Page 12 of Brick's Retribution

"That's exactly why it will work," Diego counters. "They're expecting an armed convoy. Multiple vehicles. Professional security. Not a woman on the back of a bike with a club prospect."

I hate that his logic makes sense. Still, I look at Brick skeptically. "How exactly do you plan to get us to Chihuahua alive?"

For the first time, his expression changes—a slight hardening of the jaw, a dangerous flicker in his eyes.

"The same way I've kept myself and others alive in worse situations than this." He steps closer, and I force myself not to back away. "I'm not interested in dying today, Ms. Torres. And I take my assignments seriously."

The intensity rolling off him is almost physical, like standing too close to a fire.

There's something else there too—a weariness, a shadow behind his eyes that speaks of burdens I can only guess at.

"Fine," I give in, not because I'm convinced but because arguing further would only waste time. "When do we leave?"

"Now," Brick says, already moving toward a Harley parked behind the SUV. "Pack light. One bag."

I gesture to the single duffel I've brought. "Already done."

He looks mildly surprised, as if he expected more resistance or perhaps a princess with multiple suitcases.

Without another word, he secures my bag to his bike, then hands me a helmet.

"Ever ridden before?" he asks.

"Yes." It's not a lie. I've been on motorcycles before—just not on a long journey through cartel territory with a stone-faced biker as my only protection.

Diego approaches, his expression grave. "Your father wanted me to give you this." He holds out a small leather pouch.

Inside is a delicate gold medallion—St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers.

It belonged to my mother.

I haven't seen it since the day she died, her blood seeping into my shoes as I stood frozen, watching men drag her body away.

The reality of my situation hits me hard.

My father doesn't think I'm coming back, that’s why he’s giving me St. Christopher.

I slide the medallion around my neck, tucking it beneath my blouse.

When I look up, Diego is watching me with something like regret.

"Be safe, princess," he says softly. "Your father—" He stops, glancing at Brick. "Your father would be lost without you."

Coming from Diego, this is as close to an emotional declaration as I'll ever get.

I swallow hard, nodding once.

"Tell him..."

What? That I forgive him for shipping me off like cargo?

That I understand why he's kept me at arm's length all these years?

That, despite everything, I still desperately want his approval? "Tell him I'll be careful."

Diego nods, squeezing my shoulder briefly before returning to the SUV.

As he drives away, I'm left alone with Brick, the weight of St. Christopher heavy against my skin.

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