Harlow
Wade stared at her. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no,” she insisted. “
That's not how this works,” he said.
“Apparently, you don't know how the word works,” she grumbled.
“Harlow,” he warned.
“Wade,” she growled his name in return. His jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. The clubhouse had become increasingly busy over the past thirty minutes.
Men came and went, some disappearing into the back rooms before returning armed.
Harlow had never seen so many guns outside television.
It should have terrified her, but instead, it made her impatient.
Sarah was alive, or at least she had been alive three days ago.
That was all Harlow could think about. Sarah had spent eight months missing while Harlow had believed she'd quit.
Eight months had passed, and Harlow wondered if anyone had looked for her.
Had anyone cared? Had Sarah's family known?
Had Richard lied to them too? Harlow couldn't stop imagining her trapped inside that warehouse while everyone stood around discussing what they should do.
“What if she isn't there tomorrow?” Harlow demanded.
“We're not waiting until tomorrow,” Wade said.
“Then take me with you,” she insisted.
“No,” he breathed.
“You keep saying I get to make my own choices.”
“You do,” he agreed.
“Apparently not,” she grumbled.
“This isn't choosing what fucking shoes you want to wear.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I know that.”
“You're talking about walking into a possible trafficking operation,” he said.
“I'm talking about sitting in a vehicle while you watch a building,” she said.
“It’s still dangerous,” he insisted.
“So is standing in your bar, but you allowed me to do that,” she said.
“Which is why you're not going back there tonight,” he said.
She blinked up at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said.
“You're closing?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Then I'm working,” she insisted.
“Nope,” he breathed.
Harlow stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You're staying here,” he said.
“Wade,” she whispered.
“You’re staying safe in the clubhouse, surrounded by armed men, behind locked gates,” Wade insisted.
“I have a job to do,” she reminded.
“You've had the job for four fucking hours. The bar will survive without you there,” he assured.
“How? I'm already your best employee.” One of the Savage Bastards walking past them snorted, and Wade glared at him. The man immediately looked away, and Harlow almost smiled.
“This isn't funny,” Wade insisted.
“Didn't say it was,” she said. “I am not sitting here while you go looking for Sarah.”
“Yes, you are,” he said.
“No, I'm not,” she spat, putting her hands on her hips.
“Jesus Christ.” Wade rubbed both hands over his face as Harlow watched him.
“Are you finished?” she asked.
His hands dropped to his sides. “You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met.”
“I learned from my father.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her stomach twisted. Wade's irritation disappeared, and she hated that too. She didn't want sympathy—not from him. Not from anyone.
“Don't look at me like that,” she whispered.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like you're worried I'm going to break,” she said.
Wade stepped closer. “I don't think you're gonna break.”
“You keep treating me like I might,” she said.
“No. I'm treating you like someone is trying to fucking hurt you, and I want to keep you safe,” Wade said.
“There's a difference?” she asked.
“Big fucking difference,” he said. Harlow looked away, and Wade sighed. Then his fingers brushed beneath her chin, barely touching her, but just enough to turn her face back toward him. He'd gotten good at that—giving her time to pull away, but she didn't.
“Sarah needs help,” she whispered.
“I know,” he breathed.
“I should've known something was wrong,” she insisted.
“How could you have known?” he asked.
“She wouldn't have just quit,” Harlow said.
“You believed what you were told,” he said.
“I should've called her,” Harlow countered.
“Maybe.” The answer surprised her, and Harlow frowned.
“You're supposed to tell me it wasn't my fault,” she insisted.
“Would you believe me if I had?” he asked.
“No, I wouldn’t have,” she admitted.
“Then I'm not wasting my breath,” he said. Her mouth fell open, and Wade shrugged. “You should've called her.”
“Wow,” she breathed.
“But you didn't know what you know now,” he insisted.
“That doesn't make me feel better,” she whispered.
“Wasn't supposed to.” She glared at him, but he continued. “You can spend the next ten years beating yourself up because you didn't know Sarah was in trouble, or you can help us with what you know now.”
Harlow's anger disappeared. “What if what I know isn't enough?”
“Then we find more information that will help us,” Wade insisted.
“We?” she asked.
His expression softened slightly. “Yeah, runaway bride. We.” She should have complained about the nickname, but she didn't.
Wade dropped his hand. “You need to stay here where it’s safe.”
She sighed. “I still hate that plan.”
“Don't care,” Wade said.
“I'm not promising to stick to the plan, Wade,” she informed.
His eyes narrowed. “Harlow,” he growled her name like a warning.
