Page 19 of Brotan

Then he steps back, the moment shattering like glass. His expression closes, walls slamming back into place.

"Thanks for the stitches, Doc." He grabs his leather cut from the chair.

"Stay out of the fighting rings," I call after him, unable to help myself. "The next time you might not get so lucky."

He pauses at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Haven't been in a ring since New York. Since you."

The admission stuns me. "But your hands—your face—"

"Helping Silas tear down that condemned building on Oak Street." A hint of a smile crosses his face. "Old man's too stubborn to hire professionals. The place almost collapsed on us both. I pushed him out of the way in time."

"You're doing demolition work? For the town?" I can't keep the surprise from my voice.

"Club's rebuilding Shadow Ridge. Every member pulls their weight." He shrugs, the gesture almost self-conscious. "Demolition's just fighting without a moving target. Uses the same skills."

The revelation shifts something fundamental in my understanding of him. Not a mindless animal seeking violence, but someone channeling destructive skills into something constructive. Someone trying to build rather than destroy. Someone trying to rewrite his own story, just as I am.

"See you around, Doc." He's gone before I can respond, the door swinging shut behind him.

I stand frozen in the examination room, surrounded by the evidence of his presence—bloodied gauze, suture packets, the lingering scent of leather and musk. The space feels emptier without him, as if he took something vital with him when he left.

What the hell just happened?

And why do I feel like I just gained something I never expected to find in the first place?

ChapterFive

Crow

Food isn't an apology, but it's the closest thing I've got.

The takeout containers from Greene's feel foreign in my hands as I stand outside the clinic's door. Maya's car sits in the lot, but the lights inside are dim. She's in there. Has been for three straight days, according to Helen, barely leaving except to sleep at the bungalow.

My stitches itch beneath the skin, already knitting together thanks to orc biology. The demolition work at Silas's place waits, but I've been avoiding it—avoiding anything that might require me to explain these healing hands to her again.

I'd rather face Quinn's entire fight pit again than examine why I'm standing here with cooling food and this unfamiliar ache in my chest.

Savvy cornered me this afternoon, worry etched into her face. "Doc hasn't come in for meals. Helen's worried."

"Not my business," I muttered, focusing on the inventory sheet for the clubhouse.

"Someone should check on her," Savvy pressed. "She's new. Alone. Shadow Ridge can be hard on outsiders."

I know about hard. About alone. About being the outsider that nobody wants but everyone watches, which is probably why I'm here instead of Diesel or Ash, who'd handle this more smoothly.

It’s nothing official. Nothing I could explain to Hammer that wouldn't earn me endless shit from the brothers. Just food for a doctor who's worked through mealtime too many days straight.

A doctor who saw through the monster to the man beneath. Who called me on my bullshit but still fixed my broken parts.

I didn't expect the truth I saw in her face when she talked about her patient. The raw wound of it. The way she carries that death like I carry the first man I killed in the camps—not with pride but with the weight of condemnation.

The clinic door is unlocked. Stupid. This town isn't as safe as she thinks, not with Royce still at large and Victor's trial looming. Anyone could walk in.

Anyone just did.

Inside, the reception area sits dark and empty, but a soft light spills from beneath a closed door down the hall. I follow it, catching an unfamiliar scent—animal, fear, and the sharp tang of antiseptic. My nostrils flare, instinctively categorizing the smells: canine, male, injured. Then I hear movement and what sounds like a low whimper.

"Maya?" I call, not wanting to startle her.

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