Page 77 of Brick's Retribution

Not with everything so fresh.

The prospect patch seems to mock the authority he naturally carries, but I understand the club hierarchy enough to know earning a patch takes time.

He pulls me close for a quick kiss. "You look good in my shirt."

"Trying to mark your territory?" I tease.

"Maybe," he admits without shame. "Want everyone to know you're mine."

The primal tone in his voice makes me shiver.

This is so different from the careful political maneuvering I'm used to—just raw, honest possession that goes both ways.

Downstairs, the common area has been transformed into a breakfast buffet.

Doom is at the massive griddle, flipping pancakes with surprising delicacy for such a large man.

Rooster mans the bacon station while Kelsey and another woman I don't recognize work on what looks like enough scrambled eggs to feed an army.

"Well, well," Kelsey says with a smile when she sees us. "Look who finally made it down."

"Leave them alone," the other woman says, though she's grinning too. "Young love needs sleep."

I feel heat rise in my cheeks, but Brick just pulls me closer, his hand resting possessively on my hip.

"Imani, this is Astra," he introduces. "Python's ol' lady."

Astra is a petite and curvy fire-engine redhead with intricate tattoos covering her arms, her smile warm and welcoming. "Nice to finally meet you properly. Heard you gave these boys quite the run getting here."

"They gave as good as they got," I reply, which earns approving nods from the men.

"Grab plates," Doom rumbles from his station. "Food's ready."

The spread is impressive—pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, fresh fruit, toast.

It's the kind of hearty breakfast I haven't had in years, too used to quick protein bars or business meeting pastries.

We settle at one of the long tables, and I'm struck by how natural this feels.

Brothers, their women, and kids eating together, casual conversation flowing, no pretense or power plays.

Just family sharing a meal.

"So," Astra says, settling across from me with her own loaded plate. "I heard you went to Harvard?"

"Business school," I confirm. "Though I was pre-med before that."

"No shit?" Rooster looks impressed. "What made you switch?"

The honest answer—that my father demanded it—feels too heavy for breakfast conversation. "Family business needed someone with financial expertise."

"Smart," Kelsey observes. "Medical knowledge and business brains. Useful combination."

"Especially now," I agree, thinking of everything we went through to get to the clubhouse.

As if reading my thoughts, Brick's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently.

The quiet support grounds me, reminds me I'm not facing this alone anymore.

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