Page 1 of Brick's Retribution

PROLOGUE

Brick

The fresh desert air hits my face as I roll into the club for the second time today, the rumble of my Harley echoing off the walls.

Three months.

Three fucking months of chasing ghosts, following dead-end leads, and coming up empty-handed.

My body aches from the long ride, but it's nothing compared to the hollow feeling in my chest.

Lashes isstillout there somewhere, and I've failed to bring her home.

The club comes alive as I cut the engine.

Music pumps through massive speakers, the heavy bass vibrating beneath my boots.

Brothers and their ol’ ladies fill the courtyard, drinks flowing freely.

The celebration for Sam—sorry, Compass—officially becoming a prospect is in full swing.

But guilt churns in my gut.

How can we be celebrating anything when one of our own is missing?

I spot Amara across the crowd, her sharp eyes finding mine instantly.

Our president doesn't miss a goddamn thing.

Even from this distance, I see the tension in her shoulders ease slightly at my return.

She gives me a small nod, then whispers something to her husband, Dante, before making her way toward me.

She hands me a cold beer. "You look like shit."

I accept it, but don't drink. "I need to head back out tomorrow. Got a lead in Juárez that?—"

"No." The single word cuts through the night air with the precision of a blade. "You've been running yourself into the ground for months. It's time to come home."

"I can't just?—"

"We still have people looking. Connections across the border, in every major city. Professional resources." Her voice softens slightly. "You can't save someone if you're dead on your feet, Brick."

I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might crack.

My road name—solid, dependable, the foundation others rely on—feels like a fucking joke right now.

What good is being the rock when I can't even find one of our own?

When I can’t even find my best fucking friend in the entire world?

"This isn't your fault," Amara says, reading my thoughts with unnerving accuracy. "And I need you here. We have a situation."

My attention sharpens. "What kind of situation?"

She scans the courtyard before jerking her head toward the clubhouse. "Inside."

I follow her through the crowd, forcing a tight smile when brothers clap my shoulder in greeting.

---