Wade #3
“I would,” he agreed. Ripper laughed, and Harlow smiled.
Then her gaze dropped to the shopping basket in her hand.
Wade made the mistake of looking at it too—underwear, bras, and something black and lacy.
His fucking brain immediately betrayed him as he thought about her wearing those sexy, lacy scraps of material, and he looked away.
Harlow seemed to notice, and her cheeks turned the cutest shade of pink.
Ripper seemed to notice too. “I'm gonna go wait outside.”
“Good idea,” Wade growled. The bastard was still laughing when he walked away, and Harlow cleared her throat.
“You didn't have to come inside,” she insisted.
“Yeah, I did,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you've been in here too long,” he grumbled.
“Twenty minutes isn't long,” she insisted.
“It is when somebody might be looking for you,” he said. Her expression changed, and Wade instantly regretted saying it like that. “Hey.” She glanced around the store. “Don’t start looking for monsters in every aisle. You’re safe right now.”
Her eyes returned to his. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, it isn't,” he breathed. That seemed to surprise her. Wade stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I've spent enough years watching my back to know what it feels like.”
“Because of being in a biker club?” she asked.
“Among other things,” he admitted. She waited for more, but he didn't give it.
Eventually, Harlow sighed. “I need five more minutes.”
“You have three,” he said.
“Five,” she countered.
“Four,” he breathed. “Do you negotiate everything?”
“Yep, and I need five more minutes,” she said again.
Wade stared at her, and she stared back at him. “Stubborn as hell,” he grumbled. “Fine.”
Her smile was victorious. “Thank you.” Wade shook his head as she walked away. He watched her ass for approximately two seconds, and then immediately looked elsewhere. This was going to be a long fucking day.
Harlow insisted that she was going to pay him back, and Wade insisted he didn't give a shit. They were still arguing about it when they reached the truck. “I'll get you the money,” she promised.
“Okay,” he grumbled. He honestly didn’t give a shit about the money, but she kept pushing.
“I mean it,” she insisted.
“Okay,” he said with a shrug.
“Stop saying okay like you don't believe me,” Harlow spat.
Wade opened the passenger door. “Okay.”
She glared at him, and all he could do was smile. “You are the most aggravating man I've ever met.”
“Your standards are low if I'm beating Frank already,” he said. Her expression changed. Fuck. Wade hated how quickly that asshole could steal the light from her face without even being there. “Harlow.”
“I'm fine,” she lied.
“Stop saying that you’re fine when you’re obviously not fine,” he insisted.
“What would you prefer I say?” she asked.
“How about the truth?” he asked.
She crossed her arms. “The truth is that every time someone says his name, my stomach hurts.” Wade's smile disappeared. “Is that truthful enough for you?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Good.” She started to climb into the truck, and Wade gently caught her elbow. Harlow froze, and he released her immediately.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
She looked at the spot where he'd touched her and then back at him. “You didn't hurt me.”
“Still should've warned you that I was going to touch you,” he said. Something softened in her expression. “What’s that look for?” he asked.
Harlow shrugged. “It’s nothing,” she lied.
“Don't give me that shit,” he growled.
She almost smiled. “I was just thinking that you're nothing like I expected.”
“What'd you expect?” he asked.
“From a biker?”
“Yeah,” he said.
She looked him over. The glance shouldn't have felt as good as it did. “I guess I expected you to be mean.”
“I am mean,” he insisted.
“And violent,” she added.
“I’m definitely violent in the right circumstances,” he assured. The thought of Frank laying a hand on her made him violent, but he kept that bit of information to himself.
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought that all bikers are criminals,” she said.
Wade raised an eyebrow, and she smiled. “I'm pleading the Fifth on that one.”
Her smile grew. “And maybe scary.”
“I'm fucking terrifying,” he insisted. Harlow laughed. There it was—that sound again. Hearing her laugh made his damn heart skip a beat, and Wade wanted more of it. He wanted to hear it in his house, his bar, and even his bed—nope. That couldn’t happen.
He stepped back. “Get in the truck.”
“Bossy,” she grumbled.
“Harlow,” he warned.
“I’m going.” He shut the door behind her. When Wade walked around the front, Ripper was leaning against his bike, and the bastard was grinning at him.
“Why the hell are you smiling at me, fucker?” Wade asked.
“No reason,” Ripper lied.
“Just fucking say it,” Wade insisted.
