Page 21 of Brick's Retribution

I lock the door behind us, immediately checking for alternate exits.

A small window in the bathroom might work in an emergency.

Not ideal, but better than nothing.

"We lost them for now," I say, dropping my voice to ensure we aren't overheard. "But they'll be checking every town within fifty miles. We need to be gone by dawn."

Imani sits on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking exhausted.

The facade of the carefree traveler drops away, revealing the strain beneath.

"Who are these people?" she asks, running a hand through her dust-streaked hair. "This isn't just Diego going rogue. This is... something else."

"Agreed." I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. "The men at the cabin moved like the military. Professional. Expensive."

"Could it be connected to the trafficking operation Amara mentioned?" She looks up, catching me by surprise. "Yes, I know about that. My father's been tracking a new player moving high-end merchandise across the border. Women mostly. But they've never come after our family directly before."

The mention of trafficking sends a spike of pain through my chest—Lashes. I push the thought away, focusing on the present situation I’m in.

"It's possible. Or it could be rival cartels seeing an opportunity." I hesitate, then add, "Or it could be something internal. Someone in your father's organization making a power play."

Her face darkens at this last suggestion. "If that's true, then my father could be in danger too."

For all her competence and strength, she clearly cares deeply about her father.

"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Our first priority is getting you to Chihuahua. Once you're safe with the club, we can work on the bigger picture."

She nods, though her expression remains troubled. "We should get food, supplies. Maintain our cover for now."

"Agreed." I push off from the wall. "You stay here, lock the door. I'll go?—"

"No." She stands, her posture making it clear this isn't up for debate. "We stick together. Splitting up is exactly what they'd expect. Besides, a couple traveling together doesn't separate. It would look suspicious."

She's right, damn it. "Fine. But stay close. And if anything happens?—"

"I know. Run, don't fight." She checks her weapon discreetly, then tucks it back into her holster. "I'm not helpless, Brick. I've been a target my entire life."

Something in her tone makes me see her differently yet again.

This woman has lived her whole life knowing she could be killed at any moment, and she's learned to function with that knowledge. Maybe even because of it.

"Never said you were helpless," I reply. "But my job is to keep you alive, and I take my job seriously."

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "So I've noticed."

We head out, locking the room behind us. The small restaurant across the street is nearly empty—just a few locals nursing beers at the bar and an elderly couple finishing their meal in the corner. We choose a table near the back, with a clear view of both the entrance and the kitchen exit.

The waitress, a woman in her fifties with tired eyes and a kind smile, brings us menus and glasses of water. "You two just passing through?" she asks, her accent thick but her English clear.

"Yeah," I answer, adopting a more relaxed posture. "Taking the scenic route to San Miguel. Got a bit lost on the back roads."

"Hmm." She gives us a once-over that says she doesn't entirely buy our story but isn't paid enough to care. "Special today is carne asada. Best in the county, if you ask me."

"Sounds perfect," Imani says, her smile warm and natural.

She's good at this—the easy charm, the casual conversation.

Years of practice, I imagine, moving between cartel politics and legitimate business meetings.

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