“No,” Butcher agreed. “But I know men like him.” Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes then—something that reminded her of the violence that she grew up around. It was the same look he got earlier when he thought somebody had come for her, and Princess realized suddenly that Butcher wasn’tafraid of her father—at all. And honestly, that might’ve terrified her more than anything that had happened between them.
“You were really going to protect me,” she said softly before she could stop herself.
Butcher looked almost offended. “Of course I was.” He said it like there was no other possible answer. God. Nobody had ever chosen her this quickly before—not without expecting something in return. Princess felt emotion climb unexpectedly into her throat. This whole situation was dangerous—too dangerous.
She turned away quickly, pretending to look through papers on the desk before he noticed. “You know,” she said shakily, trying to regain control of herself, “normal people ease into emotional trauma. You and I apparently just sprint directly towards it.”
A rough laugh left him. “There’s that attitude that I love again.” Princess smiled faintly despite herself as Butcher stepped behind her, close enough that warmth rolled off him immediately. Then, his arms slid around her waist slowly and carefully, like he was giving her time to pull away, but she didn’t. Princess melted back against him instead, exhausted by the constant fear and secrets that she was fighting. For one selfish second, she just wanted this. She wanted him because being with him meant that she was safe. It made her feel as though she had finally found the peace that she had been searching for all these years.
Butcher rested his chin lightly against the top of her head. “You don’t have to be scared alone anymore,” he murmured. That nearly broke her, because this time, she believed every word he was telling her.
BUTCHER
Butcher didn’t sleep that night either. Not even with Princess curled up by his side. She had finally passed out sometime after midnight, exhaustion dragging her under despite the fear still lingering in her eyes. But Butcher stayed awake beside her, staring into the darkness. He couldn’t seem to turn off his brain from planning and preparing for the day that her father’s men actually showed up in town—because they would. This wasn’t theoretical anymore. Her father was going to come for her because men like Romano didn’t lose control of their daughters and let it slide. Especially not daughters tied to alliances and power plays, and the second that realization fully settled in, Butcher already knew what had to happen. The problem was—he hated the answer.
His eyes drifted toward Princess sleeping beside him, soft, warm, and trusting. That last one nearly gutted him because trusting Butcher meant stepping into violence, whether she realized it or not. And if he wanted to keep her safe, he couldn’t do it alone. That truth tasted like blood and old ghosts.
The Royal Bastards had taught him one thing years ago—one man alone eventually died alone. Clubs survived because brothers stood together. Butcher had spent ten years pretendinghe didn’t need that anymore, but Princess changed that in less than a week.
“Fuck,” he muttered quietly. Because he already knew that the loner shit was over for him. Being with Princess meant that he’d have to give up his solitary life, whether he liked it or not.
By seven the next morning, Butcher was pulling into Wade’s parking lot. The bar wasn’t officially open yet, but half the bikes outside belonged to men who practically lived there anyway. Wade looked up from unloading boxes when Butcher walked in, and then stopped cold.
“Oh, you look like hell,” Wade muttered.
“Gee, thanks,” Butcher drawled.
“Seriously, man, you look like somebody died,” Wade continued.
“We need to talk,” Butcher said.
“Wait—are you breaking up with me?” Wade joked.
“I don’t have time for jokes, Wade,” Butcher growled. Every man in the room went still at his tone. The interesting thing about bikers was that they recognized violence in each other, and Butcher still carried his like a second skin.
Wade jerked his head toward the back room, and Butcher followed him back. They sat around an old table—him, Wade, and four other men who drifted around town enough to practically function like an unofficial club already. Grim, Trigger, Lynch, and Draven were the closest thing that Butcher had to friends around town. They were men Butcher trusted enough to drink with, sometimes fight beside, and maybe die beside, if it came down to it. And that was exactly why he hated what he was about to ask.
Wade leaned back in his chair slowly. “So,” he drawled, “you finally gonna explain why you looked ready to execute me yesterday?”
Butcher exhaled. Honestly, he didn’t even know where to begin. “Princess is running from a Chicago mob.” Absolute silence filled the room.
“Well,” Draven muttered, “that’s unfortunate.”
“Seriously?” Grim asked.
Butcher nodded once. “Her father’s head of the Romano family,” he said.
Trigger whistled low. “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah,” Butcher said.
Wade studied him carefully from across the table. “And you’re involved now.” It wasn’t a question, and even if it was one, Butcher wouldn’t bother denying it.
“Yeah,” he said. The room went quiet again. Nobody looked surprised, because they’d all seen the way he looked at her already. Hell, Wade probably started mentally planning their wedding after the dance floor kiss—annoying bastard.
“What do you need?” Lynch finally asked. His question reminded Butcher of what he had given up by walking away from the Royal Bastards—brotherhood.
Butcher clenched his jaw briefly. “I need eyes around town, and people watching for strangers.” His voice roughened slightly. “I’ll need backup if things go bad.” Nobody answered immediately, not because they didn’t want to help, but because they all understood what he was really asking. Protection meant that they’d all go to war if necessary. This kind of commitment meant club shit levels of dedication that they might not be ready to offer.
