Wade
“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Butcher said.
Butcher laughed. “Didn't sleep?”
“Why are you calling?” he asked.
“That bad, huh?” Butcher asked.
Wade took another drink of coffee. “Butcher.”
“All right, Jesus. I wanted to let you know we had somebody drive past the bar twice about an hour ago.”
That woke him up. “What kind of vehicle was it?”
“Black sedan. Plates came back registered to a shell company,” Butcher said.
“Do you think it was Donnelly?” Wade asked.
“Probably,” Butcher breathed.
Wade stared toward the hallway to where Harlow was still sleeping. “He knows she's with me.”
“Yeah,” Butcher said.
“Do you think that he knows where I live?” Wade asked.
“Not yet,” Butcher said. Wade heard the emphasis that Butcher put on the word yet, and he suddenly hated that fucking word.
“You got someone watching the house?” Wade asked, already knowing the answer.
“Ripper's down the road,” Butcher admitted.
Wade glanced through the kitchen window. He hadn't noticed anyone out there watching his house, and that pissed him off too. “You could've told me.”
“I just did,” Butcher said.
Wade sighed. “Before you put a brother outside my house,” he said.
“You were busy playing Prince Charming,” Butcher joked. The bastard actually laughed at himself, although Wade didn’t find him funny at all.
“I'm hanging up,” Wade grumbled.
Butcher laughed. “How's Sleeping Beauty?”
Wade ended the call before Butcher could ask him any more questions. “Asshole,” he grumbled.
His phone immediately buzzed again, and this time, it was a text.
BUTCHER: Church. Noon. Bring the girl.
Wade stared at the message—bring the girl.
He didn't like that either. Harlow wasn't club business, except she was.
Frank had made sure of that when he'd shown up at Wade's Watering Hole with armed men and threatened a woman under the Savage Bastards' protection.
And the second Harlow mentioned files containing women's names and prices, the situation had become something bigger.
Wade knew Butcher couldn't ignore it, and neither could he.
His phone buzzed again.
BUTCHER: And don't shoot anybody before church.
Wade typed back.
WADE: No promises.
He tossed the phone onto the counter. “Who are you planning to shoot?” Wade spun around and found Harlow standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
His brain stopped functioning. She was still wearing the oversized Savage Bastards shirt with her bare legs, messy blonde hair, sleepy eyes, and absolutely no fucking clue what she was doing to him.
Wade tightened his grip around his coffee mug. “Morning.”
She leaned against the doorway. “That wasn't an answer.”
“You're nosy before coffee,” he mumbled.
“I'm nosy all the time,” she admitted. Her gaze landed on his mug. “Is there more?”
“Coffee?” he asked.
“No, tequila,” she teased.
Wade grunted. “Smartass.”
“Coffee would be great,” she said.
He grabbed another mug. “Cream?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Sugar?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she said.
“How much?” he asked.
“Enough that it doesn't taste like coffee anymore,” she said.
Wade stared at her. “Get out of my house.” She smiled at him. Fuck. That smile was going to cause him problems. He turned away before she noticed what it did to him, and poured the coffee, added cream, and then reached for the sugar.
“Tell me when,” he said. He added a spoonful, and another, then a third, and she said nothing. “Harlow.”
“A little more,” she insisted.
“You want coffee with your sugar?” he teased.
“Don't judge me,” she hissed.
He dumped another spoonful in. “There.” He handed it over, and she took a sip, immediately wrinkling her nose.
“What?” he asked.
“Needs more cream,” she insisted. Wade stared at her and Harlow smiled sweetly.
He grabbed the cream. “This is fucking sacrilege.”
“You'll survive,” she mumbled.
“Debatable,” he breathed.
He added more cream, and she tasted it again. “Perfect.”
“That's not coffee anymore,” he said.
“It's happiness in a mug,” she insisted.
“You're weird,” he said under his breath.
“You slept sitting in a chair all night.” Wade paused and noticed that her expression softened. “You stayed.”
“You asked me to,” he reminded.
“You could've left after I fell asleep,” she said. “But you didn't.”
“Nope.” Something shifted in her eyes, and Wade didn't like the way it made his chest feel.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Don't,” he warned.
Her brows pulled together. “Don't what?” she asked.
“Make a big deal about it,” he said.
“It is a big deal to me,” she admitted. Fuck.
Wade looked away from her. He wasn't built for conversations like this.
Give him a bar fight. Give him some drunk asshole waving a knife.
Hell, give him Frank Donnelly standing outside his house.
Anything was easier than a beautiful woman looking at him like sitting in an uncomfortable chair all night meant something to her.
“You hungry?” he asked.
