Chapter 7
PRINCESS
Princess stomped her way back up to her room and lay in bed for what felt like hours, tossing and turning.
She barely slept, which was ridiculous considering the bed was comfortable, the room was quiet, and for the first time in months, nobody knew where she was.
That should’ve made her feel safe, but it didn’t.
Instead, she lay awake staring at the ceiling while Butcher’s voice replayed in her head over and over again.
I’m going to bed before I make a bad decision.
Her stomach twisted annoyingly every time she thought about what he said to her.
because she knew exactly what he meant. And the worst part of it was that a part of her wanted to know what would’ve happened if she’d stayed on that porch another five minutes.
“That would have been a terrible idea,” she whispered into the darkness.
Everything about this whole situation was a terrible idea.
Wanting the brooding mechanic with scars and secrets was a horrible idea.
But the sexual tension between them was thick enough to choke on.
The fact that she was hiding from her father while sleeping in a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi, was comical.
Nothing about this scenario screamed that she was making smart decisions.
And yet, she rolled onto her side with a frustrated groan; she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
It wasn’t just the attraction she felt for Butcher that had her overthinking everything.
That would’ve been easier. No, the problem was the way he looked at her—like he saw straight through the bullshit she fed him and everyone else.
It was as though he recognized something ugly and broken in her because he carried the same thing himself, and that was dangerous.
People like Princess survived by staying unreadable.
But around Butcher, she felt exposed, and she hated it.
The sound of raised voices dragged her awake a few hours later.
Princess sat upright instantly, adrenaline flooding her system before she was even fully conscious.
She was sure that they were male voices, just outside, and her heart slammed against her ribs.
For one horrifying second, she thought her father had found her.
She was already halfway to the bedroom door before logic kicked in.
She had heard no cars, no shouting in Italian, and no gunshots.
Still, her pulse wouldn’t slow. Princess cracked the bedroom door carefully, peering down the hallway.
The front door stood open, and sunlight spilled across the floor.
Butcher’s voice rumbled from outside, irritated and unmistakably loud.
“I’m not discussing this again,” he shouted.
Another man laughed. “You’re grumpier than usual.
You need to get laid.” Princess froze as she listened in.
She should have stayed in the room and avoided people.
She definitely should not walk into a conversation about Butcher getting laid while she was wearing one of his T-shirts.
She turned to go back into her room, and of course, that was exactly when the floor creaked beneath her foot.
The two men went silent outside, and Princess closed her eyes, inwardly groaning to herself.
“Well, it’s too late now,” she breathed. Then she lifted her chin and walked toward the front door anyway. If these men were a threat, she wasn’t hiding. And if they weren’t, she still refused to look weak.
The second she stepped outside, two pairs of eyes landed on her.
Butcher stood beside an older pickup truck holding a mug of coffee, his broad shoulders tense beneath a gray Henley.
Next to him stood another biker—tall, heavily tattooed, somewhere in his forties maybe, with dark hair streaked with silver and an amused grin spreading across his face, and she was sure that he had heard everything.
“Well,” the stranger drawled slowly, looking between them. “This just got interesting.”
Butcher looked like he wanted to commit homicide. “Shut the fuck up, Wade.” Princess stared him down, and Wade just grinned wider.
“You got a woman in your house, and suddenly you’re defensive? Yeah, this is entertaining,” he said.
“I’m not his woman,” Princess said immediately.
At the exact same time, Butcher growled, “She’s not staying.”
Princess crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Good,” she snapped. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your terrifying loner reputation.”
Wade outright laughed at that. “Oh, I like her,” he drawled.
Butcher looked deeply unimpressed. “You weren’t invited here,” he reminded his friend.
“I bring you parts for the Camaro you’re fixing, and this is the thanks I get?” Wade asked.
Princess narrowed her eyes. “You’re a mechanic too?”
Wade smirked. “Nah, sweetheart. I own the bar in town. Butcher just hates dealing with people, so occasionally I help drag him into civilization.” That actually tracked.
