Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (14 page)

M
agdalena shoved at the door
, straining every feeble muscle she possessed. As it had five times before, the door opened only a crack before slamming shut. The
clack
of metal on metal rang in her ears as did her sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks in rolling waves with every failed attempt to help the man she loved.

He’d closed her inside to save her, no doubt, but she would rather die fighting to save him than listen to the sickening
thuds
of the beating he endured. “Law,” she screamed. “Let me out!” Magdalena balled her fists and beat them against the door. “Please.”

“Please shut up!”

Magdalena pivoted, fists drawing back instinctually at the woman who’d caught her unaware.

A thirty-something gal in a wrinkled sleep shirt and bare legs shrank back against her opened apartment door. Her hands flew to her chest, palms out, warding Magdalena off. She’d never elicited such a response from another human being. She would have apologized, but she couldn’t think of decorum with Law’s life in danger. Desperation clouded self-preservation and every other civil tendency her father cultivated during her formative years.

“Does your flat have a window to the alley?”

Black jaw-length curls flopped back and forth. “I don’t have anything worth stealing. I work two jobs just to afford this place.”

“I’m not robbing you. My friend is being attacked in the alley. I need to help him.”

“In the middle of the day?”

“Yes,” Mags hollered, beyond frantic to be at Law’s side.

“I’ll call the police.” The lady stepped into her flat, a flash of relief slacking her tight features.

Magdalena ducked past her into the unfamiliar layout.

“Hey.”

“By the time the police get here he’ll be dead. Please, where is the bloody window?” Mags ran headlong, not waiting for a response, fumbling her way through the maze of rooms.

“Last bedroom. End of the corridor,” the woman’s voice called from the entryway.

All the curtains were drawn tight throughout the flat and in the master bedroom the sheets lay tossed back. Magdalena bound onto the bed and shoved the thick fabric over the window to the side. A green wall greeted her. The dumpster they parked by nearly abutted the building, blotting out the sunlight. She smashed her face against the icy glass and peered down the back street. To the right, green blocked her view, but to the left she saw the tip of the Hog’s handle and the sleek side fender.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Mags turned to the woman, who had both hands shaking in the air. “Close and lock this behind me as quietly as you can and stay inside your flat.”

“For sure.”

With her swift breaths hushed by force of will, Magdalena unlatched the window and tugged. Inch by measured inch she increased the gap and thanked the contractor for installing stealthy new windows in this part of the building. As the window opened wider the sound of flesh smacking flesh filtered through, causing her lower lip to quiver.Finally, the window yawned wide; she slipped one foot out and prayed it would fit between the dumpster and wall of the building. Her sandals scraped along the brick in what sounded like a break in the sound barrier. Magdalena froze for a moment, but the beating did not. So, she gripped the frame, ignored the woman’s wide-eyed stare, and lowered herself toward the ground. Her stomach and elbows scraped the stucco sill on the way down, stinging only a microscopic fraction as badly as her heart did.

When her feet hit the pavement Mags shuffled like a real-life version of Gumby, the flat green chum she’d seen as a kid, away from the fight until daylight enveloped her. She hurried on tiptoes to the Harley, flipped open the saddlebag, unzipped her pack, and shoved her hand into the depths. Cold metal slid beneath her fingers and she clamped down on it.

Never in her life could Magdalena Wells have pictured herself holding a gun, much less preparing to shoot someone with it. Inside, her nerves quaked an eight on the Richter scale. But her fingers gripped firm and steady around the sleek wood-finished grip. She thumbed the safety down, filled her lungs with the humid air, lifted the threatening metal with both hands, and stepped out from behind the dumpster.

Two men stood over Law. One wrenched his leg back and slammed it into Law’s stomach again and again. The other bastard watched, twirling a cricket bat in his hand like he itched to take a swing. Law’s only saving grace was that he had arms big enough to absorb some of the blows and block his ribs from being snapped like dry twigs.

Never had she seen or imagined Law vulnerable like any other person. His thick muscles and armored heart created an illusion of invincibility. But the man she loved lay slumped against the door, a curled ball of susceptibility. Even in his weakened state he was powerful. He blocked her exit. Guarding her until the end.

“Stop!” Magdalena’s voice bounded off the brick walls and reverberated in her head in a gritty pitch of demand. The word came from deep inside. Someplace strong, someplace she didn’t know existed.

The punter’s leg gridlocked on a back swing. In unison, two sets of eyes found her and narrowed as they registered the gun. Magdalena couldn’t look at Law again, fearful she might accidentally shoot him or lose her bare-threaded composure and give the attackers the upper hand.

“Back away,” she commanded.

The chav with the bat, her cricket bat, stepped forward. “The information we got didn’t say anything about you knowing how to shoot. Your grip’s pretty good for a first timer, but I don’t think you have what it takes to pull the trigger.”

