Chapter 17
PRINCESS
Princess should’ve been terrified. Honestly, objectively, her life had become a complete disaster.
Her father wanted her to be dragged back to Chicago.
There was a bounty on Butcher’s head. A biker club was literally forming around her like some kind of violent emotional support group.
And somehow, she was happier than she’d ever been in her entire life.
That realization hit hard the next morning while she stood barefoot in Butcher’s kitchen making coffee in one of his shirts.
Happy. The word felt foreign. But Princess knew that it was real.
The sound of boots against the hardwood floor made warmth spread through her chest automatically before she even turned around.
That was new, too, because nobody had ever felt like comfort before.
But then, Butcher walked into the kitchen shirtless and half asleep, tattoos stretched across his broad shoulders, while his hair looked slightly messy from sleep, and every coherent thought immediately abandoned her. This man was genuinely unfair.
His eyes landed on her instantly and softened, as they always did. Princess didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. “Mornin’,” he rasped. God—that voice should be illegal before coffee.
“Morning,” she managed. Butcher moved behind her slowly while she poured coffee, his hands settling automatically on her hips, like he’d been touching her forever instead of barely a couple of weeks.
His mouth brushed lazily against the side of her neck. “You smell good.”
Princess’s knees nearly gave out immediately. “Pretty sure that’s just your soap.”
“Still counts,” he said. A laugh escaped her softly, and there it was again—that terrifying warmth. She leaned back against him without thinking, letting herself enjoy the quiet moment for exactly three seconds before reality came crashing back in.
“What time is the club meeting tonight?” she asked.
Butcher’s arms tightened slightly around her waist. “Seven.” Princess nodded slowly as her stomach twisted unexpectedly.
She was nervous about their first official club meeting, and that was ridiculous.
She was going to tag along, and she worried that she’d be unwelcome.
That was silly, really, because these men already liked her.
Well, Wade liked annoying her. But still, it counted.
This should feel simple; instead, it felt important, because this wasn’t just some meeting.
This was the beginning of something real, and somehow, she was standing at the center of it.
“You’re overthinking things again,” Butcher said.
“You always know when I’m spiraling,” she breathed. “How do you do that?” Butcher huffed a laugh against her neck.
“Your face gets all serious,” he admitted.
“That’s rude to say,” she teased.
“It’s cute,” he insisted. Princess rolled her eyes automatically, even while heat climbed into her cheeks.
Cute. Nobody had ever called her cute before.
Beautiful, sure. Hot, constantly. Useful—well, her father thought so.
But cute, never. Butcher finally loosened his grip enough for her to turn around in his arms. And she immediately got distracted by the way he was looking at her, like he still couldn’t believe that she was really there with him.
“You keep staring at me like that, and I’m gonna become unbearable,” she informed him.
“You already are,” he whispered. Princess gasped dramatically as though he had offended her.
“Wow, emotional abuse before breakfast,” she grumbled. Butcher laughed, and the sound wrapped around her chest painfully, because there it was again—that version of him she was pretty sure almost nobody got to see anymore.
Princess reached up slowly, touching the scar along his jaw lightly. “You laugh more now.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Butcher went still for half a second.
Then his eyes met hers again. “That's your fault too,” he breathed. Her chest tightened painfully because he didn’t even realize what he was admitting.
Princess swallowed hard as the air shifted.
It was the kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex anymore, because Princess was falling in love with him too—completely and hopelessly, and she still had no idea how to survive that.
A loud motorcycle revving outside shattered the moment, and both of them froze automatically.
It was a combination of instinct and fear.
Princess hated that part most of all. The way danger now lived beneath every peaceful second.
Butcher’s expression sharpened immediately, all sleepy warmth disappearing.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
Princess crossed her arms. “Absolutely not.”
His eyes narrowed. “Princess.”
“No.” She stepped away from him completely. “I’m done hiding every time somebody pulls into the driveway.”
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“And yet you’re obsessed with me,” she teased.
“Unfortunately,” he muttered under his breath. Princess smiled despite herself. Then the front door opened before either of them could say anything else, and Wade walked inside carrying coffee and looking deeply annoyed.
“You know,” Butcher said, “normal people text before showing up at other people’s houses.” Butcher seemed to relax immediately, knowing that there was no real danger.
“You were the one who gave me a key to your place,” Wade reminded, “and that means I’m basically family now.”
“It’s breaking and entering,” Butcher insisted.
Princess snorted, and Butcher shot her a look. “Pretty sure that’s not how breaking and entering works,” she said.
Wade pointed at her dramatically. “She agrees with me.”
“She absolutely does not,” Butcher muttered. Wade ignored him completely before tossing a folded newspaper onto the counter.
Princess frowned slightly. “What’s that?”
Wade’s expression darkened. “That is trouble.” The warmth in the kitchen seemed to vanish instantly as Princess looked down at the newspaper. It felt as though her blood turned to ice, because staring back at her from the front page was her picture.
“MISSING CHICAGO SOCIALITE,” the headline read.
“ROMANO FAMILY OFFERING REWARD FOR INFORMATION.” Princess stopped breathing after she read it. Her father had officially gone public, and now, everyone would be looking for her.
Princess couldn’t look away from the newspaper.
Her face stared back at her from the front page like a ghost from another life.
The picture was old—some charity gala in Chicago where her father made her stand beside him smiling while men discussed business over thousand-dollar whiskey and blood money.