Princess glanced toward Butcher and noticed that he looked exhausted.
She wondered if he had gotten any sleep, but then again, that wasn’t her business.
“You own a bar?” she asked Wade carefully.
“Yep.” That was interesting, because bars meant people, and people had information, and might be able to offer her transportation and a possible way out. Princess tucked that bit of information away immediately.
Butcher seemed to catch the look on her face, and his eyes narrowed slightly—damn him. “You’re thinking too hard,” he said.
“You’re staring too hard,” she countered, trying to throw him off her scent.
Wade made a choking sound like he was trying not to laugh again. “This is better than TV.”
“Leave,” Butcher deadpanned.
“Not until I get the whole story,” he insisted.
“There is no story,” Butcher spat.
Princess tilted her head slightly. “That’s disappointing.
I was hoping for something dramatic.” Butcher shot her a look that practically screamed traitor, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Princess smiled without forcing it.
A real smile was rare for her these days.
She had almost forgotten how it felt to smile.
It only lasted a second or two, but it was enough.
Wade seemed to notice it immediately, and so did Butcher.
He stared at her a fraction too long before looking away first, his jaw tightening.
Wade looked between them and muttered, “Oh, you two are screwed.” Butcher looked murderous, and somehow, for the first time since arriving in Mississippi, Princess laughed.
Within just minutes of waking up, Princess had learned three things. First, Wade talked entirely too much. Second, Butcher became progressively more irritated the longer Wade stayed. And third, watching Butcher get irritated was becoming one of her favorite hobbies.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Butcher muttered as Princess leaned against the garage doorway, sipping coffee while Wade continued running his mouth.
“I have no idea what you mean,” she said sweetly.
Wade barked out a laugh from where he sat on a stool near the toolbox. “She’s funny. You should keep her.”
Butcher looked like he was reconsidering murder again.
Princess smiled into her coffee. This was the most entertaining twenty-four hours she’d had in months—possibly years, which honestly said something depressing about her life.
But still, watching the big, grumpy mechanic lose his patience every thirty seconds was oddly satisfying.
Especially because Butcher didn’t actually seem angry.
Annoyed, sure. Guarded, definitely, but there was something else underneath it now.
Something restless. Something she was starting to suspect had very little to do with Wade.
“You know,” Wade said casually, “you should come by the bar tonight.”
Butcher’s head snapped up instantly. “No.”
Wade grinned. “Well, now she definitely should.”
“I’m serious, Wade,” Butcher growled. “No.”
“And I’m serious too,” Wade shot back. “Girl’s stranded in the middle of nowhere with your antisocial ass. Let her see civilization.” Princess tilted her head slightly, watching Butcher carefully. She found it interesting that he genuinely didn’t like this idea.
“Why can’t I go to his bar?” she asked innocently.
“Because bars around here are full of idiots,” Butcher said flatly.
Wade snorted. “You say that like you’re not one of them.”
“I’m not,” Butcher insisted.
“Right. You just look like a biker, work on bikes, act like a biker, and brood like one.” Princess hid a smile because he did brood like one. It was painfully accurate.
Wade stood, stretching lazily before looking at her again. “A bunch of guys meet there every night,” he said. “Riders mostly—mechanics, veterans, and a couple of old club guys passing through now and then.”
That caught her attention immediately. “Club guys?” she asked. Butcher went very still. It was a tiny reaction and easy to miss, but Princess noticed anyway.
Wade nodded casually, completely unaware of the tension between them. “Yeah. Bikers always end up there eventually.” He jerked a thumb toward Butcher. “Been trying to convince this asshole to start a club around here for years.”
Princess looked at Butcher and noticed his unreadable expression. His eyes were cold and blank, and she found that interesting. He was pretending not to care about what Wade had just said.
“You wanted to start a biker club?” she asked carefully.
“Wade wanted to,” he corrected.
“You’d be good at it,” Wade argued. “Everybody around here already respects you. Half the guys follow your lead anyway.”