Page 76 of Brick's Retribution

"No, I’m not. I’m askin’ you to be my ol’ lady, because being my girlfriend means you can just dip out when you want. I don’t want to lose you, Imani."

She lifts her head to look at me, "Yes, I’ll be your ol’ lady." She smiles brighter than I’ve ever seen her before.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Imani

I wake to the sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs, the smell of bacon and coffee cutting through the morning air.

For a moment, I'm disoriented—this isn't my penthouse in El Paso, isn't any of the safe houses I've stayed in over the years.

Then I feel Brick's arm draped across my waist, his solid warmth at my back, and everything clicks into place.

I'm at the clubhouse.

I'm Brick's ol' lady.

The thought sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with the danger we're facing and everything to do with the man sleeping beside me.

Last night feels like a dream—the party, the dancing, Brick asking me to be his in that direct, no-bullshit way of his.

No games, no politics, no calculations—all things I’m used to in my everyday life.

Just raw honesty and a promise of something real.

I turn carefully in his arms, not wanting to wake him yet.

In sleep, his face is softer, relaxed into something almost peaceful.

The bandages on his shoulder and ribs are stark white against his tanned skin, reminders of how close I came to losing him before we even had a chance to begin.

"You're staring again," he murmurs without opening his eyes, his voice rough with sleep.

"Maybe I like what I see," I reply, pressing a kiss to his chest.

His eyes open then, amber catching the morning light. "Morning, baby."

The casual endearment shouldn't affect me as much as it does, but coming from him, in that gravelly morning voice, it makes my stomach flip.

"Morning."

He pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair. "How are you feeling about everything? Last night, I mean."

"No regrets," I assure him. "You?"

"Only regret is that my ribs are still fucked up," he says with a slight grin. "Otherwise I'd show you exactly how I feel about having you as my ol' lady."

The possessive note in his voice sends heat spiraling through me, but the laughter from downstairs reminds me we're not alone in the clubhouse.

"We should get up," I say reluctantly. "Sounds and smells like breakfast is in full effect."

"Doom and Rooster's turn to cook," Brick explains, stretching carefully. "They make a mean breakfast spread. Plus the ol’ ladies usually help out—it's like a family thing."

Family.

We both get up out of bed and dress casually—me in jeans and one of Brick's t-shirts that smells like him, him in his usual black tee and jeans with his cut over it.

I really need to get some new clothes, but I’m not exactly trying to leave the clubhouse right now.

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