Page 64 of The Butcher

Clayton leans toward me from his place across the bed. “Indy, sweetheart, we?—“

“How dare you lock him up,” I all but growl, reaching toward the heavy, thick material in his hand and try to remove it from the man in the bed. “You’re treating him like an animal.” I choke on the last word, barely able to get it out as tears spill down my cheeks all over again. I know how this feels. “No one deserves this, no one and I…”

The second my gaze connects with an icy blue one, my heart stops as my insides leap in recognition.

I know him.

I don’t know how, or from where, but I know this man, and something is telling me it’s because he’s mine.

Which is completely insane, and definitely means I need to leave.

I slowly move across him, backing away as those nearly aquamarine irises follow me, tracking me with an intensity that has my heart starting back up and pounding in my ears. They don’t leave my face, he doesn’t even blink, and the way he’s almost analyzing every one of my features has me both wanting to shrink into the corner to hide, and stand tall so he can see all of me.

Another reason I need to leave.

But I can’t.

No matter how strong the urge, regardless of my rational mind and what it says, I can’t make myself leave this side of the bed let alone the room.

“Sit,” the man growls as he continues to stare at me, and I do.

I sit my ass right down in the chair a few feet from where he’s laying, and I don’t move one single inch the rest of the time I’m here.

Chapter Sixteen

MATCH GAME

Bramley

If my mother were here, I know exactly what she’d say to me.

Stop fighting it, Bramley. The sooner you do, the happier you’ll be.

Then she’d call me a dumbass and continue to give me shit until I told her she was right.

My mother isn’t here, and I’d rather choke on my tongue than admit that I found my scent match.

I didn’t realize what that actually means, though. I should have, it was intense when I met Nash, and again when we found Clayton. We don’t have that specific connection but when I saw them, I knew. It was like something inside of me stood up and roared, it claimed them as soon as we were sharing space, and I’ve been with them ever since.

After almost two decades, I still feel that way. One look, one word. The sound of their voices, their scents, everything about them has become absolutely vital to me. Their goddamn presence in my life is just as important and intense as it was so long ago, and I’ve done a shitty job of showing them that, but it’s how I feel.

I won’t let them go because of it.

The idea alone has me raging, has my anger spiking right along with something I’m not used to; the idea of losing either of them is terrifying.

Discovering I not only have a scent match, but actually finding her?

I should have known what that shit was going to do to me, but I’ve been so busy trying to deny it, I didn’t realize how crazy I really feel.

Which is bonafide certifiable.

The urge, the insatiable need to be near her is all but consuming. From the first time I was able to truly take in her scent, I’ve wanted nothing more than to be in her presence. Red fucking poppies. I want the smell of them on my skin, in my fucking mouth, I want it burned into my DNA. I want to smell those goddamn flowers on Nash and Clayton, mixing with their honey and shortbread. I want the scent on my cock, on my knot. I fucking need it.

It’s all I can do to stay away from her, but I have.

I’ve forced myself to stay away, as far from Indy as I can possibly get, but even with miles between us, she’s still with me.

I can see her in my mind’s eye as clear as day; her soft black hair with the shock of red, the classic, elegant features of her face, her fair skin. Those goddamn scars.

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