by Aja Foxx
It took every ounce of my control to stay in my human form.
"Gunner!"
I couldn't prevent my snarl as I swung around to look at Butch, but it was the smaller guy standing behind him that drew my attention, the cute one with the bowtie. My breathing intensified until my chest hurt.
He was so goddamn beautiful. All that soft brown hair and those vivid blue eyes. Eyes that flashed with innocence, an innocence I had no business even thinking about let alone desiring.
And I didn't just desire the cute little doctor. I wanted to consume him. I wanted to possess him and mark him for the entire world to see, except I didn't want the world looking at him at all. I didn't want anyone looking at him, especially if they had the same lustful thoughts in their heads as I did.
God, I wanted to mess him up. I wanted to ruffle that perfect hair. I wanted to wrinkle that pristine white shirt. I wanted to make those pale cheeks go rosy. I wanted to make those perfect cupid lips plump.
I wanted to keep the bowtie.
Yeah, I was weird like that. I'd found that kink the first time I'd ever seen the sexy doctor. I'd taken one sniff and fallen like a ton of bricks. He was smart and sexy and so damn sweet he made my teeth ache.
And I wanted to ruin him.
He was a doctor and I was the vice president of a motorcycle club. He was about as innocent of the world as he could possibly be. I'd seen more—done more—than any man ever should. He was young, oh so young, and I'd been around longer than I'd care to admit.
He was also Butch's son.
That was the biggest obstacle. He was the son of the one man I'd never disrespect. Not because I was afraid of him, even though I was, but because Butch had taken me in when no one else would. He'd given me a home and a purpose, and I refused to repay him by destroying his flesh and blood.
I was utterly fucked, and not in a good way.
"I gotta go." If I stayed, bad things would happen. Good things for me—briefly—but, they would be bad for everyone else, especially the doctor. And maybe me. I seriously doubted I'd live longer than a few minutes after I bit the man and claimed him.
Nope, leaving was best for everyone involved.
I forced myself to turn away from the doctor and stalked out of the room. I could hear Butch's angry bellow as I shoved the back door open and stormed outside. I'd pay for not listening to him later, but I was positive once he learned my reasons, he wouldn't maim me too much.
I jumped on my bike, turned it on, and was pulling out of the driveway seconds later. If anyone had come after me, all they would find was my dust.
I didn't care where I was going as long as it was anywhere the doctor wasn't. My control was legendary. Around that handsome man, it was nonexistent. I knew myself well enough to know if I stayed, my control would evaporate like a puff of smoke and I'd claim the doctor whether he wanted it or not.
Christ, I didn't even know his name. I didn't want to know. Knowledge was knowledge no matter what it was and I didn't need to know anything about him. If I started with his name, it would lead to me wanting more and more, until my obsession for the man was all I could think about.
He was pretty much all I could think about anyway.
I hadn't been able to get him out of my head since I'd first seen him up at the hospital. He'd taken my breath away then and he continued to do it every time I thought about him, which was pretty much all the time.
I don't think I'd taken a full breath in ages.
When I reached the city limits, I kept on going, driving up through the mountains. As soon as I found a place where I could pull over and park my bike without prying eyes or someone snatching it, I slowed then turned onto the small dirt road.
I drove about three hundred yards back from the main road then pulled to the edge. It was really nothing more than a dirt patch, but it would do for what I needed. I climbed off my bike then pushed it a little deeper into the trees. Once I was sure it couldn't be spotted from the road, I started pulling off my clothes.
Shifting was hell on a wardrobe.
I stacked everything on my bike then let my shift come over me. It really had been too long since I'd shifted. Usually, Ryder, our MC road captain, organized our bike rides, taking us deep into the mountains where a bunch of men shifting into bears wouldn't be seen and we were able to get our furry on without worrying we'd be spotted.
With all the shit going down with the club as of late, we hadn't had time to go on any rides. We seriously needed to fix that. If I was this desperate to shift, I could only imagine how some of the others in the club were feeling. I had more control than they did.
Just not right now.
I roared as fur sprouted along my arms as they lengthened and grew thicker. My bones snapped and my muscles stretched to accommodate them as they reshaped themselves. My jaw extended, my teeth growing and forming razor sharp edges.
I dropped to all fours with a resounding thud. I sniffed the cold mountain air. There was a faint hint of smoke on the air, but I quickly deduced that it came from a chimney somewhere in the valley below.
A mountain cat was stalking a deer through the woods off to the left of me. I left it alone and started moving through the woods in the opposite direction. I knew I'd get the confrontation I was seeking if I went after the mountain lion, but she hadn't done anything to me. She deserved to have her dinner and be left in peace.
I don't know how long I ambled through the woods, eating berries and scratching my back on bark. By the time I found a spot to settle down for a rest, the sun was setting behind the mountains off in the distance.
I laid my head down on my paws and watched as the sun slowly lowered down from the sky, sinking behind the mountains off in the distance. The lights down in the valley became brighter, lighting up the night sky.
