Chapter Eleven
Brick hadn’t slept, not really. He lay on his back with Tessa tucked into his side, her head resting over his heart, her breathing slow and even as exhaustion finally claimed her.
Every now and then she shuddered in her sleep, caught in some echo of what had been done to her.
Each time it happened his body went rigid, every instinct screaming to wake her.
He wanted to shield her, to tear apart any threat that dared exist in the same world as her.
In the end Brick decided not to wake her.
He stayed still and vigilant, a sentry in the dark. Every creak of the clubhouse made his nerves snap tight. Every distant engine, every door opening too loudly down the hall had made him curl his fingers around the knife on the nightstand. A reflexive instinct before his mind even caught up.
He counted footsteps that weren’t his, memorized voices through walls and measured silence like it was a threat. Tessa was here, she was safe and sound. Still, it didn’t feel real. Not yet.
Brick stared at the ceiling long after dawn crept through the thin curtains, watching pale light crawl across the room inch by inch.
The world looked the same as it always had.
The familiar bare walls, scarred furniture, the faint scent of oil and gunpowder clinging to everything, but nothing felt the same anymore.
Tessa shifted in her sleep, her forehead tucking instinctively into the hollow of his chest like she belonged there. Like she’d done it a thousand times before. The movement hit him straight through the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs in a way no fist ever had.
Christ. Less than twenty-four hours ago, He’d carried her out of hell. She’d been shaking, bruised, chains biting into her skin. Terror still burning in her eyes even after she was free. Still, she’d lifted her face to him and trusted him to hold her together.
She was broken, terrified, and brave as hell. Now she was here, in his bed and in her arms. Tessa was his. The word settled heavy and irrevocable in his chest. It wasn’t possession or control, but responsibility and devotion. A promise carved into bone.
Careful not to wake her, Brick slipped out from beneath her and stood. The sheets were still warm where her body had been pressed to his. He pulled on his jeans and cut, the familiar weight grounding him, reminding him who he was outside of this room, outside of her.
He paused at the edge of the bed and just watched her. Her lashes were still clumped faintly from dried tears. A shadowed bruise stained the delicate skin of her throat where hands had touched her that never should have.
The sight of it sent a fresh surge of rage ripping through him, violent and uncontrollable, the kind that begged for blood. Brick clenched his jaw until it hurt. Slowly, carefully, he bent and pressed a soft kiss into her hair. It was the gentlest thing he’d ever done.
Then he turned and left the room before the need to go back and curl around her again became too strong. The clubhouse was already alive. Low voices drifted through the hall.
Boots thudded against concrete. Coffee brewed somewhere, bitter and strong. The familiar smells of oil, smoke, and gunmetal hung thick in the air. Heads turned as Brick moved down the corridor. Conversations died. Eyes followed him.
No one said a word, they didn’t have to. They all knew what he was here to do. King’s office door was closed. Brick didn’t slow. He knocked once, sharp and final, and entered without waiting.
King stood behind his desk, maps still spread out from the night before, red marks and grease-smudged fingerprints still haunting the paper. He glanced up as Brick shut the door behind him.
“I’m claiming her as mine,” Brick said without hesitation.
The words landed like a hammer strike.
King studied him for a long moment, eyes sharp, measuring. Maybe he was searching Brick for any hint of doubt.
“You sure?” King asked quietly.
Brick tightened his jaw.
“She nearly died because of me,” he said. “Because they wanted leverage. Because they knew how much she mattered to me.” His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides. “That doesn’t happen again. Ever.”
King leaned back against the desk, arms folding over his chest. “Claiming her makes her a bigger target.”
“She already is.” Brick’s words were blunt and unarguable.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with the weight of what was being decided.
“You understand what you’re saying, right?” King said at last. “Once you put her under your name, under this cut, she’s club. That means protection, yes. But it also means danger follows her for the rest of her life.”
Brick didn’t look away.
“I bring danger wherever I go,” he said flatly. “At least this way, she doesn’t face it alone.”
King exhaled slowly. “You love her.”
