After saying goodbye to X, Anthony found Christy passed out on top of the bedspread. He took a blanket and covered her. He lay down next to her, but sleep wouldn't come. He stared at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was almost four o'clock and he could hear another storm as a low rumble of thunder announced itself. She stirred and inched her way toward him as if subconsciously seeking warmth and safety. He extended his arm and pulled her close. She murmured something into his chest as her hand found its way to his stomach. He sucked in his breath, knowing she was asleep, but the thought of her hand going lower caused an all too familiar ache in his groin. One that he would need to relieve soon.

His restlessness caused his mind to wander down unfamiliar paths. Was he really developing feelings for the woman whose hand was splayed across his stomach or was it something else? Something carnal? Was he confusing physical desire with emotional yearning and would ten minutes with a woman provide an answer? He knew he was horny and had been too long without female companionship, but he had a hard time believing he could mistake physical desire or need for actual want and longing. Then again, he'd never cared for a woman before. How would he recognize the difference? His mind was a jumble of confusion laced with a tad of self-anger at not understanding his own feelings.

He knew what he had to do. He would have X come back to the house tomorrow to stay with Christy while he paid a visit to the camp. He would burn off some of his pent-up testosterone between Shasta's legs, get his brain back where it needed to be and return to business as usual. He was just horny. The testosterone build up was messing with his head.

Satisfied with his new revelation, he smiled as he let out a long breath, certain that sleep would overtake him. But it didn't, and by six o'clock he'd already called X to come back to his house. He met him at the door with a scowl, telling X that Christy was sleeping and he would be back in an hour.

He drove to the camp and headed straight for what was originally the office and camp administrator's cabin. It had all the conveniences of a small home and was usually where he found Shasta. He'd noticed that several bikes were in front of one of the bunkhouses. Hopefully he wouldn't have to drag her away from someone else's bed. He walked inside and flipped on the light switch.

"Shasta?" he called out before heading for the only bedroom. She wasn't there. He turned and made his way to the small infirmary. He'd had Veronique set it up so his men wouldn't need to go to a hospital if they were ever injured as a result of their criminal activity. She'd visited the camp more than once to administer medical help to his rowdy crew. He wondered if she'd continue to show up since he'd stopped sleeping with her months ago. Maybe, he thought. Veronique had stayed away before, but could never seem to resist an invitation that might get her back in Anthony's good graces, and caring for his men would certainly shed a good light on her.

He found Shasta on a cot. He roused her and she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Hey, Anthony, haven't seen you in a while," she said as she sat up and shook her hair.

"My sister was visiting," he said flatly as he stared down at her. The realization that this was a bad idea landed with a thud in his brain.

She immediately stood up and pulled her shirt over her head. She hadn't been wearing pants and she now stood in front of him, ready to slip out of her black panties. He gave her a look that caused her to shrink back, doubting herself and what she thought he was there for.

"We’re all out of rubbers." Her voice was hesitant. "Dr. V ain't been around for a while, but I can please you another way.” She stared at his crotch and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. She remembered Anthony always used a condom with the girls, no exceptions. "Or, I can see if there's a spare one in the bedroom," she offered, motioning toward the door.

"No," he answered gruffly as he turned his back on her. What was he thinking? He ran his hand through his long hair and scoffed out loud. There was only one woman he wanted to be with. Whatever demon had whispered in his ear that he just needed to burn off testosterone had been a liar. There would never be another woman for Anthony. The only one he wanted was exactly where he intended to keep her.

At his home. In his bed.

“Go back to sleep, Shasta,” he said as he headed out the door.

He returned home and found X sitting on his couch with a cup of coffee.

"She hasn't budged," X commented.

"I didn't think she would," Anthony replied as he headed to the kitchen. He returned minutes later with his own mug and sat down in front of X.

"What's going on with you, Bear? What's really going on?" X asked as he leaned forward and set his cup on the coffee table.

"I wish I knew, X."

"I know you went to the camp to see Shasta." He paused. "You told me last night Christy was your woman." X rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. "You still feel that way now?"

Anthony stared at the wall behind Alexander's head and slowly began to nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"I guess this is a game changer in more ways than one in our search for Van."

"Yes and no," Anthony said as he sat up straight and looked at X.

"I still want to find Van. He's responsible for his own debt, not Christy."

"Agreed," X added.

"But she's under my protection now. I seriously doubt those men that Lourdes met last night work for Van Chapman. I want to know who they are."

X stood and stretched. "I'm on it." He headed for the door and stopped. He turned to look at Anthony and said, "I know you probably haven't had a chance to keep up with the weather, but thought you might want to know there's a storm brewing in the Gulf. You might need to hunker down for a few days. Can't say for sure if it's going to hit us, but thought you should know."

Anthony nodded and headed for his office. He watched from the window as X drove away. A storm is brewing all right, he thought as he scratched his chin. A storm that had completely ravaged his heart and pierced his soul.

A storm called Christy Chapman.