Page 77 of Wade’s Wrath

“Come back to me,” she whispered.

His chest tightened. “Harlow.”

“I know you can't promise me that, but I need you to try,” she said, as she lowered her head to his chest. “Just do everything you can.”

Wade kissed the top of her head. “That I can promise.” She nodded, and a few minutes later, her breathing changed as it slowed and deepened. She was finally asleep. Wade should've done the same, but instead, he lay there holding her. Tomorrow, he would walk into a warehouse filled with armed men. They had women to bring home, along with Sarah, if she was still there.

And somewhere behind all of it were Frank Donnelly and Richard Kane. Wade didn't know how deep either man was involved. He didn't know how many people they owned, or how ugly this was going to get. But he knew one thing—Harlow was done being their property. She wasn't Frank's bride. She wasn't Richard Kane's bargaining chip, and she sure as fuck wasn't inventory. She was the stubborn woman asleep on Wade's chest. She was the woman who had invaded his bar, his house, his bed, and apparently every fucking thought in his head.

Wade looked down at her and Harlow stirred. Her arm tightened around him, and he smiled. Yeah, Butcher had been right from the beginning—Wade was fucked. The difference was that now, he was pretty damn sure he wanted to be.

HARLOW

Harlow had promised Wade she would stay at the clubhouse. She hadn't promised she'd like it. Those were two very different things. “You're pacing again.”

Harlow stopped and looked toward Princess. “I am not.” Princess raised an eyebrow, and Harlow looked down. She was standing halfway across the clubhouse floor with her arms wrapped tightly around herself again. “Fine.”

Princess smiled. “You're still pacing.”

“I hate this,” Harlow said.

“Yeah, I do too,” Princess agreed.

“You said that part doesn't get easier,” Harlow reminded.

“Nope, it doesn’t,” Princess admitted.

“Wonderful,” Harlow grumbled.

Princess lifted her coffee. “Welcome to loving a biker.” Harlow froze. Princess's cup stopped halfway to her mouth. “Oh.” Harlow stared at her and Princess stared back, but neither spoke. Then Princess slowly lowered the mug. “Did I say loving?”

“Yes,” Harlow said, “you did.”

“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.”