Page 98 of Brick's Retribution

The ride through the city is tense.

I've been to Colombia before on runs, but never like this.

Never wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit, playing bodyguard to a cartel princess heading to buy human fucking beings.

The safe house is a villa in the hills overlooking the ocean—beautiful views, high walls, perfect sight lines.

Alejandro doesn't do anything half-assed.

"Two hours until we need to leave," Boulder announces once we're settled. "Equipment check in thirty."

I find myself on the terrace, staring out at the water.

Somewhere close, Lashes is being held.

I don’t know it for certain, but I can feel it in my bones. I know she’s here. She has to be.

After a little over three and a half months of searching, she's within reach.

"Hey." Imani appears beside me, now dressed for her role.

The designer dress probably costs more than most people make in a year.

Diamonds glitter at her throat and wrists—real ones, because she has to show off, has to show everyone how much money she has and is willing to spend.

She looks every inch the cartel princess, beautiful and untouchable.

"You look the part," I tell her.

"I hate it," she admits. "Every piece of this costume represents blood money. But if it helps us save them..."

"It will," I assure her, though I'm trying to convince myself as much as her.

We check all of our equipment, sure to be as thorough as possible.

We know ceramic knives won't trigger metal detectors, but we have to be careful.

We have micro communication devices, so small that you can barely see them.

"Remember," Boulder says, securing a knife in my ankle holster, "these are last resort only. We go in clean, come out clean. Extraction team will be positioned two miles out, ready to move on signal."

"And if things go sideways?" I ask.

"Then we improvise," Doom answers. "Wouldn't be the first time."

The drive to the estate takes forty minutes through winding coastal roads.

With each mile, the tension in the vehicle grows thicker.

Imani sits beside me in perfect cartel princess posture—spine straight, expression bored, like she's heading to a business meeting rather than a slave auction.

I force myself into character too.

Professional bodyguard.

Efficient, alert, emotionally disconnected from everything except her safety.

The estate appears through the trees, and it's even more impressive than the satellite images suggested.

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