CHAPTER NINE
Imani
Silence stretches between us, and I feel like things are awkward.
They shouldn’t be, I’ve known Amara for so long, but it’s been years since we’ve seen each other.
"So," Amara says, settling back into her chair with that knowing look I remember from our teenage years. "Want to tell me what's really going on between you and my prospect?"
Heat floods my cheeks, and I hate that she can still read me so easily. "It's complicated."
"It always is with you." She leans forward, her expression serious now. "But I've never seen you look at a man the way you look at him. And I've definitely never seen Brick look at anyone the way he looks at you."
I fidget with the strap of my bag, avoiding her penetrating stare.
How do I explain that in the space of a few days, this man has turned my entire world upside down?
That this has become something that terrifies and thrills me at the same time?
"He makes me feel..." I start, then stop, struggling to find the right words. "Different. Like I'm more than just Mateo Torres' daughter. Like I'm worth something beyond my name and connections."
"You've always been worth more than that," Amara says gently. "But I'm glad you're finally seeing it."
"Are you?" I ask, meeting her eyes. "Because getting involved with him complicates everything. The club, the alliance between our families, my father's expectations."
Amara is quiet for a long moment, studying me, "Your father's expectations have been running your life for too long, girl. Maybe it's time you started living for yourself."
The words hit harder than they should, probably because they're true.
I've spent so many years trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect heir, the perfect representative of the Torres name.
But with Brick, I'm just Imani.
Not a cartel princess or a Harvard graduate or a valuable political asset.
Just a woman falling for a man who sees her for who she really is.
"It scares me," I admit quietly. "How much I want this. Want him."
"Good," Amara replies with a slight smile. "The best things in life should scare you a little. Otherwise, they're not worth having."
Before I can respond, she's moving to the computer setup in the corner of her office. "Come on. Let's take a look at those files you mentioned. If we're going to figure out who's behind this trafficking operation, we need all the intel we can get."
I follow her over, pulling up the secure server where I've stored months of research.
The financial data fills the screen—bank transfers, shell companies, shipping manifests, property records.
What started as a simple investigation into money laundering has revealed something much more sinister.
"Jesus," Amara breathes, scanning the information. "That’s a lot."
"And it's just the tip of the iceberg," I reply, pulling up additional files. "Look at these shipping routes. They're using legitimate businesses to move merchandise across international borders. Import/export companies, art dealers, even charitable organizations."
Amara's expression grows darker as she processes the scope of the operation. "High-end human trafficking with global reach. This isn't some backwater cartel operation."
"No, it's not." I point to a series of financial transfers. "These payments—they're going to shell companies in Prague, Dubai, Singapore. Places where wealthy buyers can bid on 'special merchandise' without too many questions being asked."
"Auctions," Amara says grimly.
"Exclusive ones. The kind where you need connections and serious money just to get an invitation." I pause, a light bulb coming on in my head. "The kind where someone with my background and resources would be welcomed with open arms."
Amara turns to look at me, understanding immediately where I'm going with this. "You want to infiltrate them."
"I think I can," I say, my voice gaining confidence. "Mateo Torres' daughter, looking to diversify the family business into new ventures. I have the connections, the financial backing, the reputation. They'd see me as a potential high-value client."
"It's insane," Amara says, but I can see her mind working through the possibilities. "Dangerous as hell. If they made you as a threat instead of a customer..."
"Then I'd be in the same position I'm in now," I point out. "Except this way, we might actually be able to find Lashes too, and shut down their operation."
Amara is quiet for a long moment, "We'd need to plan this out the right way. I’d want intel on their security protocols, backup plans, extraction strategies for when shit hits the fan, because nothing ever goes according to plan."
"All things the club specializes in," I reply. "And with my father's resources..."
"Speaking of your father," Amara interrupts, "any word on his condition? The reports we're getting are conflicting."
The question hits hard.
In all the chaos of the past few days, I've been trying not to think about what might be happening to my father.
"Nothing," I say quietly. "Radio silence since I left El Paso. That's not like him, even if things are a little nuts."
"We'll find out what's happening," Amara promises. "I have people working on it."
Before I can respond, the door opens and Brick emerges, his shoulder and ribs freshly bandaged.
Ruby follows behind him, shaking her head like she’s someone who's used to patching up stubborn men.
"Try not to get shot again," she tells him. "I'm running low on supplies."
Brick grins, but soon enough, it’s transforming into his usual expression. "I'll do my best."
My heart does something complicated in my chest when I see that smile. This man, who's been shot three times protecting me, who's faced down professional killers without so much as flinching, can still find humor in the situation.
There's something incredibly attractive about that kind of resilience.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, moving closer to examine Ruby's handiwork.
"Better," he says, and the way his eyes heat when he looks at me makes it clear he's not just talking about himself physically.
"Good," Amara interrupts before things can get too intimate. "Because we have some planning to do. Imani's come up with an idea for how we might be able to get inside this trafficking operation."
