Page 23 of Brick’s Anchor

We sit in the courtyard for twenty minutes before she speaks again.

"My family must be going out of their minds," she says. Her voice is rough from crying, exhausted from everything. "My mom, my dad, my younger sister. They probably think I'm dead. Or that I finally did what I always said I would and left town without telling anyone."

"You talked about leaving?"

"All the time. Small town girl dreams, you know? Always said I'd save up enough money and just go. Get out. See the world. Do something more than cut flowers and ring up customers." She pulls the cut tighter around herself. "They probably think that's what happened. That I finally did it."

"You should call them," I say. "Let them know you're alive."

"And tell them what? 'Hey Mom, remember that boyfriend you hated? The one you begged me not to date? Turns out you were right. He's a Viper who locked me in a warehouse for a week. But don't worry, I'm fine now. Living in a biker clubhouse with different bikers. Everything's great.” She laughs bitterly. "That'll go over well."

"They'll just be glad you're alive."

"They'll be glad I'm alive and furious that I didn't listen. That I put myself in danger. That I'm still putting myself in danger by being here instead of coming home."

"Are you in danger here?"

She looks at me. "I don't know. Am I?"

"No," I say firmly. "Not from us. The Vipers might come looking, but we're prepared for that. You're safer here than you would be alone."

"That's not exactly a high bar."

"It's the truth."

She's quiet for another moment. Then, "What about your family? Are they worried about you being at war with the Vipers?"

I nearly laugh. "My family doesn't worry about me."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't have one. Not really. Not anymore."

"Everyone has family."

"I have a mother I haven't talked to in five years. Two brothers in prison that I've never visited. A father who died while I was deployed and nobody told me until three months after the funeral." I lean back in the chair, looking up at the lights overhead instead of at her. "That's not family. That's just biology."

"Your brothers are in prison?"

"Yeah. Different facilities. Different charges. Same outcome. They let violence define them completely until there was nothing else left."

"And you didn't?"

"I almost did. Got close. Closer than I should have." I can feel her watching me. "Joined the military at eighteen to get away from it. To learn control. To become something other than what my brothers became."

"Did it work?"

"Mostly. I learned to channel it. Make it useful. But the violence is still there. Still part of who I am. I just wear it better than they did."

"Is that why you became a MC member?"

"Part of it. The other part is I'm good at it. I don't hesitate. Don't second-guess. When something needs to be done, I do it. Phoenix recognized that. Gave me a place where that particular skill set is valuable instead of destructive."

Rosie shifts in her chair. The leather of my cut rustles with the movement. "Do you like it? The violence?"

No one's ever asked me that directly. Most people assume the answer and don't want confirmation. But she's asking like she actually wants to know. Like my answer matters.

"Yeah," I admit. "I do. That's the fucked up part. I like the feeling of breaking through someone's defenses. Like the adrenaline. Like knowing I'm good at something most people can't stomach. It makes me feel—" I search for the right word. "Useful. Like the darkness in me has a purpose."