22. Brick
22
brICK
“Six weeks down, two to go,” I mutter, taking a pull from my beer as I watch Ryder clean a dismantled handgun at the kitchen table. “If she keeps up her pace at the diner.”
Ryder doesn’t look up, his fingers and eyes focused on the weapon. Night has settled over our house, the kitchen clock ticking toward eleven.
“You think she’ll stay after she pays off the debt?” I ask, already knowing I won’t get a real answer.
Ryder shrugs, a gesture that could mean anything or nothing.
I lean against the counter, studying my youngest brother. Something’s shifted in him since Rowan came to town, something that I can’t quite place my finger on.
“What do you think about her?” I press, determined to get something out of him.
He looks up finally, his gray eyes unreadable. “She’s a good baker.”
“That’s it?” I snort. “Six weeks of working together, and all you’ve got is she’s a good baker ?”
“What do you want me to say?” He slides the clip into place with a decisive click.
“I don’t know.” I drain half my beer. “Something tells me you’re hiding something.”
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close enough that I know I’ve hit a nerve. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Before I can push further, the distinctive rumble of Maddox’s bike pulls into the driveway. Moments later, the front door swings open, and our middle brother strolls in, grinning like he just won the lottery.
“Well, well,” I say, eyeing his unusually cheerful expression. “Someone’s in a good mood.”
Maddox heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a beer before dropping into a chair across from Ryder. “A good night,” he says simply, but that shit-eating grin doesn’t fade.
“You were with Rowan the entire night?” I keep my tone casual, though something uncomfortable twists in my gut.
“Yep.” He pops the cap off his beer. “I ate the best lasagna I’ve ever had at her place.”
Ryder’s hands still momentarily before resuming their work. “So nothing else happened between you two?” he asks, his voice flat.
“What’s supposed to happen?” Maddox asks, all wide-eyed innocence that doesn’t fool either of us.
I study him, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders and the satisfied gleam in his eyes. He looks like a man who’s gotten exactly what he wanted, and knowing Maddox, that could mean anything.
“You smell like you need a shower,” I comment, wrinkling my nose.
“That bad?” He laughs, standing. “Guess I’ll clean up.”
“Hurry,” I call after him. “We have that meeting in twenty.”
As his footsteps fade up the stairs, I turn back to Ryder, who’s staring at the reassembled gun like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“Dibs on Maddox fucking her,” I say casually, watching for his reaction.
Ryder’s fist clenches around the weapon, his knuckles going white. I blink, surprised by the visceral response.
“What’s your problem?” I ask, genuinely confused.
He sets the gun down carefully. “No problem.”
“Fine, I’ll stop bugging you,” I tell him, going back to my beer.
Fifteen minutes later, Maddox reappears, hair still damp from what must have been the world’s fastest shower. He drops back into his chair, looking between us with a raised eyebrow.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asks.
“We’ve got some MC business,” I say, switching gears. “Teller called while you were out.”
Both my brothers straighten. Despite our efforts to distance ourselves from the Black Wolves’ more aggressive activities, we’re still part of the leadership, still bound by blood and promise to the MC that raised us.
“What’s he want?” Maddox asks.
“Protection job.” I set my empty bottle on the counter. “The Hellraisers are moving their annual rally through Wolf Pike territory next week. Three hundred bikes, twice that many riders.”
“And?” Ryder prompts.
“And they’re carrying a shipment that’s caught some unwanted attention. Teller’s offered the service of some members, and included them as additional security for a price.”
Maddox groans. “We agreed to stay clear of that life.”
“This isn’t that life,” I counter. “It’s escort duty, nothing more. They pay us, and we make sure they get through our territory without incident.”
“You’re stretching the definition of ‘staying clear’ pretty thin, brother,” Maddox points out.
I shrug. “Money’s good. We need it for the diner expansion.”
We need the cash, but more than that, we need to maintain our standing with the Black Wolves. Being part of the MC means protection, connections, and a safety net we can’t afford to lose. Not with Cypher’s bounty on our heads.
“Speaking of threats,” I continue, moving to the closet at the end of the hallway, “something arrived in the mailbox today.”
I pull out a large metal case and set it on the coffee table with a heavy thud. My brothers gather around as I flip the latches and lift the lid, revealing our insurance policy against Cypher’s hired guns.
Maddox whistles low. “Christmas came early.”
Inside, nestled in custom-cut foam, lies an assortment of weapons—handguns, combat knives, and a compact submachine gun that would give any ATF agent a heart attack.
“Placed the order the moment we got word about the bounty,” I explain. “These stay with us at all times—house, garage, diner.”
Ryder picks up one of the handguns, a matte black Sig Sauer, checking the weight and balance with practiced hands. “Concealed holsters?”
“In the side compartment.” I lift the foam to reveal the additional equipment. “Ankle and shoulder options for everyone.”
Maddox lifts a tactical knife, testing the edge with his thumb. “This is serious hardware, Brick.”
“Cypher’s serious business,” I remind him. “These aren’t for show.”
“What about Rowan?” Maddox asks, setting the knife back in its slot.
“What about her?” I keep my voice neutral, though the question sends an uncomfortable prickle down my spine.
“She’s close to us,” he presses. “Could be a target too.”
“So are Lucy and Nora,” I counter. “And every other employee we have. What’s your point?”
“My point is she’s special,” Maddox says, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“Special, how?” I ask though I know exactly what he means. “She’s our baker, who still owes us for damage to our bikes.”
Ryder sets down the Sig with deliberate care. “She’s more than that.”
“What’s gotten into your heads?” I demand, looking between them. “You’re both acting like lost puppies.”
Maddox barks out a laugh. “Don’t act like a saint, Brick. I see the way you look at her too.”
The accusation hits too close to home. I do look at her. I notice the way she moves, the grace in her hands as she works, and the curve of her lips when she smiles. I’ve been noticing since day one, and it’s getting harder to pretend otherwise.
“This conversation is over,” I announce, abruptly standing. “We have to focus on staying alive, not fighting over a woman who works for us.”
“Convenient exit,” Maddox mutters, but he doesn’t push.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, leaving the weapons case open on the table.
Neither of my brothers responds as I head upstairs, the tension thick enough to cut with one of those fancy new knives. I hear Maddox grab another beer, and then his footsteps head toward his own room.
Alone in my bedroom, I sit on the edge of my bed, running a hand over my face. Six weeks ago, our biggest problem was getting the diner up and running. Now we’ve got a death mark from one of the most dangerous men on the West Coast, and we’re falling over ourselves for a woman who crashed into our lives with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
A woman who’s wormed her way into my thoughts despite my best efforts to keep her at arm’s length. A woman who might be sleeping with one or both of my brothers, if I’m reading the signals right.
I’ve never been the jealous type. Having brothers means sharing almost everything. But this—Rowan—feels different. Feels like something that could drive a wedge between us if we’re not careful.