EPILOGUE
Brick
One Month Later …
I wake to sunlight streaming through the window and Imani's braids across my chest like silk.
She ended up going to the same woman who does Oakleigh’s, the two women developing a friendship.
For a moment, I just lie there, breathing in her scent, marveling that this is my life now.
A month ago, we were running for our lives.
Now, she's wearing my ring—not just my ol' lady, but my fiancée.
She murmurs against my skin. "You're thinking too loud."
I run my fingers through her braids. "Just appreciating the view."
She lifts her head, those dark eyes still heavy with sleep. "Smooth talker."
"Only for you, baby."
A knock on the door interrupts whatever she was about to say.
"Brick?" Lashes's voice comes through. "You awake? I need to talk to you."
"Give us five minutes," I call back.
Imani's already moving, pulling on one of my shirts and a pair of shorts. "I'll go downstairs and make coffee. You see what she needs."
I find Lashes in the hallway, one hand resting on her growing belly.
At four months now, the pregnancy is unmistakable.
She looks healthier than she has since we brought her home—regular meals and medical care working their magic.
"Morning," I greet her. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just..." She hesitates. "I felt the baby move last night. For the first time."
The wonder in her voice makes my chest tight. "That's amazing, Lash."
"I know I should hate it," she says quietly. "This baby is... it's from them. From what they did. But when I felt it move..."
"Hey," I interrupt gently. "You don't have to justify anything to anyone. This is your choice, your baby now."
She nods, blinking back tears. "I've been thinking about names. If it's a girl... Hope. Because that's what she represents now."
"It's perfect," I tell her, meaning it.
We head to the kitchen where Imani's got coffee brewing and is pulling out ingredients for breakfast.
The domestic scene still catches me off guard sometimes—the cartel princess who used to wear designer everything is now comfortable in my old t-shirt, making eggs in the club kitchen.
"Morning, Lashes," Imani greets warmly. "Hungry?"
"Starving," Lashes admits. "This kid is going to eat me out of house and home."
As the women chat about pregnancy symptoms and doctor appointments, I let my mind drift to all that's changed in a month.
Valeria made it safely to Texas, reunited with her husband.
She sent a letter last week—a photo of them together, her smile radiant even though she’s going through so much.
They're starting over in Waco, where he's got steady construction work and she's found a job at a tailor shop.
The sisters are thriving with Boulder and Kelsey.
Just yesterday, the adoption papers came through, making it official.
Itzel still doesn't speak much, but last week she called Kelsey "Mama" for the first time.
Boulder actually teared up when he told us.
And Mei—she's thrown herself into university life with a vengeance, determined not to let her captors steal her future.
She comes by the club on weekends for self-defense training, learning to protect herself.
"Earth to Brick," Imani says, waving a spatula at me. "You want eggs or not?"
"Sorry, just thinking about everything."
"Speaking of everything," Lashes says, "when does Roxy's daughter arrive?"
"Today," I confirm. "Nova’s flying in this afternoon, starts her semester next week at nursing school."
Imani plates up some eggs and toast. "And she's rooming with Mei?"
"That's the plan. Safer for both of them to have roommates, and the apartment's big enough."
"Smart," Lashes approves. "Mei needs friends her own age. People who aren't connected to... everything that happened."
We eat breakfast together, a strange little family.
Afterward, I head out to the garage where I find Doom working on his bike.
"Nova’s flight gets in at three," I tell him. "You still good to help her get settled?"
He grunts, which I take as a yes.
Doom's not much for words, but he's been different lately—quieter than usual, if that's possible.
"It’s been a while since I’ve seen Nova," he mentions, not looking up from his bike.
"Yeah, you know her? Heard she’s Roxy's kid. Smart as hell. Decided she wanted to be a nurse after everything that went down over the years."
"Yeah, I started prospecting up in Montana. Crazy how time flies. How old is she now?"
"Twenty-four, I think. Why?"
"No reason," he says, but there's something in his tone that makes me look closer.
Before I can push, Rooster appears. "Brick. Got a minute?"
I follow him to a quiet corner of the garage.
"What's up?"
"Got intel on Diego," he says quietly. "Fresh, from one of Alejandro's guys."
My entire body goes still. "Where?"
"Compound near Ciudad Juárez. Heavily guarded, but not impossible. Your father-in-law is definitely there—they've got recent photos."
"Show me."
We head to the meeting room where Rooster pulls up satellite images on his laptop.
The compound is a fortress—high walls, guard towers, single access road.
But I've breached worse.
"When do we move?" I ask.
"That's the thing," Rooster says. "Amara wants to wait, gather more intel. But..."
"But Imani's losing her mind with worry," I finish. "And every day we wait, Diego gets more power."
"Exactly."
We're interrupted by Doom joining us, closing the door behind him. "If you're planning what I think you're planning, I want in."
I study him. "This isn't something Amara’s given the green light to. If we do this, it's just us."
"I know," he says simply. "But that girl in there? Imani? She reminds me of my sister. The not knowing is killing her slowly. I've been there."
Rooster nods. "So we do this quietly.."
"When?" I ask.
"Give it a week," Doom suggests. "Let Amara think we're being good little prospects, following orders, then we go get him. We can deal with our angry mama bird when we get back, with Imani’s dad safe and sound."
We spend the next hour going over the satellite images, planning routes, discussing what sort of equipment to bring.
It feels good to be taking action instead of waiting for permission.
By the time we break up, we have the bones of a plan.
I'm heading back to find Imani when my phone buzzes—reminder that it's time to pick up Nova from the airport.
I find Doom and we take one of the club SUVs.
"You ever meet her before?" Doom asks as I drive.
