Page 33 of Brick's Retribution

We make our way to the diner, walking close together like the couple we're pretending to be.

Her hand finds mine as we near the entrance, fingers intertwining like something a typical couple would do.

After what just happened in the room, the touch feels different now—charged with awareness, complicated by desire.

The diner is nearly empty—just a trucker at the counter and an elderly couple in a booth near the back.

A tired-looking waitress shows us to a booth by the window, dropping menus in front of us before wandering off to refill coffee cups.

"Order something hearty," Imani says quietly, scanning the menu. "You need protein after losing that much blood."

I raise an eyebrow. "I know the drill, doc."

A small smile tugs at her lips. "Old habits."

The waitress returns, pen poised over her notepad.

We order—steak and eggs for me, a club sandwich with fries for Imani, coffee for both.

As the waitress walks away, I scan the diner again, looking for the exits, seeing if there are potential threats, lines of sight.

Old habits of my own, I suppose.

"If we ride through the night, we could reach Chihuahua by morning," Imani says, keeping her voice low.

I shake my head. "Too risky. You're exhausted, I'm hurt, and night riding in an unfamiliar area is asking for trouble. We get a few hours' rest, head out before dawn."

She doesn't argue, just nods her agreement.

Smart woman.

Knows when to push and when to yield.

Our food arrives, and we eat in silence.

The steak is overcooked, the eggs rubbery, but it's hot and filling.

Imani picks at her sandwich, her mind clearly elsewhere.

"Penny for your thoughts," I say, watching her push a french fry around her plate.

She looks up, meeting my eyes. "I was thinking about Diego. Twenty years he's been with my father. Twenty years of absolute trust. Hell, he was my mother's trusted ally before he was my father's."

"People change. Loyalty has a price," I say, though the words feel hollow even to me.

"Not his." She shakes her head. "There's something else happening here. This doesn't fit his pattern."

"What's your theory?"

She leans forward slightly, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. "What if he's being controlled? Threatened? Forced to cooperate?"

"It's possible," I admit. "But it doesn't change our situation. He betrayed us, willingly or not."

"I know. I just..." She trails off, frustration evident in her expression. "I hate not understanding the game being played around me."

I can relate to that feeling. It's the same gnawing uncertainty I've felt every day since Lashes disappeared. Pieces missing from the puzzle, shadows moving just beyond what I can see.

"We'll figure it out," I tell her, more certainty in my voice than I actually feel. "Once you're safe with the club, we can piece this together."

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