“I can pull the trigger. The question is, can I hit what I aim for? I could try for your shoulder and hit your nuts. Assuming you have any,” Magdalena taunted like she wasn’t about to pass out.

“Fuck it,” bat-boy said. “We were supposed to bring you in alive for some fun, but I like my sack where it belongs. How about you, Mac?”

The kicker fisted his junk and shook it, flexing the area toward Magdalena. “Yeah, I like em’ attached all right. Shoot her and we’ll find them some other entrainment.”

Her breath caught. She hadn’t expected them to have guns. She didn’t expect
anyone
to have a gun, because she hated them. But a cold hand gripped her throat as bat-boy switched hands with the bat and reached behind his back.

Magdalena’s hand tingled from the rabid grip she had on the weapon, but she adjusted the man in her sight and pulled the trigger. The thing exploded in a concussive sound that rippled through her entire body. It bucked wildly. The shot went wide, chipping away a hunk of brick in the building to her left. Her grasp loosened on the unruly beast and she readjusted in time to see the barrel of the man’s gun and his zealous gaze squared on her chest.

Two gun blasts cracked the hot day. Magdalena had no time to react. She stood static. A perfect target.

The cylindrical metal hole she stared into did launch a bullet at her heart. It quavered and her gaze drew to the man’s face. His intense stare washed vacant. The wrinkles in his sneer slacked. His life evaporated in the brutal sunlight and he collapsed to the baking ground, blood seeping from behind his ear.

Magdalena looked at the gun in her hand and the man on the ground, and then her gaze snapped toward the second assailant. Unlike the man who lay sprawled in front of her, he lay in a knotted heap against the wall. Beside him, Law pitched on his side. One of his arms wrapped around his middle. The other clasped his Sig, now resting on his thigh.

Emotions roiled inside her body, ricocheting and eviscerating her composure. The sobs she’d shoved aside only minutes earlier broke free as she sprinted for Law. His regal jaw set in a hard line. The flesh of his right brow split wide, oozing blood down the angles of his cheek. Swelling puffed the skin around it, sealing his lid shut in a macabre painting of blues, purples, and yellows. His left eye had taken some of the impact, bloating the hood of his eye to half-mast.

She skidded to a stop on her knees beside him, her hands shooting out to help, but only hovering. It seemed there was no safe place to touch him. “What can I do?”

“Start by flipping on your safety,” he rasped.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” She tried to stem the waterworks, but her sobs only transformed to hiccups. A flick of the lever set the gun on safety and she glanced at Law’s gun. Of course, he’d already managed his weapon.

“Magdalena.”

“Yes,” she sniffled.

“Don’t be sorry. You saved my life.”

“I didn’t. I—”

“You did. Now, stow your gun in my left holster.”

Law raised his arm and muffled a groan behind his pinched lips. Magdalena lifted his jacket and snuggled the metal into the leather compartment. “Now mine,” he said on a sharp breath. She repeated the task with a bit more difficulty since he lay on his right side.

“You’re doing great, Magdalena. I’m going to need you to help me up.”

“Okay, but where else are you hurt? If you have any broken ribs, moving you could puncture a lung.”

“Staying here will get us in jail or dead.”

Right.
Her unwilling helper probably called the Met as she locked her window. Mags burrowed her head under the crook of Law’s left arm, waited for his go-ahead, then pushed so hard her legs quaked from the effort. Together they staggered upright. Well, upright for her. Law hunched like Quasimodo. She gripped his arm for leverage and searched for an escape. There was no way he could drive the Hog in his condition.

“Do we hail a cab?”

“No. Bike. You drive.”

“What?”

“I’ll handle the clutch. You steer.”

Magdalena couldn’t speak for her shock and the use of every muscle and bit of coordination she had to keep pace with Law’s shaky strides toward the damn motorcycle. Hiking his leg over the massive beast cost him dearly. His breath hissed in hasty pants. The beautiful lines of his face were mangled by blood, swelling, and wrinkles from a deep grimace.

He handed her the spare helmet and shoved his on with a string of vicious curses obscured by the hitch of his breaths. Magdalena shoved hers on, slipped on in front of Law, and hoped she hadn’t just saved him to lose him in the wreckage of a multi-vehicle collision.

E
ven though Magdalena
had been expecting it, her entire body jumped at the sharp knock on the motel door. Shit, she’d been counting down the seconds since she practically dragged Law from the motorcycle, into the room, and situated him in the chair next to her. He refused the bed and she hadn’t had the heart to make him explain his reasoning. She just hoped his injuries weren’t too serious. And that the obscure rural inn was far enough away from danger.

“Check first,” Law croaked.

