6. Brick
6
brICK
“Well?” Maddox leans against my office doorway, leather jacket already on. “You gonna stare at those numbers all night, or are we getting out of here?”
I rub my eyes, blinking away the blur of spreadsheets. Ten hours of inventory, order forms, and business projections make a man need a drink. Or three.
“Just finishing up.” I close the ledger that holds Black Dog’s future. “Where’s Ryder?”
“Already headed upstairs.” Maddox checks his watch. “He looked like he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Let’s head to Friday’s, then?” I grab my jacket, already tasting the whiskey.
“Where else?” Maddox’s grin is all trouble as we head for the door.
The garage feels different at night. During business hours, it pulses with life—tools clanging, bikes rumbling, people coming and going. Now, it’s just an empty space with echoing footsteps, waiting for morning to bring it back to life.
Five years ago, we walked away from this place without looking back. We left the town that raised us, the legacy Tank built, and everything that reminded us of what we’d lost.
Standing here now feels like stepping into old clothes that don’t quite fit right anymore.
There’s a clarity to the air up here, cool and sharp as if the sky itself has been distilled. Wolf Pike sleeps early. Most storefronts are already dark. Not Friday’s, though—the only bar in town stays lit until two every night, the same way it did when we were teenagers sneaking in with fake IDs.
“You good?” Maddox asks as we walk. He always knows when the memories are riding me hard.
“Yeah.” I roll my shoulders, shaking off the weight. “Just thinking about tomorrow’s opening.”
“Diner’s gonna kill.” His confidence never wavers. “Between your business sense and our little baker’s talents, we’ll own this town again in a month. All our efforts since we returned are going to pay off.”
“And you, what do you bring to the table?”
“Nothing but my charms—which will definitely bring in the customers.”
“Right. There’s no lie there, but we’re not trying to own anything.” The words come out harder than intended. “Just trying to build something.”
Something honest. Something legitimate.
Something that doesn’t smell like gun oil and blood.
Maddox doesn’t respond, just nods. He gets it, even if he won’t say it. We’ve both seen enough to know what we’re running from.
Friday’s comes into view, a neon sign humming in the darkness. Despite being back six months now, we don’t make it here often. Between getting the garage running and preparing for the diner’s opening, our nights usually end with takeout and beer from the fridge.
“Been what, three weeks since we had a proper drink?” Maddox says, holding the door.
Inside, it’s familiar territory but not quite comfortable. We’ve been selective about reintegrating, focused on business more than socializing. Some patrons nod in recognition. Others still give us the cold shoulder.
We grab a corner booth away from the main crowd—always keep your back to the wall and eyes on the exits.
“Whiskey neat,” Maddox tells the waitress without looking at the menu. “Two.”
Six months back in town, and some routines just click into place. He still remembers exactly what I drink after all these years.
“So.” He leans back once our drinks arrive. “How bad do you think we fucked up today?”
I know exactly what he means. Rowan Callahan. Her wide eyes when we broke in. The way she stood her ground despite being clearly terrified. Those cupcakes that tasted like legitimate heaven.
“Could’ve handled it better.” I take a sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. “Breaking down her door wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“Since when do we do subtle?” Maddox laughs. “Besides, the way she was looking at us? Pretty sure property damage was the last thing on her mind.”
I can’t argue with that. Even cornered in her kitchen, there was something in her eyes that wasn’t just fear. Something that made all three of us notice her as more than just the woman who wrecked our bikes.
“She’s running from something.” I stare into my whiskey, seeing her face reflected there. “Something big.”
“Aren’t we all?” Maddox drains his glass, signaling for another. “Question is, does it matter? She owes us five grand and makes cupcakes good enough to make Ryder actually speak. I say that’s a win.”
The bar fills up around us as locals get off their evening shifts. Some nod in our direction. Others pointedly look away. We’ve been back six months, but five years leave marks not easily forgiven.
“Remember when Tank used to hold court here on Friday nights?” Maddox’s voice softens. “Half the town showing up just to hear what he had to say.”
“And the other half staying away because they were scared of him.” I can still see Tank at the bar—bigger than life, commanding every room just by existing.
“Good times.” Maddox raises his glass.
“Different times,” I correct him. “We’re not that anymore.”
His smile fades slightly. “No, we’re not.”
The weight of those words sits between us. Three years of hunting the worst monsters humanity has to offer will change a man, change brothers, and change everything.
“To the diner.” I raise my glass. “To something new.”