She remembered that night perfectly. She remembered the diamond necklace choking her throat, and the man her father intended for her to marry, staring at her like he was already imagining ownership.
Her stomach twisted violently as she reread the headline. “MISSING CHICAGO SOCIALITE” and the wording almost made her laugh. Missing implied someone cared that she was gone. It implied concern, but this wasn’t concern. It was possession.
“She’s not missing,” Butcher said coldly beside her. “She left.” The fury in his voice snapped Princess’s focus back into the room.
Wade leaned against the counter, his expression grim now. “The paper hit every town within a hundred-mile radius this morning.”
Princess folded the newspaper slowly, her hands steadier than she felt. “This is bad.”
“Yeah,” Wade admitted.
Butcher took the paper from her immediately, crumpling it in one massive fist before tossing it across the kitchen.
“I’m gonna kill him.” Princess looked up and realized with a jolt that he meant it.
Butcher wasn’t talking metaphorically, not emotionally.
He was literally going to kill her father, and the terrifying part was that a piece of her understood how he felt, because for the first time in her life, someone was furious on her behalf instead of at her.
Butcher paced once across the kitchen, all restless violence and barely controlled rage. “He’s painting a target on your back for every greedy asshole in the country.”
Princess crossed her arms tightly around herself. “He’s escalating.”
“No,” Butcher said darkly. “He’s panicking.” That stopped her cold because he was right. Her father didn’t go public unless he was losing control, and losing control was the one thing Vittorio Romano couldn’t stand.
Princess slowly sat down at the kitchen table before her legs gave out completely. The room suddenly felt too small. “He’s going to keep coming,” she whispered.
Butcher crouched in front of her, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Yeah,” he said honestly. “Probably.” He wasn’t giving her any false reassurance, and no bullshit—just truth. God, she loved him for that.
“People are going to recognize me,” she said.
“We’ll handle it,” Butcher promised.
“You can’t fight an entire city, Butcher,” she insisted.
His jaw flexed, “Watch me.” Emotion punched through her chest painfully because he still didn’t understand that she wasn’t worth all this trouble. Butcher reached up, gripping her jaw gently before she could spiral further. “Stop thinking like that.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “How do you know what I'm thinking?”
“That look on your face gives it away.” His voice softened slightly.
“Like you have something to apologize for.” Princess’s throat tightened instantly because nobody had ever caught that before, and suddenly she realized something terrifying.
Butcher could see the real her—not the polished version, and not the spoiled mob princess everybody assumed she was. And he stayed anyway.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed beneath her eye softly. “Do what?” he asked.
“Trust somebody this much,” she said. Something raw cracked open behind his eyes, and then Butcher stood abruptly, turning away before she could see too much.
“Get dressed,” he said roughly.
Princess blinked up at him. “What?”
“The club meeting has moved up.” He grabbed his cut from the back of a chair. “Everybody needs to see this paper.”
Wade straightened immediately. “We calling Huntsville, too?”
Butcher nodded once. “Yeah.”
Princess stared at him carefully. “You’re really doing this.” The room went quiet, and Butcher looked back at her slowly. He grabbed the unfinished Savage Bastards patch off the counter and held it up.
“I spent ten years pretending I wasn’t this man anymore.
” His eyes locked onto hers. “Turns out I just needed a reason to come back.” Princess’s chest hurt so badly she could barely breathe, because she was the reason.
Somehow, she became the thing that brought him home to himself, and she had no idea what to do with that kind of love.
An hour later, Princess stood in the back corner of Wade’s bar while half a dozen bikers crowded around the newspaper spread across the table.
The atmosphere felt completely different tonight.
No one was joking around, and there was no easy laughter.
All that was left was tension and purpose as they prepared for war with Princess’s father.
Trigger slammed a whiskey bottle onto the table. “Romano’s getting bold.”
“Good,” Grim muttered. “Makes him easier to find and take down.”
Butcher sat at the head of the table wearing his unfinished cut while the men naturally deferred to him without question, and suddenly, Princess saw everything clearly.
He was truly their Prez—not because he demanded it, but because they trusted him instinctively.
Butcher carried leadership like a second skin, because even sitting still, he looked like a man other people would follow into hell.
Her heart squeezed painfully. God, she loved him, and that realization settled over her quietly.
Princess felt no panic this time. She didn’t deny the truth because she couldn’t.
She loved the grumpy mechanic who kissed her like salvation and threatened mob soldiers without blinking.
She loved the broken Enforcer who found his way back to brotherhood because of her, and suddenly she understood something important—she was done running.
Butcher looked up then, his eyes finding hers instantly across the room. And just like always, everything else disappeared for a second. “Princess,” he said quietly. The room went silent as every biker turned toward her.
Butcher held out his hand. “Get over here, baby.” Her pulse stumbled, not because of the endearment, but because of what it meant. He was claiming her in front of his family. She belonged to them now—the Savage Bastards.
Princess walked toward him slowly before she could second-guess herself.
The second she reached the table, Butcher pulled her directly into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Several bikers grinned at her, and Wade looked smug enough to be punched.
Princess barely noticed any of it because Butcher’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist while he looked at every man in the room, and the temperature dropped instantly.
“If Romano comes here,” he said calmly, “he’s not just threatening my woman anymore.
” The men sat silently around the table.
Butcher’s voice turned lethal. “He’s threatening this club.
” Every single man at that table nodded.
They were united now—an absolute force. They were the Savage Bastards, and no one was going to go up against them and live. Princess was sure of it.