Page 13 of Brick’s Anchor

Despite everything, despite the trauma and the fear and the bone-deep exhaustion, I almost smile.

Almost.

"Come on," Brick says, standing. He offers me his hand. "You should eat something. The other girls said you haven't had a proper meal in days."

I stare at his hand once again. At the scarred knuckles and tattoos. At the offer of help I don't want to accept.

I take it anyway.

He pulls me to my feet easily and doesn't let go immediately. Just holds my hand for a moment, looking at me with those beautiful dark eyes.

"You're going to be okay," he says.

"You can't promise that."

"I just did."

Then he lets go and heads toward the stairs.

I follow him.

Because I don't know what else to do. Because his promise, as impossible as it is, feels like the first true thing anyone's said to me in a week.

Chapter 5 - Brick

The kitchen smells like chili and fresh bread.

Someone, probably Ivy, made sandwiches. They're laid out on the counter in neat rows, enough to feed all six women plus whoever else needs to eat. There's also soup heating on the stove, crackers in bowls, fruit cut into manageable pieces. The kind of spread you put together when you're trying to offer options to people who haven't had choices in too long.

The girl follows me down the stairs, staying two steps behind. Close enough that I know she's there. Far enough that she can bolt if she needs to. I don't take it personally. After what she's been through, distance is survival.

The common room has transformed. The other five women are scattered around—some on the couch, some in chairs, one sitting on the floor with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Eden's talking with the blonde girl, taking notes on a clipboard. Nora's brought Grace down. The five-year-old is showing one of the women her favorite stuffed animal, signing enthusiastically while the woman watches with something like wonder on her face.

Canvas is at the bar with Saint, both of them staying out of the way but present. Available if needed. Judge is by the window, positioned where he can see the whole room and every entrance. Phoenix is probably in his office.

We know how to do this. How to be here without being overwhelming. How to offer protection without making it feel like confinement.

The girl stops at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the scene. I watch her process it: the women who look comfortable here, the child who's completely unafraid of the bikers around her.

"That's Grace," I tell her. "Nora's daughter. She was born deaf, and communicates in sign language. Nora and Judge are dating now."

"The man at the window, right?"

"Yeah. He's also fluent in sign language. Learned it in the military as a contingency skill. Came in handy when he met Grace."

"And the woman in scrubs? Eden?"

"She's with Canvas. The tall one with all the tattoos. They got together recently."

"Everyone here is fucking each other."

I nearly choke. "That's one way to put it."

"Is there another way?"

"They're in relationships. Actual relationships. Not just fucking."