Harlow
Princess smiled. “You're still pacing.”
“Yeah, I do too,” Princess agreed.
“Nope, it doesn’t,” Princess admitted.
“Huh,” Princess hummed.
“Take it back,” Harlow ordered.
“Can't,” Princess breathed.
“You absolutely can,” Harlow said.
“I already said it,” Princess said. “I can’t take it back now.”
Harlow groaned. “I don't love Wade.”
“You care about him,” Princess corrected.
“That's not what you said,” Harlow insisted.
Princess smiled. “Pretty defensive for somebody who definitely doesn't love him.”
Harlow pointed at her. “I liked you yesterday.”
“Most people get over that soon enough,” Princess teased.
Despite everything, Harlow laughed. It lasted maybe three seconds, and then she looked toward the clubhouse door again.
Wade had been gone for almost two hours.
It had been two hours since he'd kissed her forehead before leaving, and two hours since he'd made her promise to stay inside.
It had been two hours since she'd watched him ride away with Butcher, Ripper, and what had looked like every other Savage Bastard in the state.
The clubhouse felt wrong without them. It was too quiet and too empty.
There were a few prospects at the outer gate, but even most of them had gone with the club.
Harlow understood why. They didn't know how many men were inside the warehouse.
They didn't know how many women either. They needed everyone, and she understood all of that.
It didn't stop her from imagining every possible thing that could go wrong.
She had started making a list in her head—Wade shot, Butcher hurt, Sarah already gone, or even Sarah dead.
Harlow closed her eyes. No. She couldn't do this.
Princess pushed a sandwich toward her. “Eat.”
“I'm not hungry,” she insisted.
“Neither was I the first twenty times Butcher went somewhere dangerous,” Princess said.
“Twenty times?” Harlow asked.
“Probably more,” Princess said with a shrug.
“That doesn't help,” she grumbled.
“Wasn't supposed to help,” Princess admitted.
Harlow looked at the sandwich. “I can't eat.”
“You can,” Princess assured.
“Did Wade tell you to make sure I ate?” Harlow asked.
Princess smiled. “Maybe.”
“Traitor,” Harlow grumbled.
“He was very persuasive,” Princess insisted.
“He threatened you?” Harlow asked.
“No, Butcher would kill him if he had,” Princess said.
“What did he say?”
Princess took another drink. “That you'd argue.”
Harlow gasped. “That asshole.” Princess laughed, and headlights swept across the clubhouse windows, and Harlow's heart stopped. She was on her feet immediately. “Is that them?”
Princess stood too. “It’s too soon.” That wasn't the answer Harlow wanted. Another set of headlights appeared, then another. Harlow stared through the front windows at the three vehicles. They were black SUVs, not motorcycles.
Her stomach dropped. “No.”
Princess was beside her instantly. “What’s wrong?” Harlow couldn't breathe. She recognized the first SUV. She'd ridden in it dozens of times.
“It’s my father,” she whispered.
Princess went still. “What?”
“My father's here,” she said. “Fuck.” Harlow backed away from the window. The clubhouse suddenly felt much less safe.
Princess grabbed her phone. “I'm calling Butcher.” Harlow looked toward the front entrance, and the headlights shut off and doors opened. Men got out—there were too many.
“Lock the door,” Harlow ordered. Princess moved immediately, and Harlow followed.
They'd barely thrown the deadbolt when someone pounded on the other side. Harlow jumped. “Harlow! Let me in, now.” It was her father. Of course he wouldn't ask to come in because Richard Kane had never asked for anything in his life. He demanded. “Harlow, open this door.”
Princess looked at her. “You want to answer?”
“No,” Harlow whispered.
“Good answer,” Princess said.
The pounding came again. “Harlow!” Another voice joined him—Frank. Every muscle in Harlow's body locked. No fucking way.
Princess saw her reaction. “That's him?”
Harlow nodded. “Frank.” Princess's expression changed. She'd never met him, but that didn't seem to matter. She already hated him.
Princess lifted her phone. “No answer from Butcher.”
“Try Wade,” Harlow said.
“I am,” Princess said. The pounding stopped, and it was quiet. Harlow hated that more.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
Princess moved toward one of the side windows. “Can't see.” Glass shattered somewhere in the back of the clubhouse, and Harlow spun around.
“Oh, my God,” she shouted.
Princess cursed. “They're coming in.” Fear hit hard. For one second, Harlow was back at the wedding, getting ready to run, and climbing through a bathroom window with Frank behind her. Her father's voice inside her head. Don't embarrass me. No, not this time. She wasn't running—not again.
Princess grabbed Harlow's arm and pulled her behind the bar. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”
Harlow stared at her. “What?”