She smiled sweetly. “Just being honest.”
“You leave this clubhouse while I'm gone, and I'll handcuff you to my fucking bed.” Her breath caught, and Wade seemed to realize what he'd said. Neither spoke, and heat crawled up Harlow's neck. His threat shouldn’t have made her hot, but it did.
“That threat needs work,” she finally managed.
His eyes darkened. “Wasn't supposed to sound like a threat.” Oh, God. Wade's gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse immediately jumped. For a moment, she forgot about Sarah, Frank, her father, the warehouse—everything. There was only Wade and the thought of him kissing her.
Then Butcher shouted from across the room. “Wade!”
Wade closed his eyes. “Motherfucker.”
Harlow laughed as Butcher walked toward them. “We're ready.”
Wade nodded. “Coming.”
Butcher looked at Harlow. “You staying here?” he asked.
“She is,” Wade answered.
“I asked her,” Butcher said.
“She is,” Wade said again.
Harlow smiled. “I haven't decided yet,” she said.
Wade pointed at her. “You already said that you’d stay, Harlow.”
Butcher looked between them. “You two are fucking exhausting.”
“You should try living with him,” Harlow muttered. Wade slowly turned his head, and she realized her mistake immediately. Butcher's eyebrows shot up as a grin spread across his face. Harlow groaned. “It’s not like that.”
“Didn't say anything,” Butcher insisted.
“You were thinking it,” she countered.
“I was definitely thinking it,” Butcher agreed.
Wade looked entirely too amused. “Go away, Butcher.”
Butcher laughed. “We’re leaving in five minutes.” He walked off, leaving them both alone again.
Harlow covered her face. “I'm never speaking again.”
“Promise?” Wade asked.
She dropped her hands. “I hate you.”
“No, you don't.” The answer came too quickly, too confidently, and unfortunately, Wade was right. She didn't hate him—not even a little. That might have frightened her more than Frank ever had.
Wade leaned closer. “Stay here, please, Harlow.” Hearing him say please did strange things to her heart. It almost felt like he actually cared about her, and that was beginning to mean something to her.
This time, she nodded. “Fine.”
“Say it,” he insisted.
“I said fine,” she said.
“Say you're staying, Harlow,” he ordered.
Harlow glared at him. “I'm staying.”
“Thank you,” he breathed.
“Bossy asshole,” she spat.
“Pain in my ass,” he whispered. Then he did something she wasn't expecting.
He kissed her forehead. One quick press of his lips, and Harlow froze.
So did Wade. His eyes met hers, and for once, he looked surprised by his own actions.
His expression hardened as if daring her to say something, but she didn't, mostly because her brain had stopped working.
Wade stepped back. “Lock the door behind us.” He walked away, and Harlow stood there staring after him. What the hell had just happened? She touched her forehead. It still felt warm where his lips had been.
One of the prospects walked past. “You okay?”
“No,” she breathed. He stopped and looked her over, but wisely kept walking, muttering something about Wade and his crazy woman.
She wasn’t his woman—yet, but she was beginning to believe that it was inevitable.
The question was, would he finally make good on his promise to kiss her, because it was all she could think about now.
Waiting was worse than Harlow remembered.
Two hours—two fucking hours they had been gone.
She'd reorganized part of the clubhouse kitchen.
Made coffee. Cleaned something that probably hadn't been cleaned since the building was constructed.
Checked the clock approximately six hundred times, and tried not to think about Wade, but failed miserably.
Her phone was gone, and she had no way to call him, and no way to check where they were. She had no way to know whether something had gone wrong. Every motorcycle engine outside made her jump. Every time the clubhouse door opened, her heart stopped, but none of them were Wade.
Eventually, Harlow gave up pretending she wasn't worried and sat at the bar with her third cup of coffee.
A woman had come in shortly after the men left.
Her name was Princess, and she was Butcher's woman.
Harlow had met her briefly before, but tonight Princess had arrived carrying a bag of food, and enough attitude to make Harlow immediately understand how she'd survived being involved with the Savage Bastards.
Princess slid onto the stool beside her. “If you drink one more cup of coffee, you're going to vibrate out of that chair,” she warned.
Harlow looked down at her bouncing knee. “Sorry.”
“Don't apologize to me. I’m just pointing out how annoying it is.” Harlow looked over at her, and Princess smiled. “I’m kidding.”
“Oh,” Harlow breathed.
“Mostly,” Princess quickly added.
Harlow laughed softly. She liked her. “Does this get easier?”