Page 93 of Butcher

“Why?” he gritted out, looking angry.

“Lockout isn’t going to let me stay here, Butcher. I’m an assassin. And I tried to kill you.”

He gave me a dumbfounded look. “Pretty sure everyone’s over that by now.”

“Sure, for a short time, while I helped you find even more dangerous threats to your family. But no one is going to want me to stay long-term.”

“I want you to stay,” he insisted.

I smiled and walked over to him. Wrapping my arms around him, I breathed in the scent of leather and his cologne. “I love you. So much that I have to let you go.”

“That makes no fucking sense, Isla,” he growled. He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me far enough away that he could look down into my face. He gave me a little shake when I didn’t respond. “Make some kind of fucking sense, Woman.”

I shook my head. “You belong here, Butcher. I don’t. It’s as simple as that.”

“You don’t want to stay?”

God. I wanted that more than anything.

He must have seen the intense desire on my face. “Then fucking stay. I don’t see the problem here.” He let go of me to rake a hand through his hair. “Is this some subtle bullshit I’m not picking up on? Help me out here, Isla.”

“I made a deal with the president of your club,” I told him. “That deal is now done and I’m honor bound to leave and never cause trouble for any of you again.”

His mouth was hanging open. “You-” He didn’t seem to know what to say. “Honor bound?”

I nodded.

“Who gives a fuck about that?”

My eyes narrowed. “I do, Butcher. I couldn’t compromise my morals enough to kill a man who seemed to be a good person beneath a gruff exterior.”

“Not sure I’d go so far as to call me a good person,” he grunted.

“I think you are.”

“And it doesn’t matter that I fucking love you?” he asked.

“It matters,” I whispered. “More than you’ll ever know. You’re the only one who does.”

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped. “If I go downstairs and take a fucking poll I guarantee you every woman down there will say they love you.”

“They don’t even know me.”

“They know enough,” he shot back.

“This is hard enough as it is,” I told him. “Don’t make it harder.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?” He asked, perplexed. “My goal is to make you see that I want you here.”

“I know you do,” I told him. “But you don’t run this club.”

“Fine,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated.

I shook my head. “You belong here, remember?”

---