Page 18 of Brick’s Anchor

"I handle security. Discipline. Protection."

"So, you hurt people."

"When necessary."

"And it's necessary often?"

"Often enough."

She raises her left eyebrow. "You're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"Someone scarier."

I nearly laugh. "Rosie. I'm six-five, two-forty, covered in tattoos, and I break bones for a living. I'm exactly as scary as you think I am."

"No," she says. "You're not. Because scary men don't sit on floors with strangers. They don't give away their cuts. They don't let little girls boss them around about making sure people eat."

"Maybe I'm just good at hiding it."

"Maybe," she agrees. "Or maybe you're something different than what you pretend to be."

I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to explain that I am exactly what I pretend to be.

I’m a weapon, a tool, a man made of violence. That the only reason I'm capable of being gentle is because this club taught me how. That without my MC brothers, I'd probably be in prison next to Jake and Ryan, just another statistic in a family line of men who couldn't control themselves.

Grace runs back over, tugging on Rosie's hand, signing rapidly.

"She wants to show you her room," Judge translates. "Says you can sleep there if you want. She'll share."

"That's… that's very sweet, but I'm sure there are other—"

"We've got guest rooms," Nora interjects, appearing with fresh blankets. "But Grace's offer is genuine. She doesn't make it often."

Rosie looks overwhelmed. Like kindness is a language she doesn't speak anymore.

"You don't have to decide now," I tell her. "You can figure it out later. One thing at a time."

She nods slowly. "One thing at a time."

"Finish the sandwich first."

"You're very bossy."

"I'm an enforcer. Bossy is in the job description."

She picks up the remaining half of the sandwich and takes another small bite. Grace claps again, then signs something else.

"She says you're doing well and she's proud of you," Judge translates.

Rosie's eyes get suspiciously bright. She blinks rapidly, swallows hard, and takes another bite. And I sit there watching her eat, wearing my cut, slowly piecing herself back together with the help of a five-year-old and half a sandwich.

Saint was right.

I'm completely fucked.

Chapter 6 - Rosie