Page 79 of Wade’s Wrath

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.