Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (19 page)

S
ure
, he wasn’t one hundred percent. His side hurt like a whale had beached itself on his flank then died, weighing down the ninth and tenth ribs