Chapter 13
PRINCESS
Princess knew something was different the second Butcher walked through the front door that evening.
It wasn’t a bad difference; it was worse.
His new difference seemed to have purpose, and she was sure that it had everything to do with her.
He carried it in the way he moved—steady, focused, dangerous in a way that made the tiny hair on the back of her neck stand up.
The old version of him was back—at least, the version he told her about was back.
Maybe it wasn’t the old version of him, but the real one that he had hidden away from her.
He shut the door behind himself quietly before his eyes landed on her sitting at the kitchen counter. And for one brief second, the hard edge in his expression softened, which she was sure was only for her.
“You okay?” he asked. Princess blinked at him because the question felt absurd considering the look on his face.
“You look like you buried a body,” she said cautiously.
A rough laugh left him. “Not today, honey,” he said.
That wasn’t exactly comforting. Princess watched him carefully while he crossed the kitchen toward her.
He looked exhausted, but underneath the exhaustion was something heavier.
He had made a decision, and she worried that it was one that she wasn’t going to like.
“What happened?” she asked softly. Butcher stopped directly in front of her, and he did something that completely threw her off balance. He touched her—not sexually or urgently. It was just his rough hand sliding along her jaw gently, like he needed to reassure himself she was still there.
“We got a problem,” he admitted quietly.
Ice slid down her spine instantly as she thought about her father finding her. It had to be that. Princess sat straighter immediately. “How bad is it?”
Butcher’s eyes locked onto hers. “Bad enough I’m done pretending I can handle this alone.” That answer surprised her enough to steal her breath, because men like Butcher didn’t admit weakness easily. Hell, men like her father would rather die than say the words, “I need help.”
“What does that mean?” she asked carefully. Something unreadable crossed his face, and she knew that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell her.
“I started a club,” he said.
Princess stared at him. “You what?” she asked, not sure that she had heard him correctly.
Butcher sighed like he already regretted the entire sentence, and now he was going to have to say it over again. “Technically, it’s still in the planning stages, but I started a club.”
“You told me you hated clubs,” she reminded.
“No,” he corrected quietly. “I told you I left my old one back in Huntsville.”
Princess stood slowly from the stool, trying to process what he was saying. “You started a biker club because of me?” His silence answered before he did. Oh God. Something complicated twisted painfully in her chest. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”
Butcher’s expression hardened immediately. “Too late to turn back now, honey.”
“Butcher—” she started.
“No.” His voice roughened. “You got men hunting you, Princess. Dangerous men, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for them to show up while it’s just me standing between you and them.
” Emotion climbed hard into her throat, because nobody had ever chosen her like this before—not freely and not without strings attached.
“You barely know me,” she whispered again.
Butcher stepped closer instantly. “I know enough, and it doesn’t matter.
I’m still choosing you.” That nearly shattered her fragile heart.
Princess looked away quickly before he saw too much on her face, because if she let herself think too hard about this, about him risking everything he had built, she was going to fall apart, and she didn’t know how to survive falling apart anymore.
“What’s the club called?” she asked quietly instead. That finally pulled an actual smile out of him.
“Savage Bastards,” he proudly said. Despite everything, a tiny laugh escaped her.
“I like it,” she said. She recognized the name Savage from his story about Huntsville.
“It was Wade’s idea to use Savage’s name.
” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I called Savage’s daughter, Chloe.
She’s running the Huntsville Royal Bastards now with her husband, Vengeance.
They both liked the idea of us using his name, too, and we all thought that Bastards was a nice nod to the main character.
We’re hoping to become one of their chapter clubs, here in Mississippi, but that is going to take a little bit of time.
Chloe and Vengeance will sponsor us, though. ”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve been busy,” she teased.
“So far, Wade, Grim, Trigger, Lynch, and Draven have all agreed to be a part of the club. I’m sure that once word gets out around town, more guys will want to join.”
“That’s great,” she said. “And I really love the name.”
