CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Imani
My phone buzzes against the nightstand, Marcus Webb's name flashing on the encrypted display.
Five days since we met with Alejandro, five days of preparing for this fucking auction, and now the art dealer who moonlights in human misery is calling with updates.
I glance at Brick, still asleep beside me, his face peaceful in the early morning light.
Part of me wants to let him rest—God knows he's been pushing himself hard getting ready with this shit—but we agreed to have no secrets between us.
"Marcus," I answer quietly, slipping out of bed.
"Imani, darling," his cultured voice grates against my nerves. "I hope I'm not calling too early?"
"Not at all," I lie smoothly, pulling on one of Brick's shirts. "I assume you have information about our upcoming event?"
"Indeed. The sellers are quite excited about this particular auction. They're presenting some truly premium merchandise."
My stomach turns at his casual phrasing, but I force myself to sound interested. "Oh?"
"Yes, several new acquisitions. Young, educated, exactly the caliber your father will require." He chuckles, the sound making my skin crawl. "A few are even two-for-one specials, if you understand my meaning."
The phone nearly slips from my hand.
Two-for-one.
He's talking about pregnant women.
"How... fortunate," I manage, bile rising in my throat.
"Quite. Those particular lots always generate impressive bidding wars. Nothing quite like potential for return on investment."
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to vomit.
These monsters are selling pregnant women, talking about unborn children like they're stock options.
"I should mention," Marcus continues, oblivious to my horror, "security will be enhanced for this event. There have been some... disruptions in the market recently. Nothing to concern yourself with, but do expect additional protocols."
"Understood," I force out. "We appreciate the heads up."
"Of course. Oh, and Imani? Do tell your father that the sellers are particularly interested in establishing ongoing relationships with serious buyers. This could be the beginning of a very profitable partnership."
"I'll be sure to pass that along."
"Excellent. Until next week then."
The line goes dead, and I lean against the wall, trying to process what I just learned.
Pregnant women.
They're selling pregnant women.
Brick's voice makes me jump. "What did he want?"
He's sitting up in bed, instantly alert despite being asleep moments ago.
"Marcus called with updates about the auction," I say carefully, not sure how to break this to him.
He's already reading my expression, knowing something's wrong. "And?"
I move back to the bed, sitting beside him. "He mentioned... he said some of the women are two-for-one specials."
For a moment, Brick just stares at me, not processing.
Then understanding hits, and his face transforms into something terrifying.
"Pregnant," he says flatly. "He's talking about pregnant women."
"Yes."
The silence stretches between us, heavy and horrible.
Then Brick explodes off the bed, his fist connecting with the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall.
"Those fucking bastards!" He hits the wall again, knuckles splitting. "Selling pregnant women like they're fucking cattle!"
"Brick—"
"What if Lashes is—" He can't finish the sentence, just stands there breathing hard, blood dripping from his knuckles.
I move to him carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. "We don't know that she is."
"We don't know that she isn't," he counters, his voice raw. "Three months she's been gone. Three months they've had her."
Three months is plenty of time for horrors we don't want to imagine.
"Come here," I say softly, guiding him to sit on the bed. "Let me look at your hand."
He follows numbly, the rage draining into something worse—despair.
I retrieve the first aid kit from his bag, carefully cleaning his knuckles.
"If she's pregnant," he says quietly, "if they did that to her..."
"Then we get her out and we get her help," I say firmly. "Whatever she needs, whatever it takes to help her heal."
"What if she doesn't want to come back?" The question is barely a whisper. "What if she's so broken she doesn't even remember us?"
I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Then we remind her who she is. We show her she's still loved, still family. We don't give up on her, we stand there by her side, no matter what she needs. It doesn’t matter if she’s going to scream, cry, or punch a wall like someone else I know. We’ll be there for her."
He pulls me into his arms, holding me so tight it's almost painful.
I can feel him trembling, this strong man shaking with rage and fear for his friend.
"I'm going to kill them," he says against my hair. "Every last one of these sick fucks."
"We'll stop them," I promise. "We'll save Lashes and the others. All of them."
I hold him for a long time, just wanting him to know I’m here to support him.
Finally, Brick pulls back and he runs his hand over his face. "We need to tell Amara. If they're trafficking pregnant women, we need Ruby to add prenatal supplies to the medical kit."
There he is, always thinking ahead, even if he’s furious.
It's one of the things I love about him—his ability to tamper his emotions and get action done.
We quickly get dressed and head downstairs, finding Amara already in her office, which is surprising since it’s early.
She takes one look at Brick's bandaged knuckles and raises an eyebrow. "Wall lose a fight?"
