Harlow #3
“Didn't say it was.” She took a drink and let the cold water soothe her throat. She had cried so much that her throat felt raw. “He grabbed me,” she said out of nowhere.
Wade's eyes returned to her wrist. “At the wedding?”
“Before the wedding,” she said.
“How long before?” he asked.
“It happened right before the ceremony was supposed to start,” she admitted.
His jaw flexed. “I told him I wasn't going through with it, and he didn't take it well.”
No surprise crossed Wade’s face. “What did he do?” he asked.
Harlow looked toward the window at the rain still tapping softly against the glass.
“He grabbed my arm and dragged me into a room away from everyone.” Wade remained silent.
“He told me I was embarrassing him. That there were hundreds of people waiting and millions of dollars involved in the wedding.”
“Fuck the money,” Wade growled.
A small laugh escaped her. “That was basically what I said.”
“Good for you,” he praised.
“Frank didn't agree,” she said.
“I'm shocked.” She looked at Wade. He was trying to keep the conversation light for her, and she appreciated it more than she wanted to.
“He squeezed my wrist until I thought he was going to break it.” Wade's expression changed, and the humor behind his eyes disappeared. “He told me if I tried to leave, he'd make sure I regretted it.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I agreed to go through with the wedding,” she admitted. “It was the only way that he’d release me.”
Wade's brows drew together. “But you ran.”
“Eventually, yes,” she said.
Something close to admiration flickered in his eyes. “How did you get away?” he asked.
Harlow smiled slightly, still amused by her great escape. “I climbed out a bathroom window.”
Wade stared at her. “The bathroom window,” he repeated.
“The bridal suite had a bathroom. I told everyone I needed five minutes alone before the ceremony, and that’s when I decided to climb out the window,” she said.
“You really climbed out the window?” he asked.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
His mouth twitched. “In a wedding dress?”
“It was harder than you'd think,” she admitted.
“I can imagine,” he drawled.
“I ripped about five thousand dollars’ worth of lace getting over a hedge,” she said. Wade laughed, and the sound startled her. It was deep and rough and genuine. Harlow smiled at him. “Glad my trauma amuses you.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“No, you're not, but it’s fine,” she said.
“Okay, then I’m not sorry,” he said.
She shook her head, and then the smile faded. “Frank caught me before I reached the parking lot.”
Wade's laughter stopped instantly. “What happened?”
“One of his men saw me and told Frank.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“What happened in the parking lot?” he asked.
“I ran as soon as I saw him,” she admitted.
“And Frank?” he asked.
“He caught up with me,” she said.
Wade’s hands curled into fists. “Did he hit you?”
“No.” The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “He shoved me against a car.”
It returned instantly. “Harlow,” he whispered.
“I'm fine,” she lied. Being thrown against the car hurt like hell. It knocked the wind out of her, and for a second, she thought that he had broken her ribs.
“You keep saying shit like that when you're clearly not fine,” he insisted.
Her temper sparked. “What do you want me to say?
That I'm terrified? Fine, I'm terrified.” Wade didn't flinch.
“Would it be better if I said that I have no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow?
I don't. Or that my father will probably freeze every bank account I have the second he realizes I'm really gone? Because he probably already has.” Her voice rose.
“I left everything behind—clothes, money, my house—everything.”
“You've got clothes,” he insisted. “You can wear mine.” She stared at him, and Wade shrugged. “They're ugly as shit, but you've got clothes.”
A laugh burst out of her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “That wasn't funny.”
He pinched his pointer finger and thumb together. “It was a little bit funny.”
“You're ridiculous,” she insisted.
“Been told that before,” he said. She shook her head, but the pressure inside her chest eased just a little. Wade moved toward the chair near the dresser and sat. “You don't have to figure everything out tonight.”
“It's technically morning,” she reminded.
“Smartass,” he grumbled. She smiled as silence settled between them. Harlow couldn't remember the last time she'd sat quietly with a man without wondering what he expected from her. Frank always expected something. Her father expected everything. But Wade seemed content simply to sit there.
She studied him. “You really own the bar?”
“Yep,” he said.
“How long?” she asked.
“About eight years,” he admitted.
“And the Savage Bastards meet there?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” he said.
“Is it your clubhouse?” she asked.
“No. It was at first, but now the clubhouse is outside town,” he said.
“So why do all those bikers hang around your place?” she asked.
“Cheap beer and food,” he teased.
She raised an eyebrow. “That's it?” she asked.
“And I'm charming,” he said, bobbing his eyebrows at her. Harlow snorted and Wade grinned. There it was again—that smile. She was beginning to like it too much.
“Are you part of the club?” she asked.
“Yeah.” She'd noticed his cut hanging over a chair at the bar earlier.
“What do you do for the club?” she asked. Harlow didn’t know much about biker clubs, other than they all seemed to have a role to fill once they were a member.
“I drink beer, ride motorcycles, and make questionable decisions,” he joked.
“Very informative,” she drawled.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he said.
“I like knowing who I'm sleeping with.” Wade's eyes darkened, and Harlow's brain caught up with her mouth. “Under the same roof,” she corrected quickly. “I meant sleeping under the same roof with.”
“Sure you did,” he teased.
Heat crawled up her neck, and he chuckled. God, she needed to stop noticing how attractive he was. She cleared her throat. “What's Butcher like?”
Wade's amusement faded slightly. “He’s a good Prez.”
“That's not what I asked,” she insisted.
“That's what you get for now,” he said.
“Do all bikers answer questions without actually answering them?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” he said.
“Well, that’s annoying,” she mumbled.
“Yet you're still here,” he drawled.