Bloody hell, she wasn’t cut out for this clandestine shit. Her heart raced and the thing of it was she didn’t know which life altering experience to attribute the constant and frantic thuds. Struggling to save Law from certain death? Firing a gun for the first time? Watching yet another man’s life leave his body? Driving a fucking motorcycle through the crowded streets of London?

She attributed the current spike in her pulse to the gorgeous, yet menacing woman towering on the other side of the door. Jet hair barely brushed her shoulders and clouded grey eyes sharp enough to pierce Magdalena’s sensitive skin stared back through the peephole. She swallowed past the swelling of her throat and looked at Law.

“Is she bloody huge?”

“Tall. Not fat.”

“Right.” She opened the door and the Amazon breezed past her, a bright lipstick orange-red mouth creased in a determined scowl. Slaughter,
if ever there was an apt name
, plopped the duffel bag she carried onto the bed and dropped to her knees beside Law.

“Next time, listen to me, would you? God damn it! If you’d had back-up this wouldn’t have happened,” Khani snapped. Before he could answer she rattled on. “That’s one hell of a shiner you’ve got there. You know your mum is gonna kill us both for it?”

Onyx flashed in the lamplight then those stormy eyes were on her. Mags preferred obscurity to the direct poke of Khani Slaughter’s gaze. “You’re the one who got him into this mess in the first place?” Though phrased like a question it sounded more like an accusation of high treason.

“How about you take care of him first and grill me later?” Mags said with surprising grit.

“Fair enough.” Khani turned her thickly lined eyes on Law and propped his chin on her folded index finger. “Looking at about ten sutures, give or take two, and a gnarly scar through your brow.”

“Add it to the collection, doc,” Law said.

Khani set out several packets of hospital grade supplies, stalked to the sink, and scrubbed her hands before scooting the other chair between Law and the bed with her knee-high laced boot. Over her shoulder she flashed Mags that daunting gaze. “You might want to go take a walk or go shower for this.”

Magdalena shook her head. The Amazonian couldn’t make her leave, unless she physically removed her from the room.

“Your lunch.” Khani shrugged.

Law’s swollen-lidded eye prodded Khani. “She’s stronger than she looks. Braver than me, and you. I’d be dead, if it weren’t for her.”

Magdalena’s chest squeezed at his praise, until Khani cleaned the gnarled wound above Law’s eye. She hung back, giving Khani space, because of her own discomfort with the stranger who had such close ties to the man who held her heart. But when Law ground his jaw so tight the muscles in his face bunched, Mags no longer cared about anything other than comforting him. She walked to the far side of Khani’s work station, clasped Law’s left hand in her own, and hung on for dear life.

Every prick of the needle had Mags clamping down on Law’s hand in encouragement, but by the fourth suture she knew he comforted her, not the other way around. Just when she thought she’d do him more good by going to take a shower, Khani hit a nerve and he seized her hand in a strangle hold. She squeezed back, lending her abiding love and ready support.

It seemed an eternity before Law lay passed out on the queen-sized bed, the hole on his brow stitched and tidied. Khani had checked his ribs which, judging by the breaths he hissed and sucked, hurt more than the closure, and given him the all clear. She ordered him two days rest, four if he could possibly manage.

“You go get cleaned up,” Khani said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Reluctantly, Magdalena left him. She showered in record time, dressed in her last clean tank and pair of boxers, and returned to the room feeling more awkward than ever. Like the first day of school the summer after she had gotten boobs hadn’t been enough embarrassment to endure a lifetime.

“Thank you,” Mags whispered. “I don’t know what I would have done if…”

Khani shook her head. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. Law is my family. Not by blood. Thank fuck. But by bond. He’s like my brother and I get a little overbearing sometimes. Thank you for whatever it is you’ve done for him.”

Mags quirked a brow.

“He’s different, besides having the shit kicked out of him. And it’s a good different. Make sure it stays that way.”

“What is it with you two and threats?”

“Sorry, I work with a bunch of men. It comes naturally. Anyway, I brought you each some clothes. Life on the run sucks.”

“So I’m learning.”

“If you think of anything else, call me. We’re following the money on the assassin from the park, but it’s taking a while. Tons of offshore and dummy accounts to work through.”

“Assassin?”

Khani’s expression lightened. “We’ll figure it out and get you your life back soon. I promise. If you want to get some sleep, I’ll drop food by this evening. Oh, I packed some granola bars, nuts, and fruit in the bag too.”

“Sleep?”

“Yeah, take it while you can get it.”

After locking the door behind Khani and thinking about sleep, Mags found her lids unusually heavy for mid-day. Then again, these past few days had been anything but typical. She crawled up the far side of the bed and rested her head on top of the covered pillow. Law’s chest rose and fell, expanding his fresh white tee in a shallow but steady pace. Magdalena locked on the movement, thankful for each breath he took, because she’d sworn they’d both taken their last today.