Page 70 of Brick's Retribution

"All the more reason to move forward with the plan," I say. "If they want me, let's give them what they want. On our terms."

Brick's arms tighten around me. "You sure about this?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," I reply. And it's true. Whatever comes next, whoever we're facing, I want to end this.

Not just for Lashes, not just to stop the trafficking ring, but for us.

For the future, I'm starting to believe we might actually have if we make it through this mess.

CHAPTER TEN

Brick

I wake up to the sound of engines revving in the courtyard outside of the room.

For the first time in months, I feel rested.

Actually rested, not just the exhausted collapse I've been calling sleep while searching for Lashes.

Imani is curled against my side, her dark curls spread across my chest, one hand resting over my heart.

The sight of her in my arms, safe and whole and mine, does something to me that I'm still getting used to.

Three days ago, she was just another assignment.

Now she's become everything.

Discovering the tracking device last night still pisses me off in ways I can’t explain.

The thought of Diego violating something so precious to her, using her mother's memory as a weapon against Imani, makes me want to find the bastard and tear him apart piece by piece.

But we destroyed the tracker, and for the first time since leaving El Paso, we're actually safe.

For now, that is.

Imani murmurs against my chest, her voice rough from just waking up. "Morning,"

"Afternoon," I correct, checking the clock on the nightstand. "We slept for twelve hours."

"We needed it." She stretches like a cat, careful not to jostle my bandaged ribs. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." And I mean it.

Ruby did a good job doctoring me up thanks to the way Imani already prepped me when we were on the run, combined with actual rest, have done wonders for me.

The bullet wounds still ache, but the constant throb has faded to a manageable level.

Nothing a few ibuprofen can’t fix.

"Good," she says, pressing a soft kiss to my chest. "Because I can hear your brothers getting ready for something downstairs."

She's right.

The usual background noise of the clubhouse has taken on a different quality—less routine maintenance, more party preparation.

Voices calling out instructions, the sound of tables being moved, someone testing a sound system.

"Probably planning a party or some shit," I say, running my fingers through her curls. "It's been a rough few weeks for everyone. Time to blow off some steam."

---