Page 73 of Brick's Retribution

She asks Boulder about his tattoos, compliments Oakleigh on her braids, even gets a laugh out of Rooster, who barely talks to anyone.

Kelsey appears at my side with a beer. "She's good for you."

"Yeah, she is."

"You look happier than I've seen you since..." She trails off, not wanting to mention Lashes directly.

"Since before Lashes disappeared," I finish. "I know."

Kelsey nods, understanding. "It's okay to be happy, Brick. Finding someone doesn't mean giving up on your friend."

The words hit deeper than they should, probably because they address the guilt I've been carrying.

For months, Lashes has been my only focus.

The fact that I can feel happiness, can plan a future with Imani while my best friend is still missing, feels like I’m betraying her in some way.

"She'd want you to be happy," Kelsey continues gently. "Lashes, I mean. She'd kick your ass for feeling guilty about finding someone who makes you smile."

She's right, of course.

Lashes always believed in grabbing happiness when you found it, not wasting the good moments worrying about the bad ones.

She'd probably love Imani, would tease me mercilessly about falling for a cartel princess.

The thought makes me smile.

As the sun sets, someone cranks up the music, and the party gets a little crazier.

The sound system Compass and I set up earlier fills the courtyard with a mix of classic rock and country, the kind of music that makes people want to move.

I'm sitting at one of the picnic tables, nursing a beer and watching Imani laugh at something Boulder is telling her, when the opening chords of a slow song fill the air.

It's an old one, the kind they play at wedding receptions and high school dances.

I stand and offer her my hand. "Dance with me."

"You sure your ribs can handle it?" she asks, but she's already rising from her seat.

"For you? I'll risk it."

The courtyard isn't exactly a dance floor, but couples are swaying together near the speakers, lost in their own worlds.

I pull Imani into my arms, careful of my bandages, and we move together slowly.

She fits perfectly against me, her head resting on my shoulder, her body warm and soft in all the right places.

For a moment, I forget about trafficking rings, the people trying to kill us, and all the dangers waiting for us the second we leave the safety of the club.

Right now, there's just this—her in my arms, music playing, my brothers and their families around us.

"This is nice," she murmurs against my neck.

"Yeah, it is."

"I never imagined myself at a motorcycle club party," she admits with a soft laugh.

"What did you imagine?"

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