“Yeah, coming up with it was a struggle. Trigger suggested we call the club Mississippi Mayhem.”
Princess immediately burst out laughing, and Butcher looked deeply offended on Trigger’s behalf. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“That’s what I said,” Butcher agreed. She laughed harder, and something in Butcher’s face shifted while he watched her; like hearing her laugh mattered entirely too much to him now.
The realization settled heavily between them, and Princess felt it instantly, and from the look on Butcher’s face, he did too.
Butcher stepped closer slowly, his hands finding her waist automatically. “You know,” he murmured, “you’re prettier when you stop looking terrified all the time.”
Princess’s pulse stumbled hard. “That’s a horrible compliment.”
He smiled at her. “Well, it’s the best I've got.” A smile tugged at her mouth despite herself, and there it was again—that look in his eyes that made her feel like the only person in the room.
Butcher had a way of making her feel wanted, protected, and even seen, every time he looked at her.
Feeling that way was dangerous—especially to her heart.
“Tell me something,” she said softly.
His thumb brushed lightly against her hip. “What?” he asked.
“Why did you really leave your old club?” The question lingered between them, and Princess expected him to shut down and put his walls back in place. Instead, Butcher looked tired suddenly—not physically or emotionally, but like carrying this story around had become exhausting.
“My Prez stopped listening to me,” he said quietly. “Our club got messy. It became violent in the wrong ways.” His jaw tightened slightly. “And I became somebody I didn’t like anymore.”
Princess watched him carefully. “You still loved them, didn’t you? Your brothers, right?”
Butcher looked away briefly and nodded. “Yeah.” There was grief in his eyes, real grief. It wasn’t just anger and betrayal, but loss.
Princess stepped closer until there was barely any space left between them. “And how do you feel about being in a club now?”
His eyes met hers again slowly. “Now I feel that I have something worth coming back for, no matter how bad the fight.” Her breath caught painfully, because she knew that he wasn’t talking about the club.
He was talking about her, and for the first time in years, Princess realized something terrifying—she didn’t want to run anymore.
The next few days felt dangerously normal. Princess should’ve known better than to enjoy it, because normal didn’t exist for people like her. But somehow, life with Butcher slipped into place around her before she even realized it was happening.
Mornings turned into coffee in his kitchen while he pretended not to stare at her in his T-shirts.
And afternoons were spent sitting in the office at the shop while Wade wandered in constantly to cause problems. And nights, God, nights were worse, because every night Butcher touched her like she mattered, like she wasn’t broken or he hadn’t accidentally stumbled across a spoiled mob princess carrying enough emotional damage to fill a cemetery.
It was addictive—he was addictive, and that terrified her.
Princess stood in the garage office watching him work on a bike across the shop floor while music drifted softly through the speakers overhead.
He looked different lately—lighter somehow from when she had first met him.
But he still looked way too intense, and too dangerous for her to be considering a future with him—but she was.
He seemed to be more alive now, and even the men around him seemed to notice—especially Wade.
“You realize he’s smiling again, right?” Wade asked from the doorway.
Princess glanced toward him suspiciously. “I’m sorry, did you just say Butcher smiled?”
Wade barked out a laugh. “Rarely. It’s starting to freak everybody out.”
She smiled despite herself. Across the garage, Butcher looked up immediately like he sensed her watching him, and their eyes locked. Just like always lately, the rest of the world disappeared for a second. God—that man was becoming a problem. A very large, tattooed, emotionally complicated problem.
Butcher wiped grease from his hands before walking toward them. “You two talking shit again?”
“Always,” Wade answered cheerfully.
Princess crossed her arms innocently. “Mostly about you.”
“I figured,” Butcher grumbled. He stopped beside her automatically, one hand settling low against her back like he couldn’t help himself anymore.
Not that she minded. Actually, she liked it entirely too much.
Possessive little touches were quiet reassurance to her.
It was a constant awareness between them.
Wade seemed to notice all of it with the satisfaction of a man watching his matchmaking plans succeed in real time.
