“You can’t fight an entire city, Butcher,” she insisted.
His jaw flexed, “Watch me.” Emotion punched through her chest painfully because he still didn’t understand that she wasn’t worth all this trouble. Butcher reached up, gripping her jaw gently before she could spiral further. “Stop thinking like that.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “How do you know what I'm thinking?”
“That look on your face gives it away.” His voice softened slightly. “Like you have something to apologize for.” Princess’s throat tightened instantly because nobody had ever caught that before, and suddenly she realized something terrifying. Butcher could see the real her—not the polished version, and not the spoiled mob princess everybody assumed she was. And he stayed anyway.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed beneath her eye softly. “Do what?” he asked.
“Trust somebody this much,” she said. Something raw cracked open behind his eyes, and then Butcher stood abruptly, turning away before she could see too much.
“Get dressed,” he said roughly.
Princess blinked up at him. “What?”
“The club meeting has moved up.” He grabbed his cut from the back of a chair. “Everybody needs to see this paper.”
Wade straightened immediately. “We calling Huntsville, too?”
Butcher nodded once. “Yeah.”
Princess stared at him carefully. “You’re really doing this.” The room went quiet, and Butcher looked back at her slowly. He grabbed the unfinished Savage Bastards patch off the counter and held it up.
“I spent ten years pretending I wasn’t this man anymore.” His eyes locked onto hers. “Turns out I just needed a reason to come back.” Princess’s chest hurt so badly she could barely breathe, because she was the reason. Somehow, she became the thing that brought him home to himself, and she had no idea what to do with that kind of love.
An hour later, Princess stood in the back corner of Wade’s bar while half a dozen bikers crowded around the newspaper spread across the table. The atmosphere felt completely different tonight. No one was joking around, and there was no easy laughter. All that was left was tension and purpose as they prepared for war with Princess’s father.
Trigger slammed a whiskey bottle onto the table. “Romano’s getting bold.”
“Good,” Grim muttered. “Makes him easier to find and take down.”
Butcher sat at the head of the table wearing his unfinished cut while the men naturally deferred to him without question,and suddenly, Princess saw everything clearly. He was truly their Prez—not because he demanded it, but because they trusted him instinctively. Butcher carried leadership like a second skin, because even sitting still, he looked like a man other people would follow into hell.
Her heart squeezed painfully. God, she loved him, and that realization settled over her quietly. Princess felt no panic this time. She didn’t deny the truth because she couldn’t. She loved the grumpy mechanic who kissed her like salvation and threatened mob soldiers without blinking. She loved the broken Enforcer who found his way back to brotherhood because of her, and suddenly she understood something important—she was done running.
Butcher looked up then, his eyes finding hers instantly across the room. And just like always, everything else disappeared for a second. “Princess,” he said quietly. The room went silent as every biker turned toward her.
Butcher held out his hand. “Get over here, baby.” Her pulse stumbled, not because of the endearment, but because of what it meant. He was claiming her in front of his family. She belonged to them now—the Savage Bastards.
Princess walked toward him slowly before she could second-guess herself. The second she reached the table, Butcher pulled her directly into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Several bikers grinned at her, and Wade looked smug enough to be punched. Princess barely noticed any of it because Butcher’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist while he looked at every man in the room, and the temperature dropped instantly.
“If Romano comes here,” he said calmly, “he’s not just threatening my woman anymore.” The men sat silently around the table. Butcher’s voice turned lethal. “He’s threatening this club.” Every single man at that table nodded. They were unitednow—an absolute force. They were the Savage Bastards, and no one was going to go up against them and live. Princess was sure of it.
BUTCHER
War rooms looked different in biker bars. They were less polished. There was a hell of a lot more whiskey, but the atmosphere felt exactly the same—tense and focused. Violence seemed to be waiting patiently in the corners.
Butcher sat at the head of the table with Princess in his lap while the men around him argued routes, backup plans, and who got first crack at breaking Marco’s jaw if he showed his face in Mississippi again. And honestly, it felt strangely natural, like slipping back into old skin.
Princess leaned lightly against his chest while Wade waved a pool cue around dramatically. “I’m saying if Chicago sends men down here, we should absolutely meet them at the state line with bats.”
Tank nodded, “That would be symbolic.”
Princess blinked at him. “You people are insane.”
“Correct,” Draven answered immediately.
