Page 52 of Wade’s Wrath

“I'm fine,” he lied. She was correct—he was dog-tired, but there was no way that he’d tell her that. He didn’t need her feeling bad about asking him to stay with her last night. He’d gladly sit guard for her again if she asked him to, and admitting that he was tired would only have her rethinking asking.

“You barely slept last night because of me,” she said, as though reading his thoughts.

“Neither did you,” he said.

“I slept more than you did,” she insisted.

“Still no, you’re not driving,” he said.

She held out her hand. “Give me the keys,” she ordered.

Wade stared at her. “Harlow.”

“Wade,” she growled. If she weren’t so frustrating, he’d find her pretty damn cute right about now.

“You don't know where the clubhouse is,” he said.

She paused. “Fine, you win, but if you feel tired, I’ll drive, and you can give me directions.”

“Excellent argument,” he agreed.

“Asshole,” she grumbled.

“We should get going, runaway bride,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Keep it up and I'm quitting.”

“You've worked here four hours,” he said. “I think that we’ll be able to make do without you, honey.”

“Longest four hours of my life,” she grumbled. “And as for making do without me, I’m not sure that’s true. Your books say otherwise.” Wade grinned, and she shoved past him. Wade watched her walk toward the door. Yeah, he was fucked. Completely fucking fucked.

Butcher was waiting outside the clubhouse when they arrived, and Wade knew that wasn't a good sign. He knew his Prez. If Butcher wanted to talk before they got inside, whatever he'd found wasn't something he wanted the rest of the club hearing yet. Harlow seemed to sense it too. She climbed out of the truck and stood beside Wade—close, but not touching him.

Butcher nodded toward the side of the building. “Walk with me.” Harlow followed, and Wade stayed beside her. Butcher glanced at him. “Need to talk to her.”

“You are talking to her,” Wade said.

“Alone,” Butcher insisted.

“No,” Wade breathed.

Harlow looked between them. “Wade.”

“No,” Wade said again.

Butcher sighed. “She might not want you hearing this.”

That stopped him. Wade looked at Harlow, and her face had gone pale again. “I want him here.”

Butcher studied her. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed. Wade didn't know why those words affected him as much as they did, but they fucking did.

Butcher nodded. “All right.” They walked behind the clubhouse. Ripper was already waiting beside a picnic table with a folder in his hands. Harlow stopped, and Wade immediately noticed. From the look on her face, Butcher had gotten hold of Frank's files.

“Harlow?” Wade whispered.

“I'm okay,” she insisted. He didn't call her on the lie, not this time.