“You know,” he said casually, “the guys are meeting tonight to talk charter business.”
Princess blinked. “Oh.” Reality came rushing back hard as Wade told her about the new club—the one that Butcher formed to help protect her.
Because while she’d been getting distracted, falling into bed with Butcher every night, he’d apparently been rebuilding an entire life around her.
That realization still hit hard every single time.
Butcher’s thumb brushed lightly against her spine. “You don’t have to look guilty every time somebody mentions the club.”
Her eyes snapped toward him. “I’m not looking guilty.”
“Princess,” Butcher said her name like it was a warning.
Okay, maybe she felt a little guilty, because no matter how Butcher framed this, she knew the truth.
If she hadn’t shown up here, he wouldn’t be doing any of this.
There would be no club, no need for a patch, and no dragging himself back toward the brotherhood he spent ten years running from.
It was all because she brought danger to his door.
Princess looked away first. “This is changing your whole life.”
Butcher went quiet beside her. “Maybe my life needed changing.” The soft honesty in his voice nearly wrecked her.
Wade made a disgusted sound, drawing their attention back to him. “Oh my God, you two are becoming emotionally healthy together. I hate it here.”
Princess laughed while Butcher flipped him off. And for one perfect second, everything felt okay—until the front door of the garage opened. The entire room shifted instantly, and Princess felt it before she even turned around.
Three men walked inside wearing expensive clothes that looked wildly out of place in a Mississippi body shop. Her blood went cold immediately, because she knew that they were from Chicago. She knew that they weren’t from her father’s inner circle, thank God, but they were close enough.
Princess recognized one of them instantly—Marco.
He was one of her father’s soldiers. Fear punched through her chest hard enough to hurt.
Butcher felt her freeze beside him, and his body seemed to react immediately.
One second, she stood exposed in the middle of the garage, and the next, Butcher moved slightly in front of her without hesitation.
Marco’s eyes landed on her instantly. “There you are, Principessa.” Princess’s stomach dropped.
Butcher’s voice turned deadly calm beside her. “You know her?” Marco’s attention finally shifted toward Butcher slowly, and he smiled. His expression was cold enough to make Princess feel sick.
“You must be the mechanic.” Marco adjusted his cuffs casually. “You have something that belongs to Mr. Romano.” Rage exploded through her instantly. God, she hated that word—belongs.
“She doesn’t belong to anybody,” Butcher said quietly. Every man in the garage went still because the tone in his voice was deadly.
Marco smiled wider. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Funny,” Butcher replied calmly. “Feels like it concerns me a whole fucking lot.” Princess’s pulse hammered painfully while Wade moved closer behind Butcher, calling the rest of the guys in from the yard.
It was as though they instinctually knew what to do.
They moved around Butcher like a wall forming.
They were a club, acting as brothers, and her chest tightened unexpectedly at the sight.
Marco seemed to notice too. She could tell by the way that his expression darkened slightly.
“You don’t understand who you’re interfering with,” Marco spat.
Butcher took one slow step forward, and Princess realized something terrifying—he wasn’t intimidated. At all. “I understand. I just don’t care,” he said simply.
Silence crashed through the garage. Princess stared at him in disbelief, because no one talked to her father’s men this way—no one. Fear and power ruled in Chicago, but Butcher looked at mob soldiers like they were just another problem to solve.
Marco’s smile disappeared completely. “Mr. Romano wants his daughter returned.”
Princess finally found her voice. “I’m not coming back.” Marco looked at her like she was a child throwing a tantrum.
“You don’t have a choice,” he said. That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The temperature in the room dropped instantly, and Butcher’s expression turned absolutely lethal.
“The lady already gave you her answer,” he growled.
That was the exact moment everything changed.
This wasn’t about running and hiding anymore.
It wasn’t a temporary layover. Lines had just been drawn in blood, and there was no turning back now.
She just hoped like hell that it wasn’t going to be drawn in Butcher or his new club’s blood, because that would gut her.