Page 9 of Wade’s Wrath

God, she was tired. She’d reached the point where her body had simply given up producing enough adrenaline to keep her properly terrified. Across the room, Wade and Butcher stood near the bar talking quietly about her. She knew it without hearing a single word. Butcher kept looking in her direction, and every time he did, Wade said something that made the other man look increasingly irritated. Finally, Butcher shook his head, and Wade shrugged.

Harlow narrowed her eyes at the pair of them. She hated people making decisions for her. She’d had enough of that shit to last a lifetime. She pushed her chair back and stood, and both men immediately looked at her—of course they did. Apparently, she couldn't breathe in this place without Wade noticing.

Harlow crossed the room. “If you're talking about me, I'd like to be included.”

Butcher looked amused, but Wade didn't. “Sit down and finish eating.”

Her irritation flared. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Wade insisted.

“I heard you. I'm choosing to believe you didn't actually order me to sit down and eat my dinner,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She noticed the way that Wade looked her over, but chose to ignore it.

Butcher coughed into his fist, and Wade shot him a look. “I'll leave you two to it,” Butcher said.

“Coward,” Wade muttered.

“Nope, I’m just smart,” Butcher corrected. He walked away.

Harlow stood there with her arms still crossed over her chest, staring Wade down. “Well?”

“Well, what?” he asked.

“What were you talking about?” she questioned.

“You,” he said. She was happy that he at least had the balls to own up to it.

“I gathered that,” she grumbled.

Wade leaned one hip against the bar. “You got somewhere safe to go?”

The question knocked some of the anger out of her, and she looked away from him. “No.”

“Do you have any family that can take you in or help you?” he asked.

She laughed bitterly. “My father is the reason I was marrying Frank. I have no other family.”

“What about your mother?” he asked.

She sucked in her breath. The very last thing she wanted to do was tell a stranger about her mother. “She’s dead.” His expression shifted, and she hated the pity she saw in his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” The simple sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“Nope, unless you count my imaginary friend, I’m an only child,” she joked.

“Okay, well besides your imaginary friend, do you have any friends you can stay with?” he asked. Harlow thought about that. There were women she had lunch with and women who invited her to charity events and shopping trips. There were women who attended the same parties and knew which designer she wore without ever knowing what made her laugh. But she wouldn’t call any of them her friend.

“My father made sure most people understood that getting too close to me came with conditions. So, I didn’t have any friends, really,” she admitted. Again, the look of pity that flashed in his hazel eyes pissed her off.

Wade's jaw tightened. “Then you're coming home with me.” There it was—his endgame. He said it so simply that she wasn’t quite sure if she had heard him correctly.

Harlow stared at him. “Did you just say that I’m coming home with you?” she asked.

Wade crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her stance. She let her eyes roam over his body, and he smirked at him. “I did,” he admitted.