Chapter 19
WADE
Rain slammed against the windows of Wade’s Watering Hole hard enough to rattle the glass.
The neon beer signs buzzed overhead while the scent of whiskey, smoke, and fried food settled heavily in the air.
It was late enough that most of the crowd had cleared out, leaving behind only a few Savage Bastards lingering around the pool tables in the back.
Wade preferred it that way because it meant less noise and less bullshit.
He stood behind the bar, wiping down the counter while an old rock song played low through the speakers.
The rag moved steadily beneath his hand as he surveyed the room out of habit more than interest. Owning a biker bar taught a man to pay attention.
People got stupid when alcohol got involved, and Wade had made a career out of shutting stupidity down before it became a problem.
The front door suddenly flew open under the force of the storm outside, and cold wind and rain rushed into the bar.
Every head turned as a woman stumbled inside, looking like she’d barely survived the night.
Mud coated the bottom of the white satin dress, clinging to her body beneath an oversized black hoodie.
Her blonde hair was soaked, mascara streaked beneath wide blue eyes that darted around the room like she expected danger to come crashing through the walls behind her.
The entire bar went silent, and Wade straightened slowly.
She didn’t belong there—not in a place like Wade’s Watering Hole, and not around men like the Savage Bastards.
One of the prospects at the back let out a low whistle.
“Damn.” Wade shot him a look sharp enough to shut him up instantly.
The woman took another shaky step forward before catching herself against a nearby table.
Her breathing sounded uneven, panicked, like she’d been running for a long damn time.
Then Wade noticed the blood smeared across her wrist.
His expression darkened. “Kitchen’s closed,” he said calmly. Her gaze snapped toward him immediately, and fear hit him square in the chest. Not because she was scared of him, but because she was scared of something much worse.
“Please,” she whispered. That one word sounded broken enough to scrape against his nerves.
Wade tossed the rag onto the counter and studied her carefully.
She was wearing an expensive dress and diamond earrings that could probably buy everything he owned and still leave money in her bank account.
There was a wedding ring still on her finger.
But the thing that stood out the most was the bruises hidden badly beneath the makeup that she wore.
He was sure that she was a runaway bride, but women didn’t show up at biker bars in the middle of the night unless something had gone very fucking wrong.
“What happened to your wrist?” he asked.
Instinctively, she covered it with her other hand. “Nothing.” He could tell that was a lie because Wade had heard thousands of them sitting behind this bar. Hers wasn’t even close to believable.
Headlights suddenly swept across the front windows, and the woman froze—actually froze. Every ounce of color drained from her face as several black SUVs pulled into the parking lot outside.
“Fuck,” one of the bikers muttered.
The woman backed away from the windows so fast she nearly tripped over a chair.
“No,” she breathed shakily. “No, no, no.” Wade’s eyes narrowed.
The fear on her face wasn’t fake. It wasn’t drama or attention-seeking bullshit.
This was pure survival instinct—the kind that usually came after someone had already been hurt.
Car doors opened outside, and men in dark suits climbed out into the rain. They weren’t cops. Wade knew the difference. These men were the kind of men who smiled while ruining lives. One of them started toward the entrance, and the woman looked like she was about to stop breathing altogether.
“If they find me,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “they’ll kill me.” Silence settled over the bar as the Savage Bastards all looked toward Wade, automatically waiting for him to make the call. Because this was his place and his call to make.
A hard knock echoed against the door, but Wade never took his eyes off the terrified woman standing in the middle of his bar. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
She hesitated as if answering might somehow get her killed.
“Harlow.” Another violent pound shook the door, and Wade’s jaw tightened.
Something ugly twisted low in his chest as he looked at the bruises around her wrist again.
He’d seen enough fear in women to recognize it, and he’d buried enough men to know exactly what kind deserved it.
Without looking away from her, Wade spoke calmly.
“Lock the door.” One of the prospects moved immediately, sliding the deadbolt into place just as the man outside grabbed the handle.
Wade reached beneath the counter and wrapped his hand around the grip of his gun because whoever those bastards were outside, they had just made the mistake of bringing their problems to Wade’s Watering Hole and the Savage bastards.