“You're fucked,” Ripper said. Wade flipped him off, and Ripper laughed even harder. Apparently, everyone had reached the same conclusion—even him.
The Savage Bastards' new clubhouse sat well outside Huntsville, far enough from the nearest neighbors that nobody cared about motorcycles coming and going at all hours. Normally, Wade felt more comfortable there than almost anywhere except his bar, but today was different.
Harlow went quiet the moment they pulled through the gates, and Wade noticed her staring at the bikes lined outside the clubhouse.
There were men wearing cuts standing near the entrance, and several turned toward his truck as he drove past. Harlow's hand tightened around the seat belt.
Wade parked but didn't shut off the engine immediately.
“You okay?” he asked.
“That's a lot of bikers,” she whispered.
“You've already met most of the ugly ones,” he said. That got the smallest smile from her. “I’ll introduce you to some of the better-looking ones today.”
“Which category are you in?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m handsome as fuck, honey,” he teased.
She snorted. “Confidence isn't your problem.”
“Nope.” Wade shut off the engine, and Harlow didn't move. Instead, he waited her out.
After a few seconds, she asked, “They're going to question me, aren't they?”
“Probably,” he said.
“About the files that I saw,” she guessed.
“Yeah,” Wade said, not wanting to lie to her.
“And about Frank,” she said. “And my father.”
“Most likely,” he agreed. Her fingers tightened around the seatbelt again, and Wade turned slightly in his seat. “You don't have to tell them anything you aren't ready to tell.”
“But your club needs information,” she insisted. “I’ve brought you into my mess, and now, I need to help get you out of it.”
“We need you not falling apart more than we need information, Harlow,” he insisted.
She looked offended. “I'm not falling apart.”
“You climbed out a bathroom window in a wedding dress, got chased across a parking lot, drove half the night, had armed men follow you to my bar, and found out this morning that they're still looking for you.” He paused.
“Pretty sure you're allowed to fall apart a little.” Her eyes became suspiciously shiny, and Wade pointed at her.
“I thought that we already talked about you not crying,” he reminded.
She frowned. “I'm not crying.”
“You're thinking about it,” he insisted.
“You can't tell me not to cry,” she said.
“I don't know what to do when women cry,” he admitted. “So, I’d rather you try not to.”
Her lips twitched. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious,” he said.
“What do you usually do when women cry around you?” she asked.
“Leave.” That earned him a laugh—mission accomplished.
Wade opened his door. “Come on.” He walked around the truck, and Harlow was already climbing out when he reached her.
Her gaze swept over the clubhouse again as Wade stood beside her.
He was close enough that she could reach for him if she needed to, but he wasn’t touching her without her permission.
She'd decide if and when she wanted that from him.
They'd barely made it ten feet when the clubhouse door opened, and Butcher stepped outside. His gaze landed on Harlow and then Wade. He noticed the shopping bags in the back of the truck, and the son of a bitch smiled.
“Not a fucking word,” Wade said, pointing at him.
Butcher held up both hands. “Didn't say anything.”
“You were about to,” Wade assessed.
Harlow looked between them. “What did he almost say?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Wade said.
Butcher's smile widened. “Definitely nothing.” Wade contemplated punching his Prez, but decided against it.
“Church has started,” Butcher said. “We're waiting for you.” Harlow's nervousness returned immediately, and Wade noticed. Butcher did too, and his teasing disappeared. “No one's gonna hurt you in there,” Butcher told her.
Harlow nodded. “I know.” But Wade wasn't convinced she did. They followed Butcher inside.
The clubhouse was quieter than usual. A few women sat near the bar, while brothers who weren't needed in church kept their distance. Wade appreciated that. Harlow had enough eyes on her already.
They reached the hallway leading to the church room, and she stopped. Wade turned and noticed that her face had gone pale.
“Harlow?” he said.
“I need a second,” she insisted. Butcher continued down the hall, giving them privacy, and Wade waited with her. She took a slow breath, and then another. “I hate rooms like this.”
“Rooms like what?” he asked, not sure that he understood.
“Rooms full of men deciding my future,” she whispered to him.
Fuck. Wade stepped closer to her. “This isn't that.”
“It feels like it,” she said.
“Nobody in there gets to decide shit for you,” he insisted.
“Then why am I here?” she asked.
“To tell us what you know,” he said.
“And then what happens?” she asked.
“Then you decide what you want to do next,” he said.
She searched his face. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“What if what I want causes problems for your club?” she asked.
“That's Butcher's headache,” he admitted.