"Marcus called," I explain. "The auction will include pregnant women. He called them two-for-one specials."
Amara's expression goes deadly still. "Pregnant."
"Yeah," Brick confirms harshly. "Those motherfuckers are selling pregnant women."
"Ruby," Amara calls out, and the other woman appears moments later. "We need to add prenatal supplies to the medical kit. Vitamins, emergency delivery supplies, anything you can think of."
Ruby's face pales, but she nods firmly. "I'll handle it right after I finish whipping up breakfast for everyone. Lyra and Leo are both in a mood this morning. Anything else you need from me?"
Amara shakes her head, “No, but thank you. Go feed those kids. The last thing we need is a mini Zorro running around pissed off. Is Rex being the only patient one?”
Ruby smirks. “Surprisingly, yes.”
Amara cracks up. “God, never thought I’d see the day Axel’s boy behaves better than him, but here we are.”
With that, Ruby leaves and Amara turns her attention back to us. “Is there anything else new?”
"Marcus also warned about their security changing up," I add. "Said there have been disruptions in the market recently."
"Good," Amara says with a sharp smile. "Let them be paranoid. Scared people make mistakes. Thanks for the update. I have some things I need to handle, so see yourselves out."
I don’t think she means to sound cold, but she is coming across that way a little bit.
Over the next couple of hours, Brick and I keep busy.
Brick throws himself into training, familiarizing himself with the ceramic knives until he can draw and strike in one fluid motion.
I watch him from across the gym, watching his technique, making mental notes for myself in case the situation arises where I need to know how to use them.
The knowledge about the pregnant women has changed something in him, turning his protective instincts into something darker.
"You two need to rein in your emotions, girl," Doom notes, appearing beside me. "Both of you. Need to lock that shit down before the auction."
He's right.
We can't afford to show emotion when we're undercover.
"Want to help?" I ask.
"That's why I'm here." He moves to the center of the mat. "Both of you. Time to practice your poker faces."
The next hour is brutal.
Doom throws scenario after scenario at us—describing horrific situations we might encounter, testing our ability to remain composed.
"You see a girl who looks fourteen on the auction block," he says calmly. "What's your expression?"
I force my face into bored interest. "Calculating profit margins."
"Better. Brick, you recognize one of the pregnant women as someone from Lashes's neighborhood. Your reaction?"
Brick's jaw tightens for just a moment before smoothing into indifference. "Mild curiosity about her background. Nothing more."
"Again," Doom orders. "Until it's perfect."
We drill responses until our faces ache from holding neutral expressions.
Until I can hear about selling children without flinching.
Until Brick can discuss pregnant women like merchandise without his hands forming fists.
It's soul-crushing to even be doing this, but necessary.
"Good," Doom finally says. "Now let's work on your cover dynamic."
He has us run through our buyer-and-bodyguard routine, critiquing everything from our body language to our speaking patterns.
"Imani, you're too soft with him. You're a cartel princess—he's the hired help. Act like it."
"Brick, stop hovering like a worried boyfriend. You're a professional. Your protection is efficient, not emotional."
By the time we break for lunch, we're exhausted but I don’t think anyone will assume we’re together.
We look like we’re playing the part: princess and protector.
"That was horrible," I mutter, slumping against Brick in the hallway.
"But we needed to do it. Doom did a good job throwing some crazy shit at us," he replies, though I can see the strain in his eyes.
We're heading to the kitchen to grab food when Razor comes to find us. "Conference room. One of Alejandro's men is here with intel you’re both gonna wanna hear."
The conference room is crowded—Amara, Dante, Razor, Doom, and a man I don't recognize but has to work for my godfather.
" Senorita Torres," he greets me respectfully. "I am Joaquin. Your godfather sends his regards."
I don’t bother with the pleasantries. "What have you learned?"
Joaquin pulls out a tablet, swiping to reveal surveillance photos. "We located Diego in Juárez yesterday. He was meeting with known associates of the trafficking ring."
My breath catches as I recognize the restaurant in the photos—one of my father's favorite spots for sensitive meetings.
The irony of Diego using it for his betrayal burns.
"This image was taken from across the street," Joaquin continues, swiping to the next photo.
My heart stops.
There, visible through the restaurant window, is my father.
He's seated at a corner table, but something's wrong.
His posture is too rigid, his expression blank in a way I've never seen.
"He's drugged," I whisper, my hands trembling as I zoom in on his face.
"Most likely," Joaquin confirms grimly. "See how his handler keeps touching his shoulder? Probably reminding him to play along."
"Handler," Brick growls. "You mean Diego."
