by LeAnn Asher
He takes off in the Texas summer. My hair moves against my skin, and I close my eyes, smiling. I love the feeling of being on the back of a bike.
I want to lay my head on his back and just snuggle up to him so flipping bad right now, but I don’t have the balls to do it.
My house is just ten minutes away or so because I live close to the center of town so I can be close to my bakery.
He pulls up outside my house and drives up the driveway. That’s when a million and one thoughts go through my mind at once. Is he going to come inside, or is he going to keep on sleeping outside? Maybe I should invite him in the house?
What do I do?
Once he shuts the bike off, I climb down and take off my leather jacket and helmet. I set them on the back of the bike. Butcher is studying me. My stomach flips, and I put my hands behind my back, flicking my fingers to hide my nervousness.
He climbs off his bike and I lick my lips. I start to walk to the porch, and I look back and see he is following me. Oh my goodness. My body feels like it’s going to explode with nervousness. Can someone die from it?
He is so intense, and I want to ask so many questions and shake him, asking what he wants from me, but he just follows my every move. I know there is a meaning behind it—I just wish I knew what it is.
I know one thing: that I have never felt so safe in my entire life. He watches my every move, and it’s like he is trying to make sure nothing happens to me. Like I said, it’s intense.
I open the door, but just a crack, and I turn around expecting Butcher to be standing right behind me. No, he is sitting on the stupid lawn chair.
I turn around and walk straight into the house, bummed. “Ugh!” I mutter to myself and walk into my bedroom. I got all dressed up for nothing! He did go caveman on me and throw me over his shoulder, but he isn’t doing anything else! I fully expected him to come inside the house.
I change my clothes, slipping on a pair of soft spandex sleep shorts and a soft baggy white shirt before throwing my hair into a bun. My mind is going through a hundred different things. “Grr.” I walk into my bathroom to wash off my makeup and brush my teeth.
Once I am makeup free and my teeth are brushed, I come to a decision to tell him to at least come inside to sleep on my couch. I know it’s not comfortable to sleep on my lawn chair every night.
I let out a deep breath and rest my forehead on the front door while pressing my hand to my racing heart. I twist the doorknob and the door opens with a creak. Butcher’s head snaps up, his eyes immediately meeting mine. “Come inside? Sleep on the couch where it’s comfortable at least?”
He stands up and walks toward me. I suck in a deep breath and step back into the house. He walks closer and closer to me, the light blanketing him in a soft glow.
This man is just beautiful, with all of his tattoos and his scars, his dark eyes, and his large body. He is beautiful, and now that I am looking him directly in the eyes, close up, I totally realize something.
He has pain and demons—I can see that they haunt him.
I smile at him widely. “The living room is this way.” I motion for him to follow me and lead him through my dining room into my living room.
“There are blankets on the back of the couch, food in the fridge. Help yourself.” I smile and point toward my room. “I am going to bed.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me in that way he does. So I just turn around and walk into my room. I pull the door closed, but I don’t shut it all the way, and I slide into my bed.
I fix the blankets all around me and turn on the TV. All I really want is to cuddle and, most of all, I am lonely. I want that companionship and the special someone that everyone else has.
My whole life I have been judged for not just dating someone to date someone, but I can’t do that. I can’t be with someone if I am not feeling it, especially if I don’t even want to be around that person.
Closing my eyes, I sink into the pillows and blankets.
* * *
Butcher
* * *
I wait until I know she is asleep and walk to her bedroom door. The door is cracked slightly, and I push it open. She is curled up into a little ball, surrounded by blankets and pillows.
I step into her room and walk over to the edge of the bed. I stare down at her. She is beautiful. Her long blonde hair, her beautiful smile that lights up any room. She is hypnotizing.
Tonight, when I saw her heading for the strip club, I acted. I knew she was mine the moment I saw her in the steak house, but I haven’t acted on it until now. Right now I want to be in this bed with her, her curled around me instead of the pillow.
She is so fucking innocent and sweet. I feel like if I touch her, I will taint her. I am not a good fucking man. I have done some horrible shit overseas that fucked with me and still fucks with me every night when I close my eyes.
I know how dangerous and sick people are in this world. I cannot bear the thought of some fucker touching her, or even looking at her. I want to rip them limb from limb and kill them over and over. She is mine and I will protect her from everything.
I saw her change before my eyes at the club the other night. She went from the sweetest little shit to a hellion in a second. She beat Lexi up and did it fucking smiling like it was just an everyday thing she does. She’s got fucking crazy in her.
I like that, but she is also so fucking sweet that it hurts me. I physically ache at the sight of her, wanting to touch her. I watch her. I watch everything she does. I watch her every move, learning everything about her.
Now it’s time to show her what it’s like being mine.
“Good night, Shay,” I whisper and take a step back, not daring to take my eyes off her.
“Goodnight, Butcher,” her soft, sweet voice whispers back.
I turn around and force myself out of the room.
