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.