Page 78 of Wade’s Wrath

“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.