Wade leaned forward slowly. “You know what this means.”
Butcher met his eyes. “Yeah.”
“No more lone wolf act,” Wade said.
“I know,” Butcher grumbled.
“You asking us to stand beside you means something now,” Wade insisted. Butcher knew that he wasn’t going to let this go. He’d want commitment, and Butcher was ready to give that to him if it meant saving Princess. The old instinctive tension settled heavily into the room because this was the line in the sand. It was the one Butcher swore ten years ago he’d never cross again. He promised himself that he’d wear no patch, have no brotherhood, or Prez, and no blood ties strong enough to destroy him again.
Then Princess flashed through his mind—the way she looked completely terrified in his office. The way that her hands shook, and even though she had no reason to, she trusted him anyway. He’d already made his decision, but saying it aloud scared the hell out of him.
Butcher leaned back in his chair slowly. “Fine,” he breathed. Every man at the table went still.
Wade narrowed his eyes. “Fine, what?”
Butcher looked around the room, at the men already acting like brothers, whether they admitted it or not, and then he sighed heavily. “Fine, let’s start the damn club.” The explosion of noise nearly ruptured his eardrums. Trigger laughed loudly, Grim slapped the table, and Wade looked entirely too smug.
“I fucking knew it,” Wade announced triumphantly.
Butcher pointed at him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” Wade insisted.
Draven shook his head with a grin. “So what now, Prez?” The title hit him like a punch to the chest. Prez. Jesus Christ. Ten years running from the club life, only to end up right back here, but strangely, it didn’t feel wrong anymore. Not sitting here with the guys. Not with purpose crawling back beneath his skin, and not when it was for her.
Butcher scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Now,” he muttered, “I make a phone call.” He pulled the phone from his pocket and punched in the number that he had been given. His hand tightened around the burner phone while it rang—once, twice, three times, and then a woman answered.
“Who the fuck is this?” she asked. Butcher froze at the sound of Chloe’s voice. Savage’s daughter was just a kid when he last saw her, and now she sounded very grown up and very angry. Christ. And now, she was running Huntsville’s chapter of the Royal Bastards with her man, Vengeance. Life was strange as hell.
“Chloe,” Butcher breathed.
“Yeah, who’s this?” she asked.
“It’s Butcher,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Oh, I remember you, Butcher,” she assured. Something twisted painfully in his chest, hearing the shock in her voice. “You disappeared for ten damn years and broke my father’s heart.”
“Not the point right now, kid,” he said, using the name he used to call her. Savage, Bowie, and their wife, Dallas, had so many kids that he called them all “Kid” so he didn’t get any of them mixed up.
“It absolutely feels like the point,” she insisted. Despite himself, Butcher almost smiled. She was still Savage’s daughter, all right.
“You got Vengeance nearby?” he asked. She didn’t answer, but he could hear muffled movement on the other end of the call.
A deeper voice came onto the line. “This is Vengeance,” he said calmly. Butcher leaned back against Wade’s office wall. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Butcher. I just didn’t think you’d call here—not after everything that went down with Savage.”
“Yeah, well, life’s weird.” Butcher never thought that he’d reach out to anyone back in Huntsville, ever, so he understood where Vengeance was coming from.
“No shit.” There was a brief silence, and for a second, Butcher worried that the call was lost. “What do you need?” Good, he was getting straight to business. Butcher looked through the office window toward the men outside, already arguing over possible club names. Idiots.
“I need to start a charter,” Butcher breathed. Things got quiet fast, and then, Vengeance laughed softly in disbelief.
“Savage’s old Enforcer is finally coming home,” Vengeance said. The words hit hard, because somehow, maybe he had come home.
“I’m in Mississippi,” Butcher continued roughly. “Got good men here, and we need protection under the Bastards' umbrella.”
There was another pause, and then Chloe’s voice came back onto the line. “You serious about this?” Butcher thought about Princess again, and about the fear in her eyes. He remembered the promise that he made her that he’d burn entire cities down before letting somebody drag her back to Chicago.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”
