Page 33 of Wade’s Wrath

“No.” She wiped at her cheek. “You're right.” Fuck, she was crying again, and Wade hated her tears, mostly because they made him want to fix shit that couldn't be fixed. One slipped down her cheek. He reached up before thinking better of it and wiped it away with his thumb, and Harlow froze—so did Wade. Her skin was soft. Her blue eyes lifted to his and neither moved.

“Wade.” His name sounded different coming from her like that—softer. He should have stepped back, but he didn't. His hand remained against her cheek, and Harlow slightly leaned into it. That tiny movement nearly destroyed every good intention he had. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and fuck, she noticed. Her lips parted as Wade's thumb traced her cheek. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it badly enough that his entire body tightened, but she had run from one man trying to control her less than twenty-four hours ago. She was scared, vulnerable, and dependent on him for protection. There was no fucking way that he’d take advantage of her.

Wade dropped his hand, and Harlow blinked up at him. “We should go back inside.”

Something that looked suspiciously like disappointment crossed her face. “Right.” She turned as Wade caught her hand. Harlow looked back at him, and he didn't know why he'd done it. So he went with the truth.

“You're not him.” Her brows pulled together. “Your father, I mean.” She stared at him. “Whatever we find, whatever he did or didn't do, none of it belongs to you.” Her eyes filled again, and Wade groaned. “Goddammit.”

A watery laugh escaped her. “Sorry.”

“Stop crying,” he grumbled.

“Stop saying nice things,” she countered.

“I said one nice thing,” he said.

“That's apparently all it takes,” she warned.

Wade shook his head. “You're a pain in my ass.”

“You've known me for one day,” she reminded.

“Longest fucking day of my life,” he teased. She smiled, and Wade squeezed her hand. “Come on.” They walked back toward the clubhouse, and halfway there, Harlow stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“If my father is involved—” She swallowed. “I want to know.”

Wade studied her. “Even if it's bad?”

“Especially if it's bad,” she said.

He nodded. “Then we'll find out.”

“We?” she asked. There was that word again. Wade should've corrected himself; instead, he tightened his hand around hers.

“Yeah, runaway bride. We.”

She rolled her eyes. “I still hate that nickname.”

“No, you don't,” he insisted.

“I absolutely do,” she countered.

“Keep telling yourself that.” They reached the clubhouse door, and Wade opened it. Harlow started inside, but he stopped her. “One more thing.”

“What?” she asked.

“If Kane's involved, you're not going back to him,” he said.

Her expression hardened instantly. “You said nobody gets to decide for me.”

Fuck. She had him there. Wade sighed. “Fine.”

“Fine?” she asked.

“You decide whether you go back,” he agreed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.