Page 13 of Brick's Retribution

Brick swings his leg over the bike. "Ready?"

No, I'm not ready.

I'm not ready to leave the life I've carefully built here.

I'm not ready to abandon the progress I've made legitimizing our businesses.

I'm not ready to be shipped off to a motorcycle club while invisible enemies try to destroy everything my family has built.

But readiness is a luxury, like fear.

Like love. Like all the things I've learned to live without.

"Ready," I lie, and pull on the helmet.

Brick starts the engine, the rumble vibrating through my body like a warning.

I climb on behind him, trying to maintain some distance between us, but the first time he accelerates, I'm forced to wrap my arms around his waist, my chest pressed against his back.

He's solid beneath my hands, all muscle and heat.

For a wild moment, I imagine those hands on me, that intensity focused entirely on?—

I shut down the thought immediately.

This man is a means to an end.

A shield between me and whoever wants me dead.

Nothing more.

As we wind through El Paso's streets, heading for the outskirts of the city, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

A text from an unknown number:

Package in transit. Proceed as planned.

Not meant for me.

Meant for someone tracking me.

Someone like Diego.

Ice flows through my veins as the pieces click into place.

Why my father seemed so worried.

Why he insisted on no contact.

Why he sent his oldest friend to deliver me to a stranger.

Diego is the traitor.

And we're riding straight into a trap.

I tighten my grip around Brick's waist, leaning forward to shout over the wind. "We need to stop! Now!"

He glances back, confusion obvious even through the visor of his helmet, but something in my expression must convince him because he nods once.

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