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“Nope,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I can carry my own bag.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said easily, already heading toward the door. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” He didn’t miss the way she hesitated before following him, or the tension in her steps. But the fact that she followed him anyway told him more than anything else. She didn’t trust him, but she needed something, and people who wanted something usually didn’t ask for help unless they were out of options.

He helped her into his truck and put her bags in the back. The ride to his place was quiet. His truck rumbled down the dirt road, headlights cutting through the thick Mississippi night. He kept his eyes forward and his hands steady on the wheel, but he was aware of her in that passenger seat in a way that irritated the hell out of him. She didn’t fidget, didn’t talk to him, and didn’t feel the need to fill the silence the way most people did whenthey got uncomfortable. She just looked around like she was cataloging everything. A part of him wondered if she was judging him.

“Got something to say?” he finally asked, not looking at her.

“Plenty,” she replied coolly. “I just don’t see the point.”

That pulled a low chuckle out of him. “Smart woman,” he breathed.

“Don’t mistake my silence for submission,” she snapped. Butcher’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel, something dark and amused curling in his chest.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess,” he said. She made a sound under her breath—half frustration, half something else, and turned to stare out the window. He let the silence settle between them again, because honestly, it was easier to deal with than trying to figure her out.

His house came into view a few minutes later—small, solid, and tucked back off the road with just enough distance from town to keep people away. It was the kind of place a man built when he didn’t want company, and that worked for Butcher because the last thing he needed was anyone snooping around his place.

He killed the engine, stepping out and grabbing her bags before she could argue with him again. This time, she followed behind him more slowly, her heels crunching against the gravel as she took everything in.

“Wow,” she said flatly. “You live out here?”

He glanced back at her. “You have a problem with the location of my house?”

She crossed her arms. “Just didn’t expect you to be domesticated enough to own a house.”

He snorted. “I’m not.” That much was true. This place wasn’t about comfort; it was about control. It was something he decided that he needed after everything else in his life went to hell.Losing his old life, club, and friends had taught him a valuable lesson—life was short. Sure, that sounded cliché, but he didn’t give a fuck. When he opened his shop and started earning a good living, he decided to buy the old house in the middle of nowhere. It had given him stability that he was missing in his life. Unfortunately, he was never able to replace the friends or club that he had left back in Huntsville.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the lights. “Spare room’s down the hall,” he said, setting her bags just inside. “Bathroom’s attached, and the towels are clean.”

She hovered in the doorway like stepping inside meant crossing a line she wasn’t sure she could uncross. Butcher watched her for a second too long. Something about the way she stood there—torn between running and staying that hit a nerve he didn’t like.

“Relax,” he said, tone rougher than he meant it to be. “If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have brought you here.” Her gaze snapped to his, sharp and assessing.

“Gee, that’s comforting,” she drawled.

He huffed out a breath. “Didn’t say I know how to treat guests.” For a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across her lips, and then it was gone.

“Where’s the room?” she asked. He jerked his chin down the hall, and she grabbed her bag, and this time, she didn’t let him help as she walked past him without another word. Butcher stood there, listening to her footsteps fade, the soft click of a door closing. And just like that, his peaceful quiet was gone.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the empty hallway. It had been ten years of silence, routine, control, and now there was a woman in his house who looked like she belonged in a penthouse, not a mechanic’s spare room. She was a woman with secrets written all over her. She didn’t trust him, but that worked for him because he didn’t trust her, either. But somehow, healready knew that this wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t going to be simple, and he was sure that this wasn’t going to end clean for either of them. Butcher dragged a hand over his jaw, his old scar pulling tight.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, heading for the kitchen. “This is gonna be a problem.”

PRINCESS

The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was quiet. Not city quiet. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that was filled with distant sirens, muffled traffic, and people pretending they weren’t watching you. This was different.

Princess stood in the middle of the room with her hand still wrapped around the handle of her suitcase, listening like something might jump out of the silence and bite her. But all she heard was the faint hum of the house settling. The low creak of wood. The distant sound of a cabinet closing somewhere, and Butcher moving around in his own space like she wasn’t currently invading it.

Her grip on the suitcase loosened slowly. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. She’d stayed in worse places—far worse.

This wasn’t a rundown motel with questionable stains and thinner walls. This wasn’t some borrowed room under her father’s watchful eye, where every move she made was reported back to him like she couldn’t breathe without permission. This was just a house. Butcher’s house, and that was a problem because this wasn’t neutral ground.

Her eyes swept the room. It was simple and clean. There was no unnecessary clutter. The bed was made with military precision, the corners sharp enough to cut steel. A dresser and a chair sat in the corner. There was nothing personal about the space. There were no pictures and no signs of a life shared with anyone else, and something about that made her chest tighten.

Princess set her suitcase down slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she moved deeper into the room. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a change of clothes, her fingers hesitating for half a second over the fabric.