“Do you know how to shoot a gun? Do you know how to use one?” Princess asked.
“My father taught me when I was sixteen,” Harlow said.
Princess almost smiled. “Of course he did. Rich people's hobby?”
“No. He said every Kane should know how to protect themselves.”
Princess's expression turned dark. “Bet he's about to regret that lesson right about now.”
She reached beneath the bar, and Harlow's eyes widened. “There are guns under there?”
“You thought bikers kept napkins under the bar like normal people?” Princess pulled out a handgun and checked it before handing it to Harlow.
The weight felt frighteningly familiar. Harlow stared down at it.
Her father had taken her shooting dozens of times.
He taught her never to point it at anything you weren't prepared to destroy.
Richard had called it discipline, and Harlow had hated it.
But now, she silently thanked every instructor she'd ever had.
Princess retrieved another weapon. “Stay behind me.”
“No,” Harlow said.
Princess looked at her. “Seriously?”
“I'm not hiding while you fight my family,” Harlow said.
“You're not fighting anybody unless you have to,” Princess warned.
“That I can agree with,” Harlow said. Footsteps sounded in the back hallway. Harlow's heart hammered in her chest.
Princess raised her gun. “Stay behind the bar.” Harlow crouched beside her. The hallway door opened, and a man stepped through. He was one of her father's security guards. Harlow recognized him immediately.
“Martin,” she said.
He froze. “Harlow.”
“Stop,” she ordered. He looked at the gun in her hand, and surprise crossed his face.
“Put that down,” he ordered.
“No,” she spat.
“Harlow, your father wants to take you home,” Martin said.
“I am home,” she said. The words came before she could think about them, and Princess glanced at her. Harlow felt it too. Wade and his clubhouse had become her home along with his brothers. Martin stepped closer. “Don't,” Harlow warned.
“Harlow—” he said.
“I said don't,” she shouted. He stopped. Maybe he wasn't stupid. Frank appeared behind him, and Harlow's entire body went cold. His face was different from the last time she'd seen him. There was no false charm, no expensive smile, and he looked furious.
“There you are,” he breathed. Harlow raised the gun, and Frank stopped. His eyes dropped to the weapon and then back to her. “Put the gun down.”
“No,” she spat.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he said.
Princess laughed. “Wrong thing to say to a woman holding a loaded gun.”
Frank looked at Princess. “And who the fuck are you?”
“None of your business,” she spat.
“Harlow.” Her father's voice came from behind them.
Richard stepped into the room, and Harlow nearly lowered the gun.
For one stupid second, she saw her father instead of the man tied to trafficking women.
He was the man who'd raised her, the man who'd taught her to ride a bike, the man who'd sat beside her hospital bed when she had her appendix removed, and the man who'd buried her mother.
Then she remembered the manifest and the initials R.K. She thought about the shelters and the routes. You wanted the foundation profitable. Don't complain about how I move the inventory. Her grip tightened. Richard stared at her.
“You have caused enough embarrassment.”
There it was. Not Are you okay? Not I was worried. He was embarrassed. Harlow laughed softly, and something inside her finally broke free. “That's really what you're going with?”
Richard's face hardened. “Put down the weapon.”
“No,” she shouted. His brows drew together as she wondered if she'd ever told her father no before the wedding—really told him. Not complained or argued, but told him flat out no. She had to admit that it felt fucking fantastic.
“You are coming home with me, now,” he ordered.
“No,” she said again.
“You are my daughter,” he reminded—as if she could possibly forget that.
“Yes, I am,” she said. The words almost made her sick.
“You belong with your family,” he insisted.
Harlow looked at Frank and back at her father. She could feel the disgust on her face. “My family sold women.” Richard's expression changed. It was a tiny change, barely visible, but enough for her to notice.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” her father insisted.
“Yes, I do,” she spat. “I’ve seen the proof myself.”
“Harlow,” Frank warned.
She turned the gun toward him. “Don't say my name.”
His jaw clenched. “Put the fucking gun down,” he said, taking a step closer.
Princess shifted beside her. “You heard her. Back up.”
Frank ignored Princess. “You have made this difficult enough. You didn’t need to bring other people into this.”
“I made it difficult?” Harlow laughed. “You tried to force me to marry you.”
“You agreed to marry me,” Frank insisted.
“My father agreed that I’d marry you,” she said.
Richard stepped forward. “Harlow, that's enough.”
“No,” she hissed. “I get to decide when it’s enough, and I’m just getting started.”
His face reddened. “You will stop this childish behavior right now.”
“I'm not a child,” she spat.
“Then stop acting like one,” he countered.