Page 42 of Butcher

The door shoved me forward, and I turned to scowl at Butcher. He’d nearly knocked me on my ass. It was a good reminder of how strong he was. The fact that I was relying on him, and therefore his MC brothers, was also a testament to his strength and intelligence. I was taught at a young age, probably Cassie and Caitlyn’s age, not to depend on anyone but myself.

Butcher shut the door, watching me with a thoughtful look on his face. “Why’d you run up here?”

Like I was going to tell him that. It would require telling him that I was afraid of falling in love with him. “I told you, I needed to get Donna.” I walked over to where my rifle was secured away in a safe he had in his closet.

Without another word, he walked over and keyed in the code. The clunk of the lock releasing was loud inside the room as the door swung open.

My brows shot upward and without thinking, I reached forward and let my finger trail over the sharpened edge of an ax. There were knives, guns, and a machete also hanging there. There were more weapons inside the safe, but these had been given premium space on the door. “Trophies?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“What was this one from?” I asked, still touching the ax.

“Helped me and a friend get out of a lot of trouble,” he replied, then shrugged.

I understood completely. I had my own trophies as well. Those weapons that had saved your life on so many occasions you needed to honor them. That’s why Donna and Stabby went everywhere with me. I had more, but those were locked away inside my home in the White Mountains. A safe place where I could keep them all together and organized. I had collected a lot of them throughout my twenty-nine years. I knew from his folder that Butcher was eight years older than me. He also had an impressive stash of trophies.

“Do you have any family we need to hide before this shit kicks off?”

Studying his profile as he pulled Donna from the safe, I wondered if he was really worried about my fictional family? Or was he just trying to learn more about me? “No. I don’t have any family.”

He turned and handed me my weapon. “None?”

“None.” I cocked my head. “How about you?”

“You’ve met them,” he said, spreading his hands to indicate the club and their families.

“No one else?” I asked as I took the rifle over to the bed and pulled a box of cleaning supplies out of my bag.

The shake of his head was clipped and screamed ‘I don’t want to talk about it’.

I also didn’t want to talk about my fucked up childhood, so I knew better than to pry. Though I did have one question. “Tell me something, Butcher.” I quickly broke the weapon down and used the soft cloths and equipment to clean the outside of the gun.

One dark brow rose while he waited for me to ask my question. I wondered if he was fully aware of the effect he had on women. Or if he even cared. “What’s your name?” I used a brush inside the barrel before running another soft cloth through with a metal pole.

He folded his arms over his chest, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Doesn’t it tell you that in your little folder?”

“Didn’t you look through it?” I asked, perplexed. If he had a folder on me I would’ve gone through it so fast it would make his head spin.As soon as the replacement cloth came out clean, I oiled Donna up and reassembled her.

“No.”

He had boundaries. I knew based on his reaction the night we met, he didn’t cheat. And apparently he didn’t snoop either. Setting Donna aside, I went over to my go bag and pulled the folder out, handing it to him.

His brows shot up in surprise, but he flipped through it.

“That’s everything they have on you,” I told him. “Or everything they were willing to give us anyway,” I amended. It didn’t include his real name, anything about his past, only how dangerous he was, the weapons he was proficient with, and information about his life now, the club, etc. Though even that was sparse.

“Not much to go on,” he remarked. His eyes met mine. “What made you take the job?”

Sighing, I grabbed the folder back from him and placed it back in my bag. When he grinned, I shrugged. “I keep all of them,” I explained. There was a spot in my hideaway for that folder and if it didn’t go in with the others it would drive me insane. “Money,” I replied, answering his question.

He let out a deep sound that almost sounded like a grunt. But it had an edge of disbelief to it.

“Well, the money had to be right,” I amended, “but really it was the challenge.” I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was watching me. “It’s been a while since I’d come across someone like you.” In reality, there was no one like him. No one else who would have made me change sides like this. Give up a contract. Throw everything I’d worked for out the window. “So?”

“Dean Turner.”

I blinked in surprise. It was such a common name for an uncommon man.

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