“No.” His voice roughened. “You got men hunting you, Princess. Dangerous men, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for them to show up while it’s just me standing between you and them.” Emotion climbed hard into her throat, because nobody had ever chosen her like this before—not freely and not without strings attached.
“You barely know me,” she whispered again.
Butcher stepped closer instantly. “I know enough, and it doesn’t matter. I’m still choosing you.” That nearly shattered her fragile heart. Princess looked away quickly before he saw too much on her face, because if she let herself think too hard about this, about him risking everything he had built, she was going to fall apart, and she didn’t know how to survive falling apart anymore.
“What’s the club called?” she asked quietly instead. That finally pulled an actual smile out of him.
“Savage Bastards,” he proudly said. Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her.
“I like it,” she said. She recognized the name Savage from his story about Huntsville.
“It was Wade’s idea to use Savage’s name.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I called Savage’s daughter, Chloe. She’s running the Huntsville Royal Bastards now with her husband, Vengeance. They both liked the idea of us using his name, too, and we all thought that Bastards was a nice nod to the main character. We’re hoping to become one of their chapter clubs, here in Mississippi, but that is going to take a little bit of time. Chloe and Vengeance will sponsor us, though.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve been busy,” she teased.
“So far, Wade, Grim, Trigger, Lynch, and Draven have all agreed to be a part of the club. I’m sure that once word gets out around town, more guys will want to join.”
“That’s great,” she said. “And I really love the name.”
“Yeah, coming up with it was a struggle. Trigger suggested we call the club Mississippi Mayhem.”
Princess immediately burst out laughing, and Butcher looked deeply offended on Trigger’s behalf. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“That’s what I said,” Butcher agreed. She laughed harder, and something in Butcher’s face shifted while he watched her; like hearing her laugh mattered entirely too much to him now. The realization settled heavily between them, and Princess felt it instantly, and from the look on Butcher’s face, he did too.
Butcher stepped closer slowly, his hands finding her waist automatically. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re prettier when you stop looking terrified all the time.”
Princess’s pulse stumbled hard. “That’s a horrible compliment.”
He smiled at her. “Well, it’s the best I've got.” A smile tugged at her mouth despite herself, and there it was again—that look in his eyes that made her feel like the only person in the room. Butcher had a way of making her feel wanted, protected, and even seen, every time he looked at her. Feeling that way was dangerous—especially to her heart.
“Tell me something,” she said softly.
His thumb brushed lightly against her hip. “What?” he asked.
“Why did you really leave your old club?” The question lingered between them, and Princess expected him to shut down and put his walls back in place. Instead, Butcher looked tired suddenly—not physically or emotionally, but like carrying this story around had become exhausting.
“My Prez stopped listening to me,” he said quietly. “Our club got messy. It became violent in the wrong ways.” Hisjaw tightened slightly. “And I became somebody I didn’t like anymore.”
Princess watched him carefully. “You still loved them, didn’t you? Your brothers, right?”
Butcher looked away briefly and nodded. “Yeah.” There was grief in his eyes, real grief. It wasn’t just anger and betrayal, but loss.
Princess stepped closer until there was barely any space left between them. “And how do you feel about being in a club now?”
His eyes met hers again slowly. “Now I feel that I have something worth coming back for, no matter how bad the fight.” Her breath caught painfully, because she knew that he wasn’t talking about the club. He was talking about her, and for the first time in years, Princess realized something terrifying—she didn’t want to run anymore.
The next few days felt dangerously normal. Princess should’ve known better than to enjoy it, because normal didn’t exist for people like her. But somehow, life with Butcher slipped into place around her before she even realized it was happening.
Mornings turned into coffee in his kitchen while he pretended not to stare at her in his T-shirts. And afternoons were spent sitting in the office at the shop while Wade wandered in constantly to cause problems. And nights, God, nights were worse, because every night Butcher touched her like she mattered, like she wasn’t broken or he hadn’t accidentally stumbled across a spoiled mob princess carrying enough emotional damage to fill a cemetery. It was addictive—he was addictive, and that terrified her.
Princess stood in the garage office watching him work on a bike across the shop floor while music drifted softly through the speakers overhead. He looked different lately—lighter somehow from when she had first met him. But he still looked way too intense, and too dangerous for her to be considering a future with him—but she was. He seemed to be more alive now, and even the men around him seemed to notice—especially Wade.
“You realize he’s smiling again, right?” Wade asked from the doorway.
Princess glanced toward him suspiciously. “I’m sorry, did you just say Butcher smiled?”
Wade barked out a laugh. “Rarely. It’s starting to freak everybody out.”
