Butcher knew that sooner or later, Princess’s father’s men would catch up to her. The second Marco said that she didn’t have a choice about going with him, something old and violent snapped loose inside Butcher’s chest. He became the Enforcer he had tried to outrun ten years ago, but that part of him had never really died. It had just been sleeping. And now it was fully awake and ready to take down any man who tried to lay one finger on Princess.
The garage went dead silent around him except for the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead and Princess’s uneven breathing somewhere behind his shoulder. Butcher didn’t look back at her. He couldn’t, because if he saw fear in her eyes right now, somebody was going through a wall.
Marco clearly mistook his silence for hesitation because he adjusted his suit jacket calmly and smiled again. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
Butcher stared at him. “No,” he said quietly. “You showing up here did that.”
The guy on Marco’s left shifted slightly, his jacket sliding to the side to reveal his weapon. Butcher noticed it immediately,and so did Wade. But the interesting thing about violent men was that they recognized each other instantly.
The atmosphere in the garage sharpened hard enough to cut skin. Marco finally looked around properly at the men who were flanking his sides. He seemed to notice the way they’d closed ranks without even discussing things. It was club instinct, and Butcher knew that they were becoming a brotherhood. For the first time since walking in, uncertainty flickered across Marco’s face.
Butcher took another slow step forward. “You got two choices,” he said calmly. “You leave peacefully—” His voice dropped lower before he said the next part. “Or we help you leave.” Princess made a tiny sound behind him like she already knew violence was coming.
Marco’s jaw tightened. “You really want to go to war with the Romano family over a woman?” That was the wrong question, because Butcher’s temper finally snapped completely. He moved so fast the guy barely had time to react. One second, Marco stood there smirking, and the next, Butcher had him slammed against the hood of a Camaro with a forearm, crushing his throat. Tools crashed to the floor nearby, and Princess gasped. The other two men reached for weapons instantly, and suddenly Wade had a shotgun pointed directly at one while Trigger buried a knife into the workbench beside the other’s hand, hard enough to make him freeze. It was complete chaos—controlled chaos, which was the best kind.
Marco struggled beneath Butcher’s hold, but Butcher just leaned harder into his throat. “You came into my town,” he growled, years of buried violence bleeding into every word. “Into my garage and threatened my woman.” His voice turned colder. “That was your first mistake.”
Marco’s face darkened red beneath his grip. “She’s?—”
Butcher shoved him harder against the car. “I know exactly who she is.” And that was the problem, because he did. She was scared, lonely, and running for her life. And somewhere along the line, she became his. Princess wasn’t his property, but his responsibility. She was his woman, and the hard line in the sand for him.
Marco finally stopped struggling long enough to sneer. “You think this town will protect you both?”
Butcher smiled then, slow and mean. It was the exact kind of smile that used to make enemies back down inside Savage Hell. “Nah,” he said quietly. “But the Royal Bastards probably will.” That seemed to get everyone’s attention. Wade looked smug as hell at the mention of the Bastards.
Marco frowned. “The Royal Bastards?” Butcher released him just enough to let him breathe while still pinning him to the hood of the car.
“We’re their new Mississippi charter,” he said calmly. “Just got sanctioned.” Technically, they weren’t official yet, but that didn’t matter. The bluff seemed to work anyway. Marco’s expression shifted because even Chicago mob families knew the Bastards. Savage built that reputation in blood years ago, and suddenly Butcher felt it fully for the first time. The patch might’ve been gone from his shoulders, but it never really left his bones.
“You’re lying,” Marco said carefully.
Butcher shrugged one shoulder. “Call Huntsville and ask.” Princess stared at him behind wide eyes, but Butcher ignored her. He couldn’t let her fear guide what he was going to do next. He had to get rid of the threat, and then, he’d worry about Princess.
Marco seemed to slowly realize the situation had changed. This wasn’t one mechanic standing alone anymore. This wasabout territory, brotherhood, and starting a potential war, and even mob men respected numbers.
Marco straightened carefully once Butcher released him. His expensive suit was wrinkled now, making Butcher want to laugh. “This isn’t over,” Marco said coldly.
Butcher stepped closer immediately. “No,” he agreed quietly. “It’s not.” The threat hung thick between them.
Marco looked toward Princess one last time. “Your father will never stop looking for you.”
Princess stiffened behind Butcher. But before fear could settle fully into the room, Butcher spoke. “Then he'd better send more men next time.” Marco held his stare for one long second before finally turning toward the door. The other two followed immediately, and nobody moved until the black SUV disappeared down the road outside.
“Holy shit,” Wade breathed.
Trigger burst out laughing as Grim shook his head slowly. “Well,” he muttered, “guess we’re officially a biker club now.” Butcher scrubbed a hand over his face hard enough to hurt. Adrenaline still pounded through him violently. It wasn’t fear, but rage. He could handle rage easier than fear, because he was done being afraid.
The overwhelming need to make sure Princess was okay hit him, and he turned around immediately and found her there. She was standing near the office doorway staring at him like she’d never seen him clearly before this moment. He wasn’t the mechanic or the quiet loner anymore. He was the Enforcer now.
Princess swallowed hard. “You could’ve gotten killed.”
Butcher walked straight toward her without hesitation. “Not a chance.”
Emotion flashed across her face—anger, fear, and something heartbreakingly close to panic. “You can’t just throw yourself into danger every time somebody threatens me,” she insisted.
“Butcher stopped directly in front of her. “Yes,” he said calmly. “I can.” Her eyes went glassy, and he could tell that she was holding back tears. Damn it. That reaction punched straight through his ribs. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry.
Princess lowered her voice roughly. “Why would you do that?” It was a simple question with a complicated answer. Because somewhere along the line, protecting her became instinct. Because the idea of somebody hurting her made him homicidal, and because he was already in too deep.
