Butcher looked away. “Some things don’t stop mattering just because they end.” Her heart stuttered because wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? Running from a family she hated while still carrying pieces of them everywhere she went? Princess stepped closer before she could second-guess herself.
“Butcher—” she breathed. The sound of tires crunching outside cut her off instantly, and both of them froze. Something was wrong, and Princess knew it immediately. It couldn’t be a customer—not at this time of day, and that realization made something inside her body go cold so fast that it hurt.
Butcher seemed to notice too. His expression changed immediately, and every trace of softness disappeared; the Enforcer he used to be was in its place. There was only one word for what she saw settle over him—dangerous.
“Princess,” he said quietly, already moving toward the office door. “Stay here.” Fear slammed into her chest hard enough to steal her breath. Because deep down, she already knew that her father had found her, and Butcher was going to keep his promise to her.
Princess stopped breathing as every instinct she had screamed danger. The sound of tires outside dragged her straight back to Chicago—to dark sedans pulling up outside restaurants, armed men stepping out in expensive suits, and her father’s cold voice telling her that fear kept people obedient. Her pulse thundered painfully at the memory. No, no, no. They couldn’t have found her already, could they?
Butcher walked back into the office and stepped in front of her before she even realized he’d crossed the room. One second, he was by the doorway, and the next, he was standing between her and the office entrance like his body automatically knew where she needed protection from. That shouldn’t have affected her, but it did anyway.
“Princess.” His voice was calm—too calm. “Look at me.” Her eyes snapped to him immediately. “Are they your father’s men?” he asked quietly.
She swallowed hard. “I—I don’t know.”
Butcher nodded at her. “Okay, stay here,” he ordered. He reached beneath the desk before she could ask what he was doing and came back up holding a handgun.
Princess blinked up at him, and something dark shifted in her chest at the sight of the gun. It wasn’t fear, but recognition. Men like her father carried guns like they were accessories, but Butcher held one like a man who understood exactly what it was for. He looked comfortable handling one—and dangerous.
“You have a gun in your office?” she whispered.
His eyes flicked toward her briefly. “Baby, I used to be an Enforcer. I’ve got guns everywhere around my garage.” That should not have made heat curl through her stomach, but itdid. She almost laughed when the thought that something might genuinely be wrong with her crossed her mind.
Butcher stepped closer suddenly, his hand catching her jaw lightly. “Listen to me carefully.” His voice dropped lower, sounding harder. “If I tell you to run, you run.”
Princess stared up at him. “What about you?”
His expression turned grim. “I can handle myself.” That answer absolutely did not comfort her, but before she could argue, heavy footsteps sounded from outside the office. Princess tensed instantly as Butcher shifted slightly in front of her again without even thinking about it. He was protecting her, just like he promised he would.
The office doorway seemed to darken a second later, and Wade stepped inside carrying a greasy paper bag. Princess nearly collapsed from relief. “Oh my God,” she breathed.
Wade blinked between them slowly. “Butcher,” he said carefully, “why are you pointing a gun at me?” Butcher lowered the weapon with a muttered curse as Princess pressed a hand against her chest, her pulse still racing violently.
Wade’s eyes narrowed immediately. “What’s happening?” Neither of them answered fast enough. Wade looked between them once more before realization dawned. “Oh,” he said quietly. “She thought somebody found her.” The room went silent, and Princess hated how exposed she suddenly felt. She hated feeling weak and terrified, but she was. It was exactly how she never wanted anyone to see her.
Butcher slid the gun onto the desk before turning toward her fully, and the look on his face nearly undid her completely. It wasn’t pity, just concern—real concern. “You okay?” he asked softly. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t even remotely okay, but Princess nodded anyway because that was what she did. She lied to survive and pretended that everything was allright, but apparently, Butcher was getting better at reading her because his eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered. She looked down, and damn it, her hands were trembling.
Princess immediately crossed her arms tighter around herself. “I’m fine,” she lied.
“Bullshit,” he breathed, pulling her into his body and wrapping his arms around her. She sighed and snuggled into his hold. The roughness in his voice wasn’t angry; it sounded like he was actually worried about her, and somehow, that felt worse.
Wade quietly set the paper bag down on the desk before backing toward the door. “I’m gonna give you two a minute before your collective emotional damage infects me,” he muttered. Neither of them stopped him from leaving, and the second he disappeared, silence crashed back into the room hard.
Princess stared at the floor. “I hate this,” she whispered finally.
Butcher held her closer, carefully, like she might bolt if he let her go. “Hate what?” he asked.
“The fear.” Her laugh came out shaky and bitter. “I used to think that if I got far enough away from Chicago, it would stop.” Her throat tightened painfully. “But it doesn’t matter where I go. I still feel like they’re right behind me.”
Butcher’s jaw flexed. “They won’t touch you,” he insisted.
“You can’t promise that,” she challenged.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I can.” Princess looked up at him. The certainty in his voice shook her because he genuinely believed it.
“You don’t know my father,” she whispered.
