His thumb dragged slowly over the unfinished skull stitched into the center patch while memories hit him hard. Memories of Savage laughing across the bar at Savage Hell flashed through his mind. He remembered his old brothers drinking around a battered clubhouse table. But with the good memories came the bad ones—like his kutte hitting the floor when he told Savage that he was done. He still couldn’t believe that happened ten years ago. He had spent those ten damn years trying to outrun the man he used to be. And now here he stood in his kitchen at three in the morning, holding fresh colors while the woman he loved watched him like she could actually see the war happening inside him. It was a dangerous thing being seen—especially when it had been a damn long time since anyone actually saw him.
Wade finally broke the silence. “You gonna cry or something?” he asked cautiously.
Butcher looked up slowly. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”
“Okay, good talk,” Wade grumbled. Princess laughed softly beside him, but her eyes stayed fixed on the patch in his hands. Like she understood this meant something bigger than a club, and maybe she did, because somehow, Princess saw through him better than anyone ever had. That should’ve terrified him more than it did, but instead, it just made his chest ache.
Wade stretched before heading toward the front door. “Anyway, meeting tomorrow night. Trigger’s bringing whiskey. Lynch’s bringing guns. Grim’s bringing paranoia.” He grinned. “It’s going to be a real family atmosphere.”
“Get out,” Butcher muttered.
Wade paused dramatically in the doorway. “Now, that just hurts my feelings, Prez?” Butcher flipped him off automatically, and Wade looked delighted. “Yeah,” he said smugly. “That title’s sticking.” Wade disappeared outside before Butcher could throw something at him.
Silence settled over the house again, but Princess stayed beside him quietly while he stared back down at the patch. “You miss him.” Her voice was soft enough to almost miss. Butcher didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know who she meant. Savage, and yeah, he did—more than he admitted out loud.
“Every damn day,” he said roughly. Princess moved closer slowly until her arm brushed his, and Christ, that simple support nearly wrecked him worse than the patch did.
“You know,” she murmured, “for someone who spent ten years running from biker clubs, you really suck at staying away from them.”
A rough laugh escaped him. “Apparently.”
She smiled faintly before looking back down at the leather in his hands. “You’re different when you talk about them.”
Butcher frowned slightly. “Different how?”
Princess tilted her head thoughtfully. “You seem less lonely.” That one landed hard enough to crack something open in his chest, because maybe she was right. The truth was, these last few days, he felt more alive than the past decade combined. Brotherhood was creeping back into his life, Princess sleeping in his bed, hell, he’d even laughed more this week than he had in years. That worried him because happiness usually came right before disaster in his life.
Butcher set the patch carefully on the counter before reaching for Princess. She came willingly, settling against his chest while his arms wrapped around her waist. Everything about being with her felt natural now.
“You scared?” he asked quietly into her hair.
Princess was silent for a second too long. “Yeah.” Her answer was honest, and he respected that.
“Me too,” he admitted.
That made her pull back slightly to look up at him. “You're scared?”
Butcher huffed out a humorless laugh. “Baby, your father put a damn bounty on me. Seems like a reasonable time for concern.” That finally pulled a real laugh out of her. He loved the sound of her laugh. He’d do just about anything to keep hearing that sound now.
Princess’s smile faded slowly after a second, though. “You regret it?”
“Regret what?” Butcher asked.
“Do you regret me being in your life?” she asked. The question hung heavily between them. Butcher hated that she was even asking him that question. But he didn’t regret any of it—her, the danger from her family, starting his club, or the war that was coming for them all.
He looked down at her quietly and then answered honestly. “Not one fucking second.” Emotion flashed across her faceimmediately. God, he loved it when she looked at him like that. It was like she still couldn’t believe somebody chose her willingly. That shit alone made him want to hunt her father down personally.
Princess reached up slowly, brushing her fingers along the scar cutting across his jaw. “What happened here?” she asked softly. Butcher froze because nobody had ever asked about his scars—most people were smart enough not to. Princess just watched him patiently—waiting and trusting him to answer. The damn woman was going to ruin him completely.
“Knife fight,” he said finally.
Her eyes widened slightly. “You were in a knife fight? Over what?”
Butcher smirked faintly. “You really wanna hear the dumbest story of all time?”
“Obviously,” she said.
He shook his head at her. “A prospect from a rival club got drunk and accused one of ours of cheating at pool.”