"No." Joaquin swipes to another image. "Diego runs the operation, but he has men managing your father directly. Keeps his hands clean, maintains deniability."
I stare at the photo of my father—the man who built an empire, who taught me to be strong, who survived countless attempts on his life—reduced to a drugged puppet.
"Can we extract him?" Amara asks.
"Not without risking his life," Joaquin replies. "They're keeping him in a compound outside Juárez. Heavily fortified, constant guard rotation. Any rescue attempt would likely result in his immediate execution."
"So we stick to the plan," I say, though it kills me to leave my father in their hands even one day longer. "We get what we need from the auction."
"The timeline concerns me," Dante speaks up. "Two days until the auction. If Diego suspects anything..."
"He won't," I say firmly. "We've been careful. As far as he knows, I'm still running scared."
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in.
Diego knows me too well, just as he knows my father.
What if he sees through our plan?
The meeting continues with how we’re going to pull this whole thing off—using my godfather’s planes to get to and from Riohacha, Colombia where the auction is taking place.
"I’d like to leave early so we can get an idea of the area," Doom reports. "Get eyes on the property, map escape routes, familiarize ourself with the city."
"Carefully," Amara warns. "If they spot any surveillance..."
"We know our jobs," Brick assures her.
As the meeting breaks up, Joaquin approaches me privately. "Your godfather wanted me to give you this."
He hands me a small velvet box.
Inside is a medallion—St. Christopher, almost identical to the one Diego corrupted with a tracker.
"He said you would understand," Joaquin explains.
Tears prick my eyes as I lift the medallion.
It's not the same as my mother's, could never be, but the gesture means everything.
Alejandro is reminding me that family isn't about blood—it's about who is there for you in a time of need.
"Thank him for me," I manage.
Joaquin nods and takes his leave.
I'm still staring at the medallion when Brick finds me in the hallway.
"You okay?"
"No," I admit. "But I will be. After we end this."
He takes the medallion from my hands, studying it carefully. "No modifications on this one. I checked."
Of course he did.
Even in a gesture of kindness, he's protecting me.
"Help me put it on?"
He fastens the chain around my neck, his fingers lingering against my skin. "It suits you."
"My mother would have hated all of this," I say quietly. "The violence, the bullshit that being associated with the cartel brings. She wanted our family to be legitimate, to leave this world behind."
"Maybe that's what you're doing," Brick suggests. "Taking down these traffickers, saving innocent women. Maybe this is how you honor her dream—by destroying the worst parts of this life."
I turn to face him. "When did you become so wise?"
"Must be your influence," he echoes his words from days ago, but there's no humor now. "We're going to get through this, Imani. Save everyone we can."
"I know." I lean into him, knowing this isn’t going to be easy. "Just two more days."
Two more days of preparing for this undercover op.
Two more days of pretending to be monsters.
Two more days until we walk into hell itself.
We split up for a while and end up having some time to ourselves.
I can’t stop thinking about my father, about Diego turning his back against him… and I’m furious.
But I can’t let my emotions rule my judgement right now.
I have to keep moving forward. I have to get through this auction run and deal with my father’s situation after the fact.
After a while, I go to bed, only to wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t find Brick.
I walk around the clubhouse and look for him, searching every area, unable to find him in his usual spots.
I end up finding him on the roof of the clubhouse, staring out at the city lights.
"Room for one more?" I ask.
He pulls me down beside him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Can't sleep?"
"Too much in my head." I rest against his warmth. "Keep thinking about those women. What they're going through right now while we're safe here."
"We can't save them tonight," he reminds me gently. "But in a couple of days things will be different."
"In two days we burn it all to the fucking ground," I finish.
"Babe, you’ve got blood on your mind," Brick says eventually, "It’ll take a lot longer than one time to tear down that part of the organization, but this is the first step."
I nod, understanding where he’s coming from.
I tuck up closer against him and he speaks lowly out of nowhere. "These past weeks with you... they've been the best of my life. Even with all the running, getting shot, and not knowing what tomorrow will bring. You've made me believe in something, believe in love."
"Brick—"
"Let me finish," he interrupts gently. "If things go bad at the auction?—"
"They won't."
"But if they do," he persists, "I need you to run. Don't try to save me, don't look back. Just get safe, because we know what those people are capable of, and I can’t imagine you being in the same sort of position that Lashes is."
I pull away to glare at him. "Like hell."
"Imani—"
"No," I say firmly. "You’re my ol’ man.. We go in together, we come out together. That's non-negotiable."
He searches my face in the dim light. "Stubborn woman."
"You love it," I counter.
"Yeah," he admits with a small smile. "I do."