Page 113 of Brick's Retribution

In this life, you take your victories where you can find them.

EPILOGUE

Brick

One Month Later …

I wake to sunlight streaming through the window and Imani's braids across my chest like silk.

She ended up going to the same woman who does Oakleigh’s, the two women developing a friendship.

For a moment, I just lie there, breathing in her scent, marveling that this is my life now.

A month ago, we were running for our lives.

Now, she's wearing my ring—not just my ol' lady, but my fiancée.

She murmurs against my skin. "You're thinking too loud."

I run my fingers through her braids. "Just appreciating the view."

She lifts her head, those dark eyes still heavy with sleep. "Smooth talker."

"Only for you, baby."

A knock on the door interrupts whatever she was about to say.

"Brick?" Lashes's voice comes through. "You awake? I need to talk to you."

"Give us five minutes," I call back.

Imani's already moving, pulling on one of my shirts and a pair of shorts. "I'll go downstairs and make coffee. You see what she needs."

I find Lashes in the hallway, one hand resting on her growing belly.

At four months now, the pregnancy is unmistakable.

She looks healthier than she has since we brought her home—regular meals and medical care working their magic.

"Morning," I greet her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just..." She hesitates. "I felt the baby move last night. For the first time."

The wonder in her voice makes my chest tight. "That's amazing, Lash."

"I know I should hate it," she says quietly. "This baby is... it's from them. From what they did. But when I felt it move..."

"Hey," I interrupt gently. "You don't have to justify anything to anyone. This is your choice, your baby now."

She nods, blinking back tears. "I've been thinking about names. If it's a girl... Hope. Because that's what she represents now."

"It's perfect," I tell her, meaning it.

We head to the kitchen where Imani's got coffee brewing and is pulling out ingredients for breakfast.

The domestic scene still catches me off guard sometimes—the cartel princess who used to wear designer everything is now comfortable in my old t-shirt, making eggs in the club kitchen.

"Morning, Lashes," Imani greets warmly. "Hungry?"

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