CHAPTER TEN
Brick
I wake up to the sound of engines revving in the courtyard outside of the room.
For the first time in months, I feel rested.
Actually rested, not just the exhausted collapse I've been calling sleep while searching for Lashes.
Imani is curled against my side, her dark curls spread across my chest, one hand resting over my heart.
The sight of her in my arms, safe and whole and mine, does something to me that I'm still getting used to.
Three days ago, she was just another assignment.
Now she's become everything.
Discovering the tracking device last night still pisses me off in ways I can’t explain.
The thought of Diego violating something so precious to her, using her mother's memory as a weapon against Imani, makes me want to find the bastard and tear him apart piece by piece.
But we destroyed the tracker, and for the first time since leaving El Paso, we're actually safe.
For now, that is.
Imani murmurs against my chest, her voice rough from just waking up. "Morning,"
"Afternoon," I correct, checking the clock on the nightstand. "We slept for twelve hours."
"We needed it." She stretches like a cat, careful not to jostle my bandaged ribs. "How are you feeling?"
"Better." And I mean it.
Ruby did a good job doctoring me up thanks to the way Imani already prepped me when we were on the run, combined with actual rest, have done wonders for me.
The bullet wounds still ache, but the constant throb has faded to a manageable level.
Nothing a few ibuprofen can’t fix.
"Good," she says, pressing a soft kiss to my chest. "Because I can hear your brothers getting ready for something downstairs."
She's right.
The usual background noise of the clubhouse has taken on a different quality—less routine maintenance, more party preparation.
Voices calling out instructions, the sound of tables being moved, someone testing a sound system.
"Probably planning a party or some shit," I say, running my fingers through her curls. "It's been a rough few weeks for everyone. Time to blow off some steam."
"Will I be welcome?" she asks, and I can hear the uncertainty beneath her casual tone.
"You're with me," I reply simply. "That makes you always welcome."
The smile she gives me is radiant. "I like the sound of that."
We take our time getting ready, sharing the small bathroom like we've been doing it for years instead of days.
There's something domestic about it that should feel strange but doesn't.
Watching her brush her teeth while I shave, stealing glances at her in the mirror—it feels right in a way nothing else ever has.
Downstairs, the clubhouse is in full party preparation mode.
Brothers are setting up tables in the courtyard, stringing lights between the buildings, hauling kegs of beer from storage.
The atmosphere is relaxed, celebratory, so different from what it’s been like these last few months.
"Brick!" Compass waves me over from where he's adjusting something on the sound system. "Can you test this setup?"
I walk over, Imani's hand in mine, and help him fine-tune the speakers.
It's mindless work once you get the hang of it, the kind of routine club shit I've missed during my months of searching for Lashes.
"Sounds good," I tell him after we run through a few test songs.
"Perfect. This is going to be epic." He grins, then looks at Imani. "You drink margaritas? I make the best ones in Mexico."
I won’t say this to his face, but I highly doubt this gringo makes the best margaritas in all of Mexico.
"I'd love to try one," she replies with a warm smile. "Thank you."
Compass beams like she's just made his entire week. "One specialty margarita coming up. Secret recipe."
As he heads off to the bar area, I can see other brothers stealing glances at her, clearly curious about the woman who's managed to capture my attention.
We both can tell people are watching, they have been since we arrived yesterday.
She handles it with the grace of someone used to being watched and evaluated, but I can tell she's working to make a good impression.
"Relax," I tell her quietly. "You don't have to prove anything to them."
"Don't I?" she asks. "I'm an outsider walking into the club, your family. That has to mean something."
Before I can respond, a massive shadow falls across us.
Doom, one of the other prospects, approaches me. "Brick, it’s good to have you back," he says in his gravelly voice. "Got a minute?"
I nod, squeezing Imani's hand before releasing it. "I'll be right back."
Doom leads me to a quieter corner of the courtyard, away from the party preparations.
He's a man of few words, so when he wants to talk, it's usually important.
"How you holding up?" he asks, leaning back against a concrete planter.
"Good. Better than I have in months."
He nods slowly, studying me with those dark eyes that miss nothing. "You look different. More settled."
I don't need to ask what he means.
The manic energy that's driven me for months, the desperation that came from searching endlessly for Lashes, has finally eased.
Not because I've given up on finding her, but because I'm not carrying that burden alone anymore.
"It’s Imani," I say simply.
"Yeah, I figured." Doom crosses his arms over his massive chest. "She seems solid. Handles herself well."
"She does." I pause, then decide to trust him with the plan that's been forming. "We think we might have a lead on Lashes."
His attention sharpens immediately. "What kind of lead?"
I explain the trafficking operation, the financial connections Imani uncovered, the possibility that Lashes is being held for an exclusive auction.
Honestly, Sally Bernard wanted to fuck with us in the worst way possible. Taking one of our own and selling her to the highest bidder would’ve been yet another way to do that.
As I talk, Doom's expression shifts.
"International trafficking ring," he says when I finish. "With the kind of resources to run professional kill teams."
"Yeah."
"And your plan is to infiltrate them using your cartel princess as bait."
"That's the idea."
Doom is quiet for a long moment, processing everything I’ve said to him. "It's fucking insane," he says finally.
My heart sinks.
If Doom thinks it's too dangerous...
"But," he continues, "it's insane enough that it might actually work. These bastards will see a Torres and think profit, not threat."
"You think it could work?"
"I think if anyone can pull it off, it's you and her." He claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, careful of my bandages. "Just make sure you have proper backup. You talk to Amara about it yet?"
"Yeah, all is good. We’re supposed to have backup, but she hasn’t said who yet."