Brick's attention immediately sharpens, his protective instincts clearly triggered. "What kind of idea?"
I explain my plan to infiltrate the auction networks, using my cartel connections and financial resources to pose as a potential buyer.
As I speak, I watch his expression grow increasingly stormy.
"Absolutely not," he says when I finish. "You're not walking into the middle of a trafficking ring, no matter how good your cover story is."
"It's the best chance we have of finding Lashes," I argue. "And of stopping these people before they hurt more women."
"I don't care," he replies, his voice dropping, "I'm not letting you put yourself in that kind of danger."
The possessiveness in his tone should annoy me, but instead it sends heat spiraling through my body.
The way he's looking at me—like I'm something precious he'll protect at any cost—makes me feel desired and cherished in ways I've never experienced.
"It's not your decision to make," I say gently, stepping closer to him. "This is my choice."
"Like hell it is," he growls, but I can see the conflict in his amber eyes.
He knows I'm right, even if he hates it.
"She wouldn't be going in alone," Amara interjects. "She’d have backup, extraction plans, communication protocols. And Brick, you’d be her security. Wealthy clients don't travel without protection."
I watch something shift in Brick's expression as he processes this.
The idea of being my partner rather than just my protector seems to appeal to him.
"We'd be together?" he asks.
"Every step of the way," I confirm. "You'd be my bodyguard, my right hand. No one would question a cartel princess traveling with some serious muscle."
He's quiet for a long moment, his mind clearly working through the scenario. "It could work," he admits reluctantly. "If we do it right. I’d want us to have other people around, in the event things went sideways."
"Then we start planning," Amara says decisively. "But first, one thing at a time. I need more information about how you’ve been tracked since you left El Paso. You've been careful, avoided electronic surveillance, changed routes multiple times. How are they staying one step ahead?"
Every time we thought we were safe, they appeared.
Every escape route we took, they seemed to know what we were doing.
"I've been wondering the same thing," I say, settling into the chair across from Amara's desk. "We ditched the phones, avoided main roads, and used secure locations. But somehow they always knew where we were."
Brick takes the chair beside me, his presence both comforting and distracting.
Even injured and exhausted, he calls to me.
"You think they had people watching?" he suggests. "Drones, maybe even satellite coverage?"
"It’s possible, but I doubt they had someone in every town from El Paso to Chihuahua watching for you both," Amara agrees. "Something isn’t adding up for me. You weren’t using your phones, hardly at all, right?"
"Correct, we weren’t," I confirm for her. "It makes me think maybe a government agency was involved, or military contractors, or intelligence services."
If we're up against an organization with official backing, or at least official connections, our situation is even more dangerous than we thought.
"We need to assume the worst-case scenario," Amara says. "Full surveillance capabilities, unlimited resources, professional operators. Now, about the auction, we need to do the same—assume the worst-case situation."
"Which will make everything more risky," Brick adds. "They'll have background checks, verification procedures."
"Then we make sure our cover is bulletproof," I reply. "My father's reputation speaks for itself. The Torres name opens doors that stay closed to everyone else. "
We spend the next hour going over the details of my investigation, sharing what I know with Amara, discussing potential approaches to the trafficking networks.
"I should go check in with Dante, see if he knows anything," Amara says eventually, rising from her chair. "Why don’t you two go get some rest? It's been a long few days."
She pauses at the door, looking back at us with something I can’t name. "There's a guest room upstairs, Imani. Clean sheets, private bathroom. Ruby stocked it with everything you might need. Brick, I take it you’ll go over and show it to her."
After she leaves, Brick and I sit in silence for a moment.
"You sure about this plan?" he asks quietly.
"No," I admit. "But I'm sure about wanting to help you find Lashes. And I'm sure about wanting to stop these people before they hurt more women."
He reaches over and takes my hand, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm.
The simple contact sends electricity up my arm.
"You don't have to do this," he says. "You could disappear, use your family's resources to go somewhere safe. Start over."
"Without you?" I ask, meeting his eyes.
Something possessive flashes in his amber gaze. "I'd find you," he says simply. "Wherever you went, however long it took. I'd find you."
The promise in his voice makes my heart race.
This man, this beautiful, dangerous, impossibly loyal man, is mine.
Or at least… I think he could be. It’s not like we’ve talked about it.
The thought should terrify me—the complications it creates, the impossibility of our situations.
Instead, it sends a shock of heat through my entire body.
"Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not planning to go anywhere," I say, leaning closer to him.
He cups my face in his free hand, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "You sure about that? Because once this is over, once we find Lashes and deal with the people hunting you, there's no going back to your old life."
"I don't want my old life," I reply honestly. "I want this. You. Us. Whatever that looks like."
The kiss he gives me is soft and sweet and full of promise.
When we break apart, I'm breathless and aching and completely his.
"Come on," he says, standing and offering me his hand. "Let's go see this room Amara made sure was ready for you."
The guest room is on the second floor, tucked away from the main area of the clubhouse.