"Nova? Once, briefly. I don’t know her, but I know Roxy's good people, so I'm sure her daughter is too."
"Hmm."
I glance at him. "You okay, brother? You've been off lately."
"Just thinking about shit," he says, which for Doom is practically a full confession.
The airport is busy, but we spot Nova easily—she looks like a younger version of her mother, with long dark hair and eyes that miss nothing.
She's pulling two suitcases and has a backpack that looks like it weighs as much as she does.
"Nova?" I call out.
She turns, breaking into a smile. "Hey, Brick. Mom described you perfectly—'big and looks like he could bench press a motorcycle.'"
I laugh. "That's me. This is Doom."
She turns to look at him, and I swear the air crackles between them.
Doom actually stands up straighter, and Nova’s cheeks flush slightly.
"Hey, it’s been a while," she says softly.
"Hey. Yeah, it has." he replies, and for Doom, the single word sounds like poetry.
Interesting.
Doom reaches for her suitcases with odd gentleness. "Let me get those."
"I can manage?—"
"I know you can," he interrupts. "But let me anyway."
She studies him for a moment, then nods. "Okay."
The ride back is filled with Nova asking questions about the city, the university, the club.
But I notice she directs most of them to Doom, who answers with more words than I've heard him string together in months.
"Mom said Mei's been through a lot," Nova says carefully. "Without giving details, is there anything I should know? To be a good roommate?"
"She has nightmares sometimes," I tell her. "And she doesn't like sudden noises or people coming up behind her. But she's tough, working through it."
"I can work with that," Nova says firmly. "I'm glad she'll have someone to room with. Mom worries about me being alone in a new city anyways."
"You won't be alone," Doom says quietly. "The club takes care of its own."
Back at the clubhouse, Mei is waiting.
We had told her the other day Nova would be moving in with her, and she was happy not to be in her apartment by herself anymore.
An apartment the club is providing for her, I might add.
"You must be Nova! I'm Mei. I'm so happy you're here!"
The two young women hit it off immediately, chattering about classes and schedules as we load Nova’s stuff to take to their apartment.
"It's perfect," Nova says when she sees the place. "And so close to campus!"
"The club made sure it was secure," I explain, showing her the reinforced locks and security system. "And there's always someone nearby if you need anything."
"I'll check on them regularly," Doom volunteers, then looks like he wants to take the words back.
Nova smiles at him. "That would make me feel safer. Thank you."
As we're leaving, I catch Doom's arm. "You good?"
"Yeah," he says, but his eyes drift back to where Nova is unpacking. "She's... not what I expected."
"Funny how that happens," I say, thinking of Imani.
Back at the clubhouse, the ladies are preparing for dinner.
It's become a tradition—Sunday dinners with the whole family.
Xiomara is in the kitchen with Kelsey, learning to cook while Itzel sits at the counter drawing.
"Brick!" Xiomara calls out. "Look what Itzel made for you!"
The little girl shyly hands me a drawing—stick figures but clearly recognizable as our club family.
I'm there (identifiable because I’m huge), along with Imani, Lashes, and others.
In the corner, she's drawn two angel figures that must be her parents.
"This is beautiful," I tell her. "Can I keep it?"
She nods, a tiny smile crossing her face.
"Use your words, baby," Kelsey encourages gently.
"Yes," Itzel whispers. "For you."
It's only the fifth or sixth time she's spoken since we rescued her, and each word feels like a victory.
Dinner is chaotic in the best way possible.
The long table is packed—club members, their families, our rescued women who've become family.
Mei and Nova sit together, already talking like old friends.
I notice Doom positioned where he can see Nova, though he's trying to be subtle about it.
"So, what's the deal with the trafficking ring?" Lashes asks during a lull in conversation. "They've been quiet for a month. That can't be good."
Amara nods. "Too quiet. Our intel suggests they're regrouping, possibly bringing in new leadership to replace what we disrupted."
"They'll come for us eventually and I mean in a way that’s more than just putting a bounty on my head," Imani says matter-of-factly. "We cost them money and reputation."
"Let them come," Boulder says. "We'll be ready."
But I can see the worry in her eyes.
It's not the trafficking ring that keeps her up at night—it's her father, still captive, still being drugged by Diego.
Life has been really heavy lately, but we’re surviving, getting through it one day at a time.
After dinner, I find myself on the roof again, but this time I'm not alone.
I've brought one of the letters from my father—still sealed after fifteen years.
Imani takes a seat beside me. "You sure about this?"
"Seeing those girls with Boulder and Kelsey, watching them heal... it made me think about family. About forgiveness."
She takes my hand. "Whatever it says, I'm here."
I open the envelope carefully, unfolding paper that's yellowed with age.
Son,
I know you hate me. You have every right to. I failed you and your mother in the worst way. I chose crime over getting honest work, chose easy money over integrity, and you both paid the price.
I'm not writing for forgiveness. I know I don't deserve that. I'm writing so someday, maybe, you'll understand. We were being evicted. You were hungry. Your mother was sick. I saw no other way.
I was wrong. There's always another way. I see that now.
I pray every night that you're okay, that you found a better path than mine. That you became the man I couldn't be.
All my love, Dad
I have to stop reading, emotion choking me.
"He’s taking responsibility," Imani says softly. "That's more than a lot of parents do."
"Fifteen years," I manage. "Fifteen years I carried anger at him, and he's been carrying guilt."
"Maybe it's time to let both go," she suggests.
I nod, folding the letter carefully. There are dozens more to read, but this is enough for tonight.
Tomorrow, I’ll write him a letter and get it on the fastest shipping to his prison.
I’m just happy I took one step toward forgiveness, toward healing.