"I’ll volunteer for that shit if she’ll let me head out with you." He’s been itching for some action, I can tell. "Now go enjoy the party. You've earned it."
As the afternoon flies by, the courtyard fills with brothers and their ol’ ladies and prospects.
The atmosphere is relaxed, celebratory, everyone eager to blow off steam after weeks of stress.
Imani fits in better than I expected.
She talks shop with Kelsey about business stuff, swaps stories with some of the ol’ ladies about dealing with dangerous men, and listens as the brothers tell exaggerated stories of runs they’ve been on in the past.
"Here you go, sweetheart. Made this one a little different." Compass says, appearing at her elbow with another massive margarita decorated with lime wheels and salt. I think this is the third one she’s had today.
She takes a sip and her eyes widen. "Oh my God, that's incredible. What's in it?"
"Uh-uh, not gonna tell ya," he replies with a grin. "But I'm glad you like it."
I watch her charm my brothers without even trying, just by being herself—smart, interested, unafraid.
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?"
She's quiet for a moment, thinking. "Boardrooms. Business dinners. Political events where everyone's calculating the value of every conversation." She pulls back to look at me. "Not this. Not feeling like I belong somewhere."
"You do belong here," I tell her firmly. "With me. With us."
The song ends, but we don't move apart.
Around us, the party continues, but it feels like we're in our own bubble.
Her dark eyes search mine, and I can see everything I'm feeling reflected back at me—love, desire, hope for a future neither of us could have imagined a week ago.
"Take me upstairs," she says quietly.
I don't need to be asked twice.
We slip away from the party, climbing the stairs to her room hand in hand.
The music from below provides a distant soundtrack as I close the door behind us, sealing us into our own private world.
"Come here," she says, backing toward the bed with a smile that makes my blood boil.
I follow, drawn to her like gravity.
When I reach her, she starts sliding my cut down my arms, placing it on the corner of the bed, her fingers gentle around my bandages.
Soon after, she’s sliding my shirt over my head.
"We have to be careful," she says, looking at the fresh medical tape. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," I reply, though part of me thinks she could destroy me completely and I'd thank her for it.
Her hands trace the tattoos that cover my chest and arms.
Her touch is reverent, exploring, like she's memorizing every inch of ink and skin.
"You're beautiful," she whispers, and the way she says it makes me believe it might be true.
I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head up so I can kiss her properly.
She tastes like lime and tequila from Compass's margarita, sweet and sharp and perfect.
When she parts her lips for me, I lose myself in the taste of her.
My hands find the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly over her head.
She's not wearing a bra underneath, and the sight of her bare skin in the lamplight makes my mouth go dry.
"God, you're perfect," I breathe, my hands skimming over the curves I've been dying to touch again.
She shivers at my touch, her nipples hardening under my palms.
When I lean down to take one into my mouth, she gasps, her hands fisting in my hair.
"Careful," she reminds me, and I realize I've been pressing against her harder than I should with my ribs.
"Right," I say, forcing myself to slow down, to be gentle even though I want to be deep inside her right the fuck now.
We undress each other slowly, carefully, her hands mapping the bandages and bruises that mark our journey to Chihuahua.
When she presses soft kisses to the edge of my shoulder bandage, something tight in my chest loosens.
"I almost lost you," she whispers against my skin.
"I'm here," I reply, gathering her closer. "I'm not going anywhere."
She straddles my lap, careful to keep her weight off my ribs.
The position puts her perfect breasts right at eye level, and I take full advantage, lavishing attention on each nipple until she's squirming against me.
"Brick," she breathes, grinding down against my cock.
The friction is maddening, especially when I can feel how wet she already is.
I slide one hand between us, finding her clit with my thumb while two fingers slip inside her.
She's so fucking tight, so hot, that I groan against her breast.
"That's it, baby," I murmur as she rides my hand, her movements becoming more desperate. "Take what you need."
She comes apart beautifully, her head thrown back, my name on her lips like a prayer.
Before she's even finished shuddering, she's reaching between us to wrap her hand around my cock.
"I need you inside me," she says, lifting up on her knees.
"Then take what you want."
We both groan as she sinks down, taking me inch by inch until I'm buried to the hilt.
The angle is perfect, letting her control the pace while keeping pressure off my injuries.
"Fuck, Imani," I grit out, my hands gripping her hips. "You feel incredible."
She starts to move, slow at first, then faster as we find our rhythm.
I watch her ride me, mesmerized by the way her breasts bounce, the flush spreading across her chest, the look of pure pleasure on her face.
When I feel her starting to tighten around me again, I slide my hand between us to circle her clit.
When we come together, it's different from that first time in the tunnel.
This is slower, more deliberate, two people who know they have time to savor each moment.
I move carefully, mindful of my injuries, but also wanting to worship every inch of her body.
She's responsive and giving, meeting every touch with one of her own, every kiss just as need-filled.
"I think I’m falling in love with you," I say without thinking, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me.
Her eyes widen, then fill with tears. "I feel the same way, Brick." she whispers back.
We fall onto the bed and lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my arms wrapped around her like I can keep the world at bay through sheer will.
The music from the party below has shifted to something quieter, more mellow.
"What happens now?" she asks, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.
"Now we figure out how to make this work," I reply. "All of it. Finding Lashes, stopping the trafficking ring, our relationship, if that’s what you want…"
Imani is playful as all hell. "Wait a second, are you asking to be my boyfriend?"
"No, I’m not. I’m askin’ you to be my ol’ lady, because being my girlfriend means you can just dip out when you want. I don’t want to lose you, Imani."
She lifts her head to look at me, "Yes, I’ll be your ol’ lady." She smiles brighter than I’ve ever seen her before.