Page 21 of Storm

“I need to feed you and get you home,” he said thickly, breaking the silence.

Brook tilted her head up, her green eyes locking onto his. “What about my car? Do you think it’s drivable? It wasn’t that hard of a hit.”

He set her carefully on her feet and rose, towering over her as he reached for her hand, his touch firm but warm. “It’s drivable, but I want to check it out in the shop tomorrow to make sure it’s safe,” he replied, leaving no room for argument.

As he led her from the apartment toward the community kitchen, she stayed quiet, her fingers curling around his as they walked. But the moment they stepped inside and she spotted Carlee, Brook’s demeanor shifted completely, her Little side bubbling to the surface like she couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Carlee squealed, rushing toward her and throwing her arms around Brook in a dramatic hug. “Daddy said you were in a car accident.”

She nodded, but her gaze flicked upward, seeking Storm’s eyes. The look she gave him, soft and full of trust, warmed him from the inside out, a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words. He liked that. A lot. She was asking for his reassurance, leaning on him in a way that stirred something deep and protective within him.

“She needs to eat,” he grunted at the Littles, gently nudging Brook toward the table, steering her away from Carlee’s whirlwind of energy.

“Gabriel made chili and cornbread for dinner. It’s in the crockpot,” Atlas called out, glancing up from the sink where he was washing dishes.

“Thanks,” Storm replied, his voice curt but appreciative. He pulled out a chair for Brook, waiting patiently for her to sit before pushing her in with deliberate care. Leaning down, he brought his mouth close to her ear, speaking softly. “Do you want milk or water, sunshine?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, her teeth tugging at the soft flesh as uncertainty flickered across her face. He recognized her hesitation immediately and cursed himself silently. Making decisions wasn’t easy for her Little—it overwhelmed her.

“I’ll get you milk,” he said gently, straightening and brushing a hand lightly across her shoulder. “Stay right here, Little one.”

Her shoulders relaxed and the relief in her expression was subtle but unmistakable, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. She trusted him to take care of her, and for once, he didn’t second-guess his ability to do so. He glanced back toward the table, his gaze settling on her. Brook sat quietly, her hands resting on her lap, but her eyes never left him, filled with something that made his chest ache.

She didn’t just trust him—shewantedhim. And that made all the difference.

Atlas followed Storm into the kitchen, moving with his usual easygoing confidence. He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and held one up as an offer. Storm shook his head. One beer wouldn’t affect him, but he still needed to get Brook home. With her in his care, he wasn’t taking any chances. Her safety came first, always.

“You okay? You seem pretty tense,” Atlas said, tossing the bottle cap into the garbage with a practiced flick before leaning casually against the counter. His sharp eyes watched Storm fill two bowls with steaming chili. The rich, savory aroma filled the room, a reminder that Gabriel truly was the best damn cook in the clubhouse.

“I’m fine,” Storm replied gruffly, his tone clipped as he focused on his task.

Atlas smirked knowingly, taking a swig from his beer. “You don’t seem fine.”

Storm’s gaze snapped up, his dark eyes narrowing in a glare. “When did you become such a nosy fuck? I said I’m fine.”

For a moment, the two friends locked eyes, the tension between them thick. But then Storm exhaled heavily, his broad shoulders sagging as he rubbed at his temples. “She could have gotten really fucking hurt. And on top of that, the asshole who ran into her was in her face, screaming like a damn lunatic.”

Atlas was quiet for a beat, sipping his beer thoughtfully. “It scared you,” he said finally, his voice calm but laced with understanding.

Damn right, it scared him. The admission churned in Storm’s gut, unsettling him. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—so out of control, so raw. Caring about someone wasn’t second nature to him. It was terrifying. But the need to protect Brook, to shield her from anything and everything, burned inside him like a relentless fire. He wanted to be her protector, her safe place. Like a Daddy should be.

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn about admitting you like her?” Atlas’s question blunt but not unkind.

Storm’s hands stilled as he poured milk into a sippy cup, his jaw tightening. Twisting the lid on firmly, he answered without looking up. “Because she deserves someone way better than me.”

Atlas scoffed, setting his beer down with athunk. “Who would be better than you?” he challenged, his voice cutting through Storm’s self-doubt. “The Storm I know is loyal, protective, and caring—in your own fucked-up way. Do you really think anyone would Daddy her better than you?”

Storm opened his mouth to respond, but Atlas didn’t wait for an answer. With a parting glance, he pushed off the counter and strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Storm alone to stew in his thoughts.

The truth hit hard. Storm couldn’t stand the idea of any other man touching Brook. The thought of someone else’s hands on her soft, curvy body filled him with a possessive rage he couldn’t ignore. But would she want that? Could she handlewho he was—the rough edges, the gruff demeanor, the absolute need to protect her ineveryway possible? He wasn’t going to change; he’d tried that before, bending and twisting himself into someone he wasn’t for his ex. And she’d cheated on him anyway, leaving him bitter and wary.

Unease prickled at the back of his neck as he picked up the bowls of chili and carried them to the table where Brook sat waiting. She looked up at him with those emerald-green eyes, trusting and innocent, and his chest tightened. This wasn’t something he needed to figure out tonight. But even as he sat across from her, the urge to claim her as his, to make sure everyone knew she belonged to him, gnawed at him relentlessly.

For now, he pushed those thoughts aside. He didn’t need all the answers tonight—but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t letting Brook go.

“It’s hot, Little one. Don’t eat it yet,” Storm cautioned, his deep voice firm yet gentle as he rose from his chair and headed back to the kitchen. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the room as he moved, grabbing a plate of cornbread and her sippy cup of milk.

When he returned, he settled into the chair beside her. She turned slightly toward him, her soft green eyes lifting to meet his. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice laced with warmth.

---