Page 102 of Brick's Retribution

Murmurs ripple through the room.

The Torres princess is serious about her shopping.

"Six million," Don Carlos pushes.

"Seven," Imani counters immediately.

"That's quite an investment," Carlos notes. "Your father must have given you quite the budget."

"Eight million," she says, ignoring his probe.

The room goes silent.

Eight million dollars for one woman—even a pregnant one—is extraordinary.

"Eight million going once..." the auctioneer draws it out, sensing drama. "Going twice..."

I hold my breath.

"Sold! To Ms. Torres for eight million dollars."

Relief floods through me so hard my knees almost buckle.

We have her, but we didn't have that much in resources. I know Imani can get the rest of the funds, but fuck.

After three months, we have Lashes.

Now we just have to get her—and the five others Imani purchased—out of here alive.

As they lead Lashes away, her eyes sweep the crowd one last time.

For just a moment, they lock with mine.

Recognition flares—she knows me, even through the drugs and trauma.

Her lips move slightly. Just one word I can read:

"Brick."

Then she's gone, and I have to stand here playing bodyguard while my heart shatters into pieces.

The auction continues, but I barely process it.

All I can think about is Lashes, pregnant and chained, being led back to a cell to await "delivery."

Finally, mercifully, it ends.

"Congratulations on your purchases," the auctioneer addresses Imani directly. "Quite an impressive first showing. Delivery arrangements?"

"We'll take possession immediately," she says with imperial command. "I have transportation waiting."

"Of course. If you'll follow our staff to the processing area."

We're led through a series of corridors to what looks like a loading dock.

Other buyers are arranging their own transfers, casual as picking up dry cleaning.

"Ms. Torres," a man with a tablet approaches. "Five lots totaling twelve million dollars. Payment confirmation?"

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