Harlow smiled at him. “You feed people when you're uncomfortable, don't you?”
“No,” he said, hating that she could already read him so well.
“You asked if I was hungry last night too,” she reminded.
“Because you hadn't eaten,” he insisted.
“And now?” she asked.
“It’s breakfast time,” he said, pointing to his watch, as though proving his point. Wade opened the refrigerator. “What do you want?”
“Whatever you're having,” she said.
“Bacon and eggs,” he offered.
“Sounds good.” He started pulling things out.
Harlow climbed onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
Wade tried not to notice the shirt riding higher up her thighs, but failed.
He turned toward the stove, needing to put distance between them.
He needed more fucking distance, but he was also out of room in his tiny kitchen.
“You cook?” she asked.
“I'm a grown man,” he pointed out.
“So is my father. I don't think he's ever operated a toaster,” she countered.
“Your father sounds useless.”
Harlow laughed. “Don't let him hear you say that.”
“Don't give a fuck what he hears,” Wade said. Her laughter faded, and Wade glanced over his shoulder. She was staring into her coffee. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Harlow,” he said her name as though it was a warning.
She sighed. “I keep forgetting.”
“Forgetting what?” he asked.
“That I'm not supposed to care what he thinks anymore,” she said.
Wade turned the burner down. “You aren't supposed to care what he thinks, Harlow.”
“I know that, but for some reason, I can’t get it through my brain,” she admitted.
“It’s easy,” he said. “Just stop caring.”
She looked up at him as though he had lost his mind. “Wow. Why didn't I think of that?”
“Happy to help,” he teased.
“You should become a therapist,” she drawled.
“Thought about it,” he lied.
“Really?” she asked.
“Nope,” he breathed. Her mouth twitched, and Wade went back to the eggs.
“It's not that easy,” she said quietly. He knew that. He wasn't completely insensitive—mostly.
“Your whole life was wrapped around your father?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Then unwrap it.” Harlow stared at him, and Wade shrugged. “One piece at a time.”
Her expression changed. “That's surprisingly insightful.”
“Don't tell anyone,” he griped.
“Would it ruin your reputation?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said.
He put bacon into the skillet, and Harlow watched him for a few minutes. Then she asked, “What happens today?” There it was. The question he'd known was coming.
“We're going to the clubhouse,” he said.
Her shoulders stiffened. “Why?”
“Butcher called church,” he said.
“What’s church?” she asked. Sometimes, Wade forgot that not everyone knew the ins and outs of an MC.
“It’s basically a club meeting,” he explained.
“And I have to go?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“I thought church was members only,” she said.
Wade glanced at her. “Been studying biker clubs overnight?”
“I watch television,” she said.
“There's your first mistake,” Wade said, pointing at her with the fork in his hand.
“Do I have a choice about going?” she asked.
The question stopped him, and Wade turned to face her.
Harlow sat clutching her coffee mug between both hands.
She wasn't arguing with him, just simply asking a question, and he understood exactly what she really meant.
Would he force her to go against her will?
“No,” he breathed.
Her eyes searched his. “No?”
“You don't want to go, you don't go,” he said.
“But you just said—” she started.
“Butcher wants you there. Doesn't mean anybody's dragging you anywhere,” he interrupted.
Something in her shoulders relaxed. “Okay.”
“Okay, you're coming?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll come,” she said.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded. “If Frank is involved in what I found, I need to tell Butcher everything I remember.”
Wade studied her. “You don't have to prove anything to us.”
“I'm not,” she insisted.
“Then why are you going?” he asked.
Her expression hardened. “Because there were women in those files.”
That was enough. Wade nodded. “Then we go.” He turned back to the stove to finish making breakfast. “There's something else,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“Someone drove past the bar twice this morning,” he said. The mug stopped halfway to her mouth, and Wade hated the fear that immediately returned to her face.
“Was it Frank?” she asked.
“Probably one of his men,” he said. Wade wasn’t going to lie to her, no matter how frightened she looked.
“How did he—” she started.
“He knows where the bar is. Doesn't mean he knows you're here,” Wade insisted.
“But he could find out,” she pointed out.
“He could try,” Wade said. He shut off the burner and faced her. “Harlow, listen to me.” Her eyes met his. “You're not running alone anymore.” Her lips parted. “You got me. You got Butcher. And you got the Savage Bastards.”
“I never asked your club to get involved,” she reminded.
“Nope, but we’re involved now,” he said.
“You barely know me,” she reminded.
“Yep,” he whispered.
“You could get hurt,” she said.
He shrugged. “That’s possible.”
“Why are you acting like none of this matters?” she asked.