It wasn’t a question. Brick’s throat tightened. For a moment, words failed him. Then he nodded once.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
King pushed off the desk and stepped closer. “Then I’ll approve it. But Brick, if she gets hurt again because you were reckless, because you chose pride over strategy, I won’t forgive it. And neither will she.”
“She’s the only thing I won’t fail,” Brick said, his voice hoarse with truth.
King studied him one last time, then extended his hand. Brick clasped it without hesitation. The claim was made.
When Brick stepped back into the hallway, something inside him had shifted and locked into place. Tessa was his, and now, the whole club knew it.
She was awake when he returned.
Sitting upright in the bed, knees drawn up beneath her. Wrapped in his shirt like a shield that was far too big for her, the hem brushing her thighs, the collar slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was mussed with sleep, eyes still shadowed with exhaustion and fear.
She was watching the doorway like she’d been afraid he wouldn’t come back. The sight hit Brick straight in the chest.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Her face changed instantly. Relief flooded through her so fast it was almost painful to watch. The tension in her shoulders melted, and a small, fragile smile curved her lips.
“Hi.”
Brick crossed the room in three quiet strides and crouched in front of her, bringing himself level with her.
He rested his hands on her knees, solid and grounding.
She reached for him immediately, like she’d been waiting for permission to touch him again.
She curled her fingers into his vest, gripping tight like it anchored her to something real.
“I talked to King,” he said.
Her breath hitched. Her expression shifted. Tessa looked nervous, uncertain, and hopeful all at once. “About ... us?”
“About you,” Brick said. “About claiming you as my old lady.”
For a heartbeat, she couldn’t speak.
Her breath caught visibly in her chest. Her fingers tightened in his vest like she wasn’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away.
“You’re sure?” she whispered.
There was no doubt in her voice, just awe, and fear. Because this wasn’t just words, this was a life, and a line she could never fully step back over.
Brick lifted her chin gently with two fingers, guiding her gaze up to his. His touch was careful, reverent, like she was something fragile and priceless all at once.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She looked at him steadily.
“I don’t know the rules,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how to fit into your world.”
Her voice trembled just enough to betray her fear. Not of him, but of failing him and of being swallowed by something too big, too dangerous.
“You don’t have to,” Brick said. “Not alone.”
She searched his face, reading every scar, every shadow, every unspoken promise written there.
“And if I get it wrong?” she asked. “If I make mistakes?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then we handle it together.”
Her lips parted. She nodded slowly, like she was bracing herself for the leap.
“I want to try.”
That was all he needed.
Brick surged to his feet and pulled her up with him, lifting her straight into his arms. She gasped softly at the sudden movement but melted into him just as fast, arms sliding around his neck, her face pressing into his throat.
He held her like he was afraid the world might try to take her again.
“This means you’re under my protection,” he said into her hair. “Always. Club protection. Mine first.”
She nodded against him. “I know.”
“This life isn’t gentle,” he went on. “There’ll be eyes on you. There’ll be danger. I won’t ever lie about that.”
“I’m not fragile,” she whispered. “I’m just ... human.”
His grip tightened. “Then I’ll be your armor.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him. “And what are you to me?”
His forehead touched hers. “Yours.”
The word landed between them with quiet gravity.
She kissed him then and it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was soft and steady, full of trust and choice and the kind of promise that didn’t need vows. Brick cradled her face with his hands, using his thumbs to brush warmth into her skin as he deepened it just enough to make her breath stutter.
When they parted, her eyes were shining.
“I was so scared when you left,” she admitted.
“I won’t disappear on you again,” he said. “Not without you knowing exactly where I’m going.”
She leaned into his chest. “Good. Because I don’t ever want to wake up alone after this.”
Brick lifted her back onto the bed and settled beside her, pulling her into his side once more. Her head tucked naturally beneath his chin this time, like she’d already learned where she belonged.
Outside the room, the clubhouse roared with life. Engines, laughter, the constant hum of violence and brotherhood and danger. Inside the room, there was only her breath. His heartbeat. And the quiet knowledge that everything had changed.
Tessa wasn’t just the woman he loved. She was his old lady now.
The End