Page 9 of Brick's Retribution

I grip the phone tighter. "I'm not going anywhere. I have meetings scheduled with the shipping consortium, and the new distribution?—"

"Canceled. All of it." His tone leaves no room for argument, but I argue anyway.

"This is exactly what they want. To disrupt our operations. To make us look weak, and you’re letting them."

"What looks weak is having my daughter's brains splattered across her living room floor." The rare flash of emotion in his voice catches me off guard. "You are leaving El Paso today. That's final,mija."

I pace across the penthouse, frustration burning in my chest. "And go where? Back to the compound in Arizona? Another safe house? Another cage?"

"Chihuahua. To the Reapers Rejects MC."

I stop dead. "Excuse me?"

"Their Chihuahua charter. Alejandro's niece is their president, and Alejandro’s assured me you’ll be safe."

My godfather. The most powerful cartel leader in Mexico and my father's longtime ally.

The sacred relationship between our families runs deeper than blood—a bond formed when Alejandro stood as my godfather.

I can't keep the disbelief from my voice. "You're sending me to a biker gang?"

"It's the last place anyone would look for you." I hear papers rustling in the background. Always working, always fucking distracted. "And they're experienced in handling... delicate situations."

"Delicate? Someone tried to kill me in my own home. That's not delicate, that's a declaration of war."

"Which is why you need to be somewhere unexpected while I handle it."

I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "You mean while you figure out which of your trusted lieutenants ordered the hit?"

Silence stretches between us, confirmation enough.

The betrayal had to come from inside.

No one else could have known my schedule, my security protocols.

No one else could have gotten close enough to plant the bomb that would have killed me if I hadn't decided to work late at the office that night.

"Imani." My father's voice softens slightly. "Please. Just do as I ask."

The rare "please" almost breaks my composure. Almost.

"How long?"

"Until it's safe."

Which means indefinitely. I close my eyes, tamping down the urge to scream. "Who's escorting me?"

"One of the club's prospects. A medic."

"One man?" Now I'm genuinely angry. "Someone tries to assassinate me, and you sendoneman as protection? What kind of?—"

"It was Alejandro's suggestion," he interrupts. "Less conspicuous. And apparently this particular prospect is... uniquely qualified."

The vague praise doesn’t make me happy in the slightest bit. "When?"

"He arrives at noon. Diego is bringing him to the secondary location."

Of course. Diego, my father's oldest friend and most trusted advisor—the only one besides my father who knows where I've been hiding these past three days.

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