Page 63 of Wade’s Wrath

“Most brave shit happens because somebody runs out of better options,” Princess said. “My life before I met Butcher was a lot like yours. My father was exactly like your father, yet the guys helped me to get free from that life. You just have to be brave enough to accept their help,” Princess insisted.

Harlow looked at her. “I don't feel brave.”

“Probably because you're not stupid. You know how dangerous the situation is,” Princess said. That made her laugh, and Princess smiled. “Being scared doesn't mean you aren't brave.”

Harlow swallowed. “The woman that they are going after—Sarah, she worked for me,” Harlow said.

“I heard,” Princess admitted.

“I should've known that something happened to her when she stopped showing up to work,” Harlow insisted.

“Probably.” Harlow stared at her, and Princess shrugged. “You want me to lie to you?” Princess asked.

“I expected you to tell me it wasn't my fault,” Harlow said.

“Would you believe me if I had?” Princess asked.

Harlow laughed. “Wade said exactly the same thing.”

“That's unfortunate,” Princess breathed.

“Why is that unfortunate?” Harlow asked.

“Means that I’m starting to think like him,” Princess said.

“Oh God, that’s awful,” Harlow breathed. Princess laughed, and the clubhouse door opened. Harlow was off the stool before she even saw who entered. Ripper walked through the door, and her heart dropped because he was alone.

“Where's Wade?” she asked.

Ripper frowned. “Outside.” Relief hit so hard her knees weakened. She hated how quickly Wade had become someone whose absence frightened her. Then she saw blood on Ripper's shirt, and her relief vanished.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It’s not mine,” he said, as though that would help her feel better, but it didn’t.

“Whose blood is it?” Princess asked. The door opened again, and Butcher walked in, followed by Wade. Harlow forgot how to breathe when she saw the blood on his face.

“Wade,” she breathed. She crossed the room before she could stop herself.

His eyes found hers. “I'm fine,” he lied.

“You're bleeding,” she insisted.

“It’s not mine,” he said. Apparently, that was the biker’s answer to everything. Harlow grabbed his face, and Wade went still. She turned his head toward the light. There was blood along his jaw, and a small cut near his eyebrow.

“You said it wasn't yours,” she challenged.

“Most of it isn't,” he corrected.

“You're hurt,” she whispered, framing his face with her hands.

“It’s just a scratch,” he breathed. She glared at him, and he smiled. “Did you miss me?” he asked, changing the subject.

“No,” she whispered.

“Liar,” he accused, still wearing his teasing grin. Harlow wanted to kiss him, and the realization hit hard. She didn’t want to kiss him because she was scared or needed comfort. And she didn’t want to kiss him because he'd walked through that door alive and something inside her had snapped loose. She wanted him—period, and that was becoming a problem.

Butcher tossed his keys onto the bar. “Everybody sit down.”