MAYHEM

Six

They'd come into a routine: he'd get to her apartment before every shift, leave his bike there to drive her pickup and drop her off, doing whatever it was that he did after, whether it included using her truck or going back to his bike, and repeating the same to pick her up.

This had been the first time that he'd broken routine with his tardiness.

He set her down in the car, and felt like an even bigger asshole as she slumped forward haphazardly. Butcher exhaled through his nose as he buckled her in securely as she mumbled. The pale man righted her up against the seat, narrowing his eyes as she offered no help. Her head flopped back.

"Can't believe that asshole made me fuckin' late. I should gut him next time." His words were rushed and under his breath as he started the truck.

Once again, Valentina fell over, knocking her head so hard against his shoulder that even he winced, her body slouching uncomfortably with her hands on her lap.

But as soon as he lifted his arm to fix her, she fell even further into his lap. Her cheek smacked against his jean-clad thigh, and she snored loudly.

He'd never seen her this tired after a shift; just their fucking luck. Nose scrunching up as he watched her drool against his pants, Butcher couldn't even be mad as he made his way to her apartment.

He thought about how he'd explain everything to her when she was awake. Butcher didn't want to tell her that Rhodey had been hounding him for weeks about what she was like. About how he wanted to really get to know her. He didn't want to tell her that Rhodey took the goddamn keys to the truck right as he was leaving to get her.

He especially didn't want to tell her how he smashed Rhodeys face against the bar, creating a dent in the wood and his nose. Telling him that she was off limits—loud enough for the whole damn club to hear.

No—Butcher definitely didn't want to tell her that. Not while she was drooling on his pants so peacefully.

The biker didn't even know why he was worrying so much. He carried her in without much of a hassle, locking the door quickly behind them.

Butcher might just never give her an explanation. He could ignore her questions or deflect with something that would probably make her face fall into a look of disappointment.

But, in the last two weeks he learned that he hated that look.

Groaning in annoyance, Butcher practically dumped her on the bed. The poor girl bounced on the mattress and was awoken abruptly.

Valentina squealed a little and sat up straight. Her confused eyes trailed over to the biker who so often kept her company now.

His auburn brows rose, expecting something. Anything.

Her glasses were barely perched on her nose; he'd learned that she always wore them on her third shift to give her eyes a break. Her nose scrunched up, reaching for her scrub pants and trying to wiggle them off with her shoes in the way. The fabric bunched around her chubby thighs, leaving her plain black underwear exposed. Butcher averted his eyes from her torso entirely.

Practically growling in annoyance, she flopped back on the bed. Tears of tiredness and frustration were brimming her eyes.

"Fuck—fine. Calm the hell down." He reached for her shoes.

Sliding the sneakers off, he watched her immediately wiggle out of the pants and his mouth went dry. Seeing the smooth skin of her thighs fully revealed felt illegal, and he once again looked past her.

She was trying to get naked after taking the scrub top off, leaving a tank top underneath. Not willing to risk it, Butcher frantically looked around the floor for something she could wear. Snagging a hoodie nearby, they both wrestled one another. Butcher knelt against the mattress briefly to grip both of her arms, forcing them into the big hole. He yanked it over her head so she was hidden in the oversized garment, a low squeal muffled into the fabric. Painful struggling finally got them with her head poking out, her brow furrowed up at him with a pout.