I watched for awhile then slowly climbed to my paws, knowing I had to go back to the clubhouse and face the music. I only hoped the good doctor had headed home by now. I didn't think I could face running into him at the moment, not with my bear so close to the surface.
I felt the shot before I heard it, the sound echoing through the trees. I fell to my knees from the pain that ripped through my shoulder. My loud roar echoed through the forest. I was smarter than this, damn it. I was not going to be taken down by some stupid poacher out for a bear pelt.
I wasn't going to be anybody's fur rug.
I clamped my jaw tight then climbed to my feet. I was a little slower moving through the trees this time, but I needed to be gone before the poacher got here. I couldn't allow him to see me shift.
I shivered at the cold that seemed to be seeping into my bones and carefully picked my way through the forest. It took me a bit longer to get back to my bike than it took me to get to my sunset vista, but I had to stop every few minutes and breathe through the pain.
I huffed in relief when I spotted my bike through the trees. Now, if I could just get dressed and drive down to the valley without crashing. I was going to be pissed if anything happened to my bike.
I shifted as quickly as I could, which wasn't that quick at all considering how much pain I was in, and then reached for my clothes. It was easy to get my pants and boots on, but the rest of my clothes were another story.
I tried to pull my shirt on, but quickly realized there was no way without causing even more damage to my arm, or at least a lot of pain. I pulled my cut on instead and then tore my shirt into strips and tied them around the bullet wound in my arm.
Fucking poachers. They should be shot, every damn one of them. Maybe they'd spend a little less time in the woods hunting innocent animals for their pelts.
I didn't think I could push my bike out of the bushes so I climbed on and started it up. Luckily, I had years of experience riding with one hand. I was able to easily maneuver the bike back onto the dirt path then drive out to the road. From there, I just had to make it down the hill.
Of course, riding without a shirt on wasn't my smartest move. By the time the clubhouse ca
me into view an hour later, my teeth were chattering and my arm hung limply at my side, totally useless.
I pulled my bike around to the back of the clubhouse and parked it close to the back door. I didn't think I had more than a few steps in me before I collapsed. I turned the motor off. I had to flatten my hand against the garage wall when I stood, dizzy from blood loss and the night chill.
"Rooster!" I shouted, knowing he was most likely the closest person.
The back door swung open as if kicked. "What?"
I just looked at the man.
"What—Shit!" Rooster raced down the steps and over to me. He slid an arm around my back then started leading toward the clubhouse. "What happened?"
"Fucking poacher." I hated admitting it, but I didn't need everyone thinking we were on the verge of a turf war. I didn't need the headache.
I already had one.
"Help me inside."
"Yeah, yeah."
Rooster had to keep a tight grip on me to keep me upright, at least until we got inside where the others were hanging out. I stood up straighter and pushed away from the man when we reached the main room. There was no way in hell I was going to let anyone see my weakness.
I made a beeline for Butch's office. He'd need to know I was going to be out of commission for a little while. Shifters healed quickly, but we didn't heal overnight. This was going to take a couple of days. I was just lucky the bullet had passed right through me.
I knocked on the door before opening it because I was in enough trouble.
Butch was sitting at his desk like he usually was, a glass of amber liquid in one hand, a cigar in the other. The man didn't scream and yell at me. He just raised an eyebrow.
That was worse.
"The doc head home?"
I needed to make sure.
"He did."
I closed the door and moved further into the room. I gestured to the drink in Butch's hand. "Got any more of that?"
Butch stared at me for a moment before opening the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass then poured some in a glass before putting the bottle back. He scooted the glass closer.
I walked over to one of the two chairs in front of Butch's desk and sat down then reached for the glass. It burned as I slammed it back, but the ache was enough to clear my head. It took a lot of effort to look Butch square in the eyes, but I knew I needed to.
"He's my mate."
Chapter Three
~ Henry ~
I shut the door on my penthouse condo, dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, then slid my jacket off and hung it up in the closet. As much as I wanted to collapse on the couch, I couldn't. I had a routine and I needed to stick to it. If I didn't, I got lost, and then bad things happened.
I went straight to my bedroom and stripped off my clothes, dropping them in the hamper for the cleaning lady to get the next day. She did the laundry twice a week, but only what was in the hamper.
I took a shower like I did every night when I came home. It was my way of washing away the day's problems. If I stayed under the hot water just a few minutes longer and dreamed about the big biker with the soul deep brown eyes, no one was there to know but me.
I wasn't sure exactly why he'd thrown that man across the room, but I'd been warned motorcycle clubs were violent places. I hadn't really believed it until I saw it. I wasn't sure violent quite described the level brutality I'd seen.
I didn't know how the others dealt with it. It was obviously a place anyone with an ounce of sense would never be caught in. I know I didn't want to go back, although I know I needed to. I still hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Butch for more than a few minutes before things had gone to hell.
While he'd been shouting at the tall, dreamy man storming out the back door, I'd snuck out the front door, feeling as if I'd been running for my life. Even though I was home, I still felt as if I was running from something.
