make getting up significantly harder. He stayed still for a minute longer than necessary, watching the pale morning light spill across Princess’s face before reality settled back in.
She was in danger, and her father wouldn’t stop coming for her. He’d consider her property, and men like him didn’t let their property go without a fight. The fact was that if she was there long enough, somebody would eventually notice. Small towns liked to talk, and if somebody from Chicago started poking around, it wouldn’t take much for word to get back to her father, and he’d come for her.
Butcher slid carefully out of bed without waking her and pulled on jeans before heading toward the kitchen. He needed to get his priorities straight—coffee first, and then, he could think about the violence that he wanted to rain down on her family. The old floorboards creaked beneath his boots while his mind worked through possibilities. God, he hated this feeling. It wasn’t the attraction he felt towards Princess or the protectiveness that he felt for her. No, what he hated was how quickly his instincts had shifted around her—like his entire life had silently rearranged itself overnight.
Princess was in danger, which meant now he was involved, and some deeply buried part of him—the old Enforcer part he thought died ten years ago—was already assessing threats automatically. His mind went directly to checking entry points and escape routes. He mentally listed who in town could be trusted, and who couldn’t. That realization pissed him off immediately, because he left that life behind. Butcher had left the violence back along with the brotherhood he lost in Huntsville. He had left the man he used to be standing on the floor of Savage Hell beside his kutte. But now he could feel that part of himself was waking back up, and the worst part was how natural it felt.
The sound of soft footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Princess appeared in the kitchen doorway wearing one of his shirts again, her hair messy from sleep, and Christ, she was a dangerous sight.
She blinked at him sleepily. “You’re glaring at the coffee pot like it did something wrong to you,” she said.
“It started it by not brewing my coffee faster,” he grumbled. A tiny smile tugged at her lips, and there it was again—that soft version of her nobody else probably got to see. Princess walked closer slowly, stopping near the counter. Neither of them spoke for a second, and when Princess looked down at her fidgeting hands, he knew that she was going to say something that he might not like.
“You really meant what you said last night?” she asked. Butcher already knew what she was asking. He told her that if her father came for her, he’d have a fight on his hands—and he meant it.
“Yeah,” he breathed, “I meant it.”
Her eyes lifted back to his immediately, and he could see the shock on her beautiful face. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you fight my father for me? We just met each other, and you owe me nothing.” Her question was simple, but his answer was complicated. She was right—they had only just met, and usually, he wouldn’t have cared about a virtual stranger’s problems. But for some reason, Princess was different. He felt drawn to her in a way that he hadn’t felt to any other woman. Somewhere along the line, she started mattering to him. He was good at noticing broken things because he was broken too after losing his Royal Bastard family. And the thought of someone hurting her made him want to break bones.
Butcher leaned back against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. He shrugged, trying to pretend that what he was about to say wasn’t a big deal—but it was. “I won’t let your father or anyone else touch you, Princess. You are mine to protect now. I can’t explain why I feel that way, but I do.”