Seven
Shaylin
Waking up the next morning, I turn over to look at the clock, which says 8:00 a.m. Yawning, I throw my arms above my head and stretch. That’s when it hits me.
Butcher is in my living room.
I tiptoe to my door and peer into the living room. He is still lying on the couch, stretched out, asleep. I will make us some breakfast before I head to work.
He was in my room last night. I pretended to sleep as he watched me. When he whispered goodnight to me, my heart skipped a beat. I want to say so much to him, but I don’t know what to say first.
I shuffle sleepily into the kitchen and pull out a pack of bacon and some eggs from the refrigerator. Then I put the bacon on the stove because it takes longer to fry.
Thirty minutes later breakfast is ready and he hasn’t come into the kitchen. I was sure he would appear once he smelled bacon. I sit down and eat my food, and he doesn’t come in.
After putting my dishes in the sink, I peek into the living room. He is still fast asleep on his side, facing the couch.
Now I feel bad—I guess sleeping outside in my lawn chair for the last week or so hasn’t been very comfortable. He must be exhausted.
As I get dressed, I look at the clock. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready. I slide on my work clothes and throw my hair up in a bun before putting on some mascara and foundation. I grab my purse off my vanity chair before walking out of my bedroom. His food will get cold, so I will set it on the stove and leave him a note to lock up when he leaves.
I shut the door quietly behind me and unlock my car as I walk down the path, and I take one last look at my house.
I like the idea of him being here.
* * *
Butcher
* * *
I wake suddenly and look around the room, and it hits me that I am still at Shaylin’s. I take my phone out of my pocket. I see it’s ten o’clock in the morning. She has already left for work.
Panic hits me like a freight train. The thought of something happening to her and my not being there to protect her is staggering. Nothing can happen to her. It
just can’t.
I can’t explain why I feel so fiercely protective of her. I lost my family the moment they were out of my sight, and that fucked with me. The way she smiles at fucking everyone and is so trusting—her innocence makes me want to protect that part of her.
I need to see her.
I run out of the house, but I make sure to lock the door before taking off toward my bike with only one thought on my mind.
Get to her.
* * *
Shaylin
* * *
The door to the bakery slams open and my head flies up, my eyes wide in shock. Butcher is standing at the entrance looking around the room frantically. His body is visibly shaking. I run out from behind the counter.
Butcher’s eyes snap to mine, and he relaxes slightly before he stalks over to me. My breath comes out in whooshes, as my heart is pounding out of my chest and my body is tense.
He stops right in front of me and I stand completely still, not daring to take my eyes from his. His hand shoots out suddenly and hooks around the back of my neck. I gasp at the feel of him touching me.
“What’s the matter?” I get out before I am slammed against his chest. My hands shoot out to his sides in utter shock. Did something happen? Butcher bends down and tightens his arms around me. I hear him inhale, and shivers move up my back.
“Butcher?” I whisper against his large chest, my hands fisted in the back of his shirt. He doesn’t say anything, but he does continue to hug me. I am so confused, but I feel like something major just happened.
One of his hands drags up my back to the back of my neck before slipping into my hair, allowing me to move from the position I am in. So I just let him hold me, and I’ve got to admit I love the feeling of being held like this.
I close my eyes and move closer to him, if that is even possible, sinking into the hug. I breathe in his warm and woodsy scent.
“Shay,” he breathes against my neck, and I run my hands up his muscular back.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“You’re mine.”
My eyes open and I lean back to look at him. His hand isn’t in my hair anymore. “I am yours?” I repeat, but this time I am looking him directly in the face, and his expression is tender.
His hand comes up to my face, cupping my jaw. “Yes.”
I swallow my emotions and smile at him widely. “Okay,” I whisper and he gives me a small smile—it’s not much, but it is something.
The bell on the door chimes, and the moment is broken. I take a step back and smooth the flyaways around my face. I look over Butcher’s shoulder, and I see one of my regulars standing there.
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
He nods. I go back behind the counter, and he moves over to his regular seat in the corner. My mind is reeling at what just happened. He just told me flat out that I was his, and I agreed. I agreed! That shit is a serious thing in the MC world. I know one thing: I like him a lot.
The day passes by in a blur. At one point, Butcher left for an hour, but otherwise he has never been far from my side. He even follows me into my house after work.
“I am going to change!” I yell over my shoulder and walk into my bedroom. I stop once I see what is on my bed: the dress that went missing off the back of the door at the shop when I took my niece out.
He stole my dress. I burst out laughing and fall onto the bed, clutching my stomach. I can’t believe he did this! He took this dress off the back of the door, and then he hid the whole rack! That makes me laugh even harder. You’ve got to give him props for that one. I believe he could write the alpha male handbook.
I spend the next hour getting ready, taking the time to curl my long blonde hair into loose waves. I stand in front of the wall-length mirror. The dress isn’t too short, and it compliments my curvy figure.
