Page 86 of Wade’s Wrath

Harlow laughed. “Your life isn’t boring, but I’m pretty sure I'm the one who brought on all this,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said.

She shook her head. “You're impossible.”

“And you're still a pain in my ass,” he said.

“Am I still a runaway bride?” she asked.

Wade's smile softened. “Not anymore.” Her chest tightened. No, she wasn't that same woman she was when she stumbled into his bar just a few days ago. Harlow Kane had spent most of her life running toward whatever future someone else selected for her. Tonight she'd finally stopped. From now on, whatever came next would be hers. Her choices, her life, her future, and if Wade happened to be standing in the middle of it, Harlow was starting to think she'd choose that too.

WADE

Wade had survived gunfights that were easier than the conversation he was about to have with Harlow, but he knew that it had to happen. He'd rather walk back into the warehouse than talk to her about their future, but when she brought it up at the clubhouse, he hadn’t thought too far ahead. Now, he stood in the middle of his kitchen, staring at Harlow while she drank coffee from one of his chipped mugs like she hadn't completely fucked up his entire life in less than a week. Sure, she had fucked him up in a good way, but his head was still spinning as he thought about their future together.

She looked tired, not physically—although there was some of that too. The last few days had taken a toll on her. Frank was dead, and her father was in jail. Sarah was alive, but still in the hospital. The police had taken statements until nearly four in the morning. Harlow had killed a man, and somehow, after all of that, she'd still come home with Wade.

Home. That word was becoming dangerous because Wade was starting to think of this place as hers too. Her shoes were by the front door. Her new clothes were folded on top of his dresser, and her hair tie sat beside his bathroom sink. There was a half-empty bottle of some expensive-smelling shampoo in his shower that Princess had brought over for her. They were tiny things—normal things. They were things that made Harlow look like she belonged there with him, and that was the fucking problem.

She didn't know what she wanted yet. How could she? Her entire life had been controlled by somebody else—first Richard and then Frank. Then, she'd run straight into Wade, and he'd immediately started telling her where to sleep, what to eat, where she'd be safest, when she should stay at the clubhouse, when she should stay away from danger. Maybe his reasons were different. Maybe he was trying to protect her, but it didn't mean he hadn't been making decisions for her, and he hated that realization.

Harlow looked over the rim of the coffee mug. “You're staring.”

“I’m thinking,” he said.

“That's usually dangerous,” she teased.

“Yeah,” he said. She smiled, but Wade didn't.

Her smile faded. “What's wrong?” There it was, that immediate concern she felt for him. She got that little crease between her eyebrows, and Wade looked away. Fuck. He'd spent half the night thinking about this. Lying beside her while she slept and remembering the way she'd clung to him after the police finally cleared them to leave. He remembered the way she'd curled into his chest once they got into bed, and he remembered everything they'd done the night before the raid. He wanted that again. He wanted her again—probably too much, which was exactly why he needed to do this.

“Harlow,” he breathed.

She put the mug down. “Why do I suddenly feel like I'm about to hate whatever comes out of your mouth next?”

“Because you're smart,” he said.

“Wade,” she breathed.

He rubbed a hand over his beard. “You need to decide what you want.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said.

“I did. I'm just not sure what you're talking about,” she insisted.

“I’m talking about us,” he said.

Her expression changed. “Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he repeated.

She stared at him. “What about us?” she asked.

Wade leaned against the counter. “You've been through a lot.” Her face immediately closed off. He saw it happen, but he still kept going. “You ran away from your wedding.”

“I remember,” she said.