Page 5 of Brick's Retribution

I should sleep.

I need to sleep.

But when I close my eyes, all I see is Lashes's face, her smile replaced by fear, terrified, screaming for us to help her before she’s killed.

I open my eyes and reach for my duffel bag, pulling out the stack of letters I've carried with me for years.

Each envelope bears the same return address: Central California Penitentiary.

Each bears my name in my father's neat handwriting.

Each is still sealed, unread.

For fifteen years, I've kept every letter he's sent, never finding the courage to open them.

They're my reminder of what happens when you fail to protect the people you love.

I add them to the nightstand, a silent vigil as I finally stretch out on the bed.

Tomorrow I'll head to El Paso to protect a woman I've never met, a cartel princess whose life apparently means enough to pull me off the search for Lashes.

She better be worth it.

Surprisingly, sleep hits me hard, and I drift off to sleep, but I don’t get any rest.

In my dreams, I'm still searching, still failing, still watching helplessly as the people I care about disappear one by one.

***

Someone pounds on my door, and I jerk awake, hand automatically reaching for the gun under my pillow.

"Rise and shine, prospect!" Kelsey's cheerful voice filters through the wood. "Breakfast in twenty!"

I grunt in acknowledgment, then drag myself to the small adjoining bathroom.

After another quick shower and shave, I look marginally more human.

The dark circles remain, but at least I no longer resemble a wild man from the desert.

My phone buzzes with a text from Amara:

Briefing. My office. 15 min.

I dress quickly in my riding clothes—dark jeans, heavy boots, plain black t-shirt that hides the holster at my back.

The prospect cut comes last, settling on my shoulders like armor I wear, ready for the battle ahead.

The bottom rocker reads CHIHUAHUA, marking me as part of this charter.

The prospect patch is a reminder that I haven't fully earned my place yet, but I’m on my way.

Boulder was patched in recently, so maybe I’m next.

Maybe if I find Lashes, I’ll get my shot.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm in Amara's office, a coffee mug clutched in my hand like a lifeline.

"You look better," she observes, sliding a file across her desk. "Everything you need to know about Imani Torres."

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