Tonight I am braving heels—I guess I want to bring myself a bit closer to Butcher’s height. That man is hitting six foot four or five, and I’m just five three with shoes on! The shoes matter when you are short. The heels are four inches high, and I know I will be crawling by the end of the night if I don’t break a bone.
I used to be the world’s clumsiest person. My dad threatened daily to wrap me in bubble wrap because I tripped over everything. I tripped going up stairs—who else can do that? I fell walking on a flat surface. I was just doomed. Luckily, when I got older, I grew out of it, but some days it catches back up with me when I least expect it.
Taking one last long look at myself, I walk over to my bedroom door and put my hand on the doorknob. I suck in a deep breath to control the butterflies in my stomach. It's like my skin is hyperaware.
I twist the handle and step out, my head held high. I look into the living room, and Butcher is standing in front of my couch staring directly at me. I let out a deep breath and smile at him. Butcher’s eyes leave mine and look up and down my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
He takes a step in my direction, and I freeze. With every step my heart pounds harder until I can feel it in my throat.
He stops in front of me and looks down at me. I lick my dry lips and smile slightly. My hands run up and down my hips to control my nervousness. I am a confident person, but Butcher just puts me on edge and brings out the giddy teenage feelings out of nowhere.
His hand moves toward my face, and he touches a piece of my hair. His fingers run down the length of it before moving back to my face, and he tucks the piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers just barely brushing my cheek.
“Beautiful.”
My heart stops right there, and I feel like I could fall onto the floor in a pile of goo. I have been called beautiful many times, but coming from Butcher it’s totally different. For the first time in my life, every insecurity is gone.
I touch his hand, which is still resting on my ear and cheek. “Thank you, but you’re beautiful too.” I watch his face shift in confusion, which causes me to laugh.
Butcher is beautiful in his own right. He is not beautiful in the conventional sense of word. He is too masculine. But he is beautiful in the way he carries himself, the way he protects the people he cares about, and the scars that riddle his body. A scar on the upper cheekbone on the right side of his face stands out the most. But I can’t see most of his scars very well because of his tattoos.
To show him what I mean, I touch the scar. “Beautiful,” I whisper.
“Shay,” he growls and takes my hand from his face. My eyes widen, and my wrist is wrapped around his hand. The hand that was touching my cheek snakes around the back of my head, holding me completely still.
His face leans down toward mine, and my breathing grows rapid at the thought of him kissing me, but he doesn’t.
He kisses my forehead.
Closing my eyes I sink into the kiss. This isn’t just a kiss on the forehead. A forehead kiss can mean many things: respect, protection, adoration. I breathe in his woodsy scent, and my thoughts are on one thing right now.
He is mine.
Eight
Shaylin
Butcher is taking me to one of the fancier restaurants in town, so we aren’t on his bike. We are in a huge black truck that I needed help climbing into. I don’t think I have any dignity left after trying to bring my leg up to step into the vehicle on top of wearing heels. It wasn’t a great time.
Walking into the restaurant, we are met by a waitress. “Name?”
“Dean.”
I look at Butcher in shock—his name is Dean? I can’t see him being anything other than Butcher. The man looks like a butcher, if you know what I mean, but road names are there for a reason in the MC. I can only guess where he got the name Butcher.
“Follow me,” the waitress says, wide eyed, looking at Butcher.
I laugh under my breath at the sight of her face. She picks up two menus and heads toward the back of the restaurant. As we follow her, Butcher’s hand rests on the small of my back. Everyone turns to look at us as we pass, and Butcher stares every single
one of them down, especially the men. He radiates safety and protection—it oozes out of him. The way his hand touches the small of my back, his body slightly curled into my mine to block me from harm, and the way he watches everyone in the room.
“Here you are!” the lady seating us exclaims loudly with a smile way too big.
“Thank you.” I smile and sit with my back to the room, and Butcher visibly relaxes. He sits down in front of me, looking massive and imposing.
The hostess walks away, practically running. I get it: the man is scary, but at least try to hide it. I turn back around to face Butcher, who is staring at me. I smile and look down before grabbing the menu resting in front of me.
“What can I get you guys to drink?” A loud voice directly beside me asks and I jump, my hand flying to my chest. Butcher growls, and I look over and see a waitress standing there with a notepad in her hand. “I am sorry for scaring you.”
I wave my hand in front of me before flashing her a quick smile. “It’s no biggie. I will take a glass of white wine.”
She writes it down and then looks at Butcher.
“Bud Light.”
She grimaces and writes down his drink order. I do a mental eye roll. “I will go get your drinks.” She walks away.
“Where are you from?” I ask Butcher and smile slightly.
“Tennessee.” He sits back in his seat, relaxing.
I gnaw on my bottom lip because I want to know so much about him. “What brought you to Texas?” I fiddle with the edge of the menu.
Butcher’s eyes search my face and then look down at my hands. I feel like he can sense my nervousness. “I wanted a fresh start.”
That I get. I look down and mess with the napkin on my lap. “Ah, I see.”