After climbing out of the shower, I dried off then dressed in my pajamas. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror as I always did. I tried to look at myself as little as possible. I wasn't ashamed of how I looked, but I wasn't thrilled with it either.
I was lanky. That was the only way to describe me. I had a slim body due to being constantly on the move and skipping more meals than was probably good for me. There wasn't a lot of time to get meals when you were constantly going from one patient to the next.
There wasn't really anything spectacular about me except for my ability to keep people alive. That, I was very good at. I'd graduated at the top of my class at John Hopkins University. When it came to medicine, I was confident in my abilities.
When it came to people, I floundered every time.
Most of it was due to the fact that I didn't understand people. I never understood their willingness to hurt other people. Gunshots, knives, fists, violence in general. I treated them all. I understood none of them. I abhorred violence in any of its forms.
Which made today really freaking crazy.
My biological father was the president of a motorcycle club. The private investigator I'd hired had warned me that it was a rough place, but I never dreamed my father would be the man in charge. That blew away anything I'd ever thought about the man.
How was I supposed to ask for a favor now? Why would he care? He certainly didn't seem very enthused about meeting me. I would say he never even asked my name, but he already knew it from when I had been Bug's doctor.
And what was their relationship anyway?
I wasn't jealous that Bug had been claimed as Butch's son.
Well, not much anyway.
I had a father and he'd been very good to me. He had instilled my love of medicine in me. He had been the man who had cheered the loudest when I graduated from the university. His chest had puffed out with pride and he'd grinned as he told everyone that his son was a doctor.
I had a father. I didn't need a new one. I just needed Butch to do one little thing for me, and then he could continue being a biker and I'd forget I'd ever met him or took a walk in his violent world.
After cleaning up the mess I'd made in the bathroom, I turned off the light and made my way to my bed. I turned down the covers then sat down. I turned the TV on and flipped the channel to the news and then reached for the phone next to my bed.
I dialed quickly then held the phone to my ear. "Hey, how are you doing?"
"It was a good day."
I smiled even though a small piece of my heart broke off at those words. Good days were few and far between for my twin brother. "Did you eat?"
"Jefferson made me some soup."
"Did it stay down?"
"Yeah."
That was something anyway.
"Did you find him?" Harry asked.
I drew in a shaky breath before answering. "Yes, I did."
"And?" Harry asked. "Will he do it?"
"I don't know yet."
"What do you mean you don't know? Did you ask him?"
I winced as I dropped my gaze to my bedding. I started fiddling with the edge of the sheet. "I didn't really get the chance to ask him."
"Why not?"
"Things got kind of crazy."
That was an understatement.
"I'm kind of on a timeline here, Henry. You need to ask him."
My shoulder slumped. "I will. I'll go back tomorrow and talk to him."
The silence between us hung in the air.
"Was it really that bad?" Harry asked.
"He's the president of a motorcycle club, Harry."
"No shit?" Harry started laughing. "That's insane."
My twin brother didn't know the half of it.
"Do you think Mother knows?"
I actually didn't think she did. I couldn't imagine how my prim and proper mother could ever get hooked up with a biker. I just couldn't see it. In the dictionary under a description of the mythical June Cleaver from TV was a picture of my mother. She was a good mother and wife, totally devoted to her fam
ily, but she had never walked on the wild side.
I'd bet my bowtie on it.
"No, this probably all happened before he became a biker."
"Hey, it's time for me to take my meds and you know they knock me on my ass. Call me tomorrow and let me know what he says. I need to know if we have to start looking at other avenues."
"I will. Get some rest."
Tears prickled my eyes as I hung up. I wasn't much of a crier, but the pain I knew my brother was in just about killed me. If we couldn't find someone compatible for a bone marrow transplant, he wouldn't live much longer, and we all knew it.
It had been my only reason for tracking down my biological father. I needed to know if he'd be willing to get tested, and if he proved to be a match, if he'd be willing to help me save my twin brother.
It really sucked being a doctor and not being able to save the person I was closest to in the entire world. I'd researched everything I could get my hands on, made contacts with scientists and doctors around the world, and even considered moving from emergency medicine to research all in a bid to save Harry. None of it had panned out.
Butch was kind of my last resort at this point.
I set the phone down then stretched out on the bed and pulled the covers up, tucking them around myself. I had a very large bed, but it often seemed larger since I slept in it alone. At this point, I'd been sleeping in it alone for so long, it could have been the Sahara Desert.
My last hook-up had been more than two years ago. My last boyfriend had been longer than that, and he'd only stuck around for a couple of months before bailing. Apparently, I was unable to commit to a full relationship and had issues putting other people ahead of my medical career.
Whatever.
Being alone was depressing, but it was better than being told I didn't measure up. Now, with Harry's illness, I was feeling like I didn't measure up once again. I was his twin brother, but I wasn't a match.
It made me so damn frustrated.
I rolled to my side and closed my eyes. I knew I'd have to go back and talk to Butch tomorrow. I couldn't let my dislike—and admittedly, a little fear—of his lifestyle be what kept my brother from being saved.