It's simple but comfortable—a queen bed with clean white sheets, a dresser, a chair by the window that looks out over the club’s courtyard.
There's a small bathroom with a shower that looks like heaven after days of running.
"I'm going to clean up," I tell Brick, gathering some clothes from my bag.
"I'll be here," he replies, settling into the chair by the window.
Even relaxed, he's watchful, aware of our surroundings in a way that makes me feel safe.
The hot water feels incredible against my skin, washing away the dust and tension of the past few days.
I stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the heat penetrate my muscles, trying to process everything that's happened.
Three days ago, I was Mateo Torres' daughter, living in El Paso, focused on legitimizing the family business.
Now I'm starting to fall for a motorcycle club prospect, preparing to infiltrate an international human trafficking ring, and considering a future I never could have imagined.
All of this should scare the living daylights out of me, instead, I feel like I’m alive.
When I emerge from the bathroom in clean clothes, I find Brick exactly where I left him, but his expression has shifted.
"What is it?" I ask, settling on the edge of the bed.
"Just thinking about what you said earlier. About them always being one step ahead of us." He turns from the window to look at me. "We've been careful, Imani. Really careful. But somehow they've tracked us through two cities, multiple safe houses, even underground tunnels."
"I know," I say, frustration creeping into my voice. "I just can't understand how they did it."
I absently reach up to touch St. Christopher's medallion, a habit I've had since childhood when I'm thinking or worried.
The familiar weight of the gold against my throat is comforting, a connection to my mother that's gotten me through countless difficult moments.
But as my fingers close around the medallion, something clicks in my mind.
A horrible, sick realization that makes my stomach drop.
"Oh my God," I breathe, looking down at the necklace.
"What?" Brick is on his feet immediately, reading the distress in my voice.
With shaking fingers, I unclasp the chain and hold the medallion up to the light.
It's beautiful, antique gold with intricate engravings, exactly as I remember from my childhood.
But now, looking at it with suspicious eyes, I can see something that was never there before.
A tiny, almost invisible seam around the edge.
A modification so subtle it's barely noticeable unless you're looking for it.
" This ," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's been this the whole time."
Brick takes the medallion from my trembling hands, examining it with his trained eyes.
"Tracking device," he confirms grimly. "Sophisticated one. Probably GPS and audio capability."
This necklace, this precious connection to my mother, has been turned into a weapon against me.
Someone took the most sacred thing I own and violated it, used it to hunt me like an animal.
"They could have been listening," I say, horror washing over me. "This whole time, they might have heard everything we've said, everywhere we've been."
Brick's face goes deadly still. "Who had access to this? Who could have modified it?"
"Diego," I whisper, the pieces falling into place. "When my apartment was broken into six months ago, he insisted on having all my jewelry checked and cleaned. Said it was a security precaution."
"Son of a bitch," Brick growls. "He's been tracking you for months. Setting you up, waiting for the right moment."
This isn't just about Diego selling information or taking money from my father's enemies.
This is something he’s planned for a long time, a cruel way he’s manipulated me, a chess game where I've been the unwitting target from the beginning.
"We need to tell Amara," I say, though part of me just wants to smash the medallion against the wall.
"We will," Brick agrees. "But first..."
He moves to the window, opens it wide, and without even thinking, throws the medallion as far as he can into the darkness beyond the club.
I watch it disappear, carrying with it the last connection to my mother—and to the people who've been hunting us.
The loss should devastate me.
Instead, I feel strangely liberated.
Like I've finally cut the last tie to a life that was never really mine.
"I'm sorry," Brick says, turning back to me. "I know that meant something to you."
"It did," I agree. "But it wasn't really mine anymore, was it? The moment they put that tracker in it, it stopped being my mother's gift and became their weapon."
He sits beside me on the bed, pulling me into his arms. I melt against his warmth, letting myself take comfort in his strength.
"We'll get you another one," he promises. "When this is over, we'll find one just like it. Something that's really yours."
The gesture touches me more than expensive jewelry ever could.
This man understands that it's not about the monetary value—it's about the connection, the meaning, the love it represented.
"Thank you," I whisper against his chest.
The immediate danger is gone—the tracker is destroyed, our location is secure.
"If Diego's been planning this for months," I say eventually, "then this trafficking operation isn't just some opportunistic grab. It's targeted, personal."
"Which means they want you specifically," Brick agrees. "Not just any cartel princess. You ."
The thought is chilling, but it also confirms what I already suspected.
My investigation into their financial networks made me a threat.
Now they want to eliminate that threat—or turn it into an asset.
"All the more reason to move forward with the plan," I say. "If they want me, let's give them what they want. On our terms."
Brick's arms tighten around me. "You sure about this?"
"I've never been more sure of anything," I reply. And it's true. Whatever comes next, whoever we're facing, I want to end this.
Not just for Lashes, not just to stop the trafficking ring, but for us.
For the future, I'm starting to believe we might actually have if we make it through this mess.