Page 9 of Brick’s Anchor

Feelings make you weak. I've believed that my entire life, and still do.

So, I force myself to look away. Force myself to focus on Phoenix's debrief, on the tactical discussion, on planning our next move against the Vipers. Force myself to ignore the fact that every time I blink, I see her face.

It doesn't work.

Chapter 4 - Rosie

The woman in scrubs has kind eyes.

I don't trust them.

She introduced herself as Eden, told us she's a trauma nurse, explained that she's going to do basic medical assessments on all of us before we do anything else. Her voice is warm and professional at the same time, like she's done this before. Like she knows exactly how to talk to women who've been locked in warehouses and treated like cargo.

"I'm not going to touch you without permission," she says to our group. All six of us are standing in what they call the common room, a large space with couches and a TV and a bar that smells like leather and coffee. "I'm not going to force anything. But I need to know if anyone has injuries that need immediate attention. Anything serious like wounds, bleeding, broken bones."

Nobody speaks.

Eden waits. She's patient. I'll give her that. The other woman, Nora, I think, stands beside her holding blankets like she's ready to wrap us all up and make everything better through sheer force of will. The third woman, Ivy, has bags of clothes organized by size on the long table.

Three women who apparently live here. Who are apparently safe here. Who apparently want to help.

I don't believe in safe anymore.

"Okay," Eden says when it's clear none of us are going to answer. "That's okay. We can take this slow. How about this… I'm going to set up in the medical room down the hall. Anyone who wants to be checked out can come find me. No pressure. No timeline. Just whenever you're ready."

The blonde girl, I still don't know her name, raises her hand slightly. Like we're in school. "Can… Can I go now?"

"Of course," Eden says, her face softening. "Follow me."

They disappear down a hallway. The rest of us stand there like lost children, unsure what to do with ourselves now that we're not locked in rooms or being transported in vehicles. Free range of movement feels foreign. Wrong. Like there should be walls we're not allowed to cross.

Nora steps forward with the blankets. "You must be freezing," she says. Her voice is gentle. Not condescending. Just genuinely concerned. "These are clean. Warm. You can take as many as you want."

The dark-haired girl who was crying earlier reaches out and takes one. Wraps it around her shoulders immediately. The others follow. I'm the last one to move, still wearing Brick's cut, still wrapped in leather that smells like motor oil and something else. Something masculine, musky and completely overwhelming.

I should take it off. Should give it back. Should stop using it as armor.

I pull it tighter instead.

Nora notices but doesn't comment. Just smiles at me. "There's food in the kitchen if anyone's hungry. Showers upstairs if you want to clean up. Clothes on the table. You can take whatever fits, whatever you want. This is a safe space. You're safe here."

That word again. Safe.

I want to believe it so badly it physically hurts.

"Where are we? They said it was a clubhouse?" one of the other girls asks. I think her name might be Sarah. Or Sara. I'm not sure. We never got to properly introduce ourselves while we were locked up.

"The Iron Phoenix clubhouse," Nora says. "I know that probably sounds scary, but these men aren't like the ones who hurt you. They're good men. They protect people. They saved me and my daughter a few weeks ago when we were in trouble."

"You have a daughter?" the dark-haired girl asks.

"Grace. She's five. She's upstairs sleeping right now, but you'll meet her after. She's deaf and communicates in sign language. She loves new people." Nora's whole face changes when she talks about her daughter. Lights up. Becomes something beautiful.

I wonder what it feels like to have something that makes you light up like that.

"How long have you been here?" I ask. My voice comes out rougher than intended.

"Almost three weeks," Nora says. "I came here running from an abusive ex-boyfriend. They took me in. Gave me protection. Gave me a life." She pauses. "One of them gave me love. But that's… That's a different story."