“To something normal.” Maddox clinks his glass against mine.
We’re halfway through our third round when I feel it—the shift in the room’s energy, eyes cutting in our direction.
“Kane brothers.”
The voice comes from near the bar. Male. Bitter, and drunk enough to be dangerous.
Maddox tenses beside me. I put a hand on his arm.
“Big shots,” the voice continues. “Coming back like they own the place. Building their little kingdom again.”
“Ignore it.” I keep my voice low. “Not worth it.”
But Maddox is already half-turning, eyes narrowing on a man at the bar. Middle-aged. Angry. Vaguely familiar.
“Everyone else might kiss your asses.” The man’s volume increases, clearly playing to the crowd. “Acting like you’re saviors bringing business back. But I remember when you left this town to rot.”
Maddox moves to stand. I tighten my grip on his arm. “Don’t.”
“You hear this shit?” Maddox’s jaw clenches. “After everything we’ve done?”
And there it is—the wound that never quite healed. Everything we’ve done that no one will ever know about.
Three years infiltrating trafficking rings that specialized in young girls. Two more dismantling a drug pipeline that pumped poison into small towns just like Wolf Pike. The organ-harvesting operation we burned to the ground in Mexico.
The faces of every person we saved. The faces of those we couldn’t.
All the blood and nightmares and medals locked in boxes that will never see daylight. All the good we did that Wolf Pike will never know about.
Because that was the deal when we joined Cerberus—our work stays buried. Our town never learns what their prodigal sons actually did during those five years away.
“You think I care what that drunk thinks?” I keep my voice steady. “We’re not here for recognition.”
“We deserve some fucking respect.” Maddox’s knuckles go white around his glass.
“No.” I lean closer. “What we deserve is to sleep at night and wake up in the morning like normal people—without nightmares.”
The drunk at the bar is still going, but his words fade behind the roaring in my ears. This morning rushes back—waking from another nightmare where I’m too late, the girl’s already cold, and the men responsible are laughing. Waking to the silence of our house instead of helicopter rotors and commands.
Waking and remembering: We’re home now. We’re done. We’re free.
Except freedom feels more like exile some days.
“You remember what Matthews said when he handed us those checks?” I ask quietly. “When Cerberus officially cut us loose?”
Maddox’s anger falters. “Hard to forget being told we’re too fucked-up to be useful anymore.”
“He wasn’t wrong.” The whiskey makes honesty easier. “We were burning out. You with the drinking. Ryder barely speaking. Me not sleeping for days. We needed out before there was nothing left of us.”
“So what, we just let assholes like that talk shit about us?” He gestures toward the bar where the man is still holding court. “When they have no idea what we’ve done?”
“Yes.” I meet his eyes. “Because what we’ve done stays buried. Because we agreed to walk away clean. Because Tank would’ve wanted us to build something here, not burn it down because we’re unappreciated heroes.”
The mention of Tank does what nothing else could—deflates Maddox’s anger like a punctured tire.
“Fine.” He drains his whiskey. “But I’m not feeling particularly charitable about the diner discount for that asshole.”
I almost smile. “Fair enough.”
We settle our tab and head out before the situation can escalate. The night air clears my head as we walk back toward Black Dog. Stars blanket the sky above Wolf Pike, more visible here than in any of the cities we’ve operated in.
“You think we can do this?” Maddox asks suddenly. “Just be normal guys running businesses? After everything?”
The question hangs heavy between us. Can men who’ve seen what we’ve seen, done what we’ve done, ever truly come back? Can hands that have ended lives really build something worth keeping?
“I think we have to try.” I look at him—at my brother, who has followed me into hell more times than I can count. “I think that’s why Cerberus paid us off even though we didn’t want the money. So we’d have a chance to build something that doesn’t have blood in the foundation.”
We walk in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. The diner space comes into view—its windows still covered in brown paper, equipment waiting to be installed. Tomorrow, it will transform from an empty space into Black Dog Bites, our slice of normal in a world that’s anything but.
“One step at a time,” Maddox echoes the mantra we lived by in the field. “Starting with that baker and her five-grand debt.”
“Starting with the diner,” I correct him. “Focus on building first.”
“Whatever you say, big brother.” His grin returns, the shadow of the past receding again. “But you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking about those cupcakes. Or the woman who made them.”
I don’t bother denying it. The memory of Rowan Callahan’s defiant eyes and skilled hands has been circling my mind all day, competing with business plans and old nightmares.
“One step at a time,” I repeat, more to myself than him.