He stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter while an old rock song played low through the speakers. The rag moved steadily beneath his hand as he surveyed the room out of habit more than interest. Owning a biker bar taught a man to pay attention. People got stupid when alcohol got involved, and Wade had made a career out of shutting stupidity down before it became a problem.
The front door suddenly flew open under the force of the storm outside, and cold wind and rain rushed into the bar. Every head turned as a woman stumbled inside, looking like she’d barely survived the night. Mud coated the bottom of the white satin dress, clinging to her body beneath an oversized black hoodie. Her blonde hair was soaked, mascara streaked beneathwide blue eyes that darted around the room like she expected danger to come crashing through the walls behind her. The entire bar went silent, and Wade straightened slowly. She didn’t belong there—not in a place like Wade’s Watering Hole, and not around men like the Savage Bastards.
One of the prospects at the back let out a low whistle. “Damn.” Wade shot him a look sharp enough to shut him up instantly. The woman took another shaky step forward before catching herself against a nearby table. Her breathing sounded uneven, panicked, like she’d been running for a long damn time. Then Wade noticed the blood smeared across her wrist.
His expression darkened. “Kitchen’s closed,” he said calmly. Her gaze snapped toward him immediately, and fear hit him square in the chest. Not because she was scared of him, but because she was scared of something much worse.
“Please,” she whispered. That one word sounded broken enough to scrape against his nerves. Wade tossed the rag onto the counter and studied her carefully. She was wearing an expensive dress and diamond earrings that could probably buy everything he owned and still leave money in her bank account. There was a wedding ring still on her finger. But the thing that stood out the most was the bruises hidden badly beneath the makeup that she wore. He was sure that she was a runaway bride, but women didn’t show up at biker bars in the middle of the night unless something had gone very fucking wrong.
“What happened to your wrist?” he asked.
Instinctively, she covered it with her other hand. “Nothing.” He could tell that was a lie because Wade had heard thousands of them sitting behind this bar. Hers wasn’t even close to believable.
Headlights suddenly swept across the front windows, and the woman froze—actually froze. Every ounce of color drainedfrom her face as several black SUVs pulled into the parking lot outside.
“Fuck,” one of the bikers muttered.
The woman backed away from the windows so fast she nearly tripped over a chair. “No,” she breathed shakily. “No, no, no.” Wade’s eyes narrowed. The fear on her face wasn’t fake. It wasn’t drama or attention-seeking bullshit. This was pure survival instinct—the kind that usually came after someone had already been hurt.
Car doors opened outside, and men in dark suits climbed out into the rain. They weren’t cops. Wade knew the difference. These men were the kind of men who smiled while ruining lives. One of them started toward the entrance, and the woman looked like she was about to stop breathing altogether.
“If they find me,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “they’ll kill me.” Silence settled over the bar as the Savage Bastards all looked toward Wade, automatically waiting for him to make the call. Because this was his place and his call to make.
A hard knock echoed against the door, but Wade never took his eyes off the terrified woman standing in the middle of his bar. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated as if answering might somehow get her killed. “Harlow.” Another violent pound shook the door, and Wade’s jaw tightened. Something ugly twisted low in his chest as he looked at the bruises around her wrist again. He’d seen enough fear in women to recognize it, and he’d buried enough men to know exactly what kind deserved it.
Without looking away from her, Wade spoke calmly. “Lock the door.” One of the prospects moved immediately, sliding the deadbolt into place just as the man outside grabbed the handle. Wade reached beneath the counter and wrapped hishand around the grip of his gun because whoever those bastards were outside, they had just made the mistake of bringing their problems to Wade’s Watering Hole and the Savage bastards.
HARLOW
Harlow couldn’t breathe. The pounding on the door sounded like a death sentence echoing through the bar, each hit making her pulse jump harder beneath her skin. Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the hardwood floor while panic clawed its way up her throat so violently, she thought she might choke on it.
They found her. God, how had they found her already? She had driven for hours, switched roads twice, and even left her phone in a gas station bathroom trash can almost an hour back. She thought she had finally gotten far enough away. She was stupid to believe that. So fucking stupid.
The men outside weren’t the kind you escaped from. Another hard bang rattled the door, causing Harlow to flinch so hard her shoulder slammed into a nearby table. “Easy,” the bartender said.
She was sure that he was more than just a bartender. If she had to guess, she’d bet that he was the owner—which probably made him Wade since the sign out front said, “Wade’s Watering Hole.” He stood behind the bar with one hand beneath the counter while the other rested casually against the wood like there weren’t armed men outside hunting her. Unlikeeveryone else in the room, he didn’t look nervous or uncertain. If anything, he looked irritated, which honestly terrified her almost as much as the men outside.
One of the bikers near the back cracked his knuckles. “You want us to handle this?” he asked.
Wade didn’t answer immediately. His dark eyes stayed locked on Harlow instead, studying her in a way that made her feel stripped bare. Like he could see every secret she’d tried to hide beneath the soaked hoodie and ruined wedding dress.
“What did you do?” another biker asked her bluntly.
Harlow swallowed hard. “Nothing,” she breathed, but nobody looked convinced.
The pounding on the door stopped suddenly, and that made her stomach sink. Silence settled over the bar so heavily that Harlow could hear the storm outside and the frantic beating of her own heart.
Then a deep male voice shouted through the door. “Harlow!” She physically recoiled, and several of the bikers immediately looked at her. “Open the fucking door,” the man barked. “This doesn’t concern you, people.”
Wade’s expression didn’t change. Harlow wished that made her feel better, but the calmness coming off him felt lethal. “She’s my fiancée,” the man continued. “We’ve had a misunderstanding.” Fiancée—that word made nausea twist violently in Harlow’s stomach. They had more than just a misunderstanding, but that was what Frank called it when he backhanded her hard enough to split her lip open two weeks ago. A misunderstanding was what her father called it when she begged him not to force her into the marriage. Hell, that was what everyone called it every single time she tried to tell them she was afraid of her future husband.
Her fingers tightened around the sleeves of the hoodie, and Wade seemed to notice. Men like him probably noticedeverything. “She doesn’t look misunderstood,” one of the bikers muttered.
A few low chuckles followed. Outside, Frank’s voice turned colder and sounded even more dangerous. “Harlow,” he called. “You are embarrassing yourself.” Fear slid down her spine so hard her knees weakened, because she knew that tone. It was the same voice he used right before he hurt someone.
“Come out here willingly,” Frank said, “or I’ll come in there and drag you out myself.” The room went still, and then one of the bikers laughed—actually laughed. He didn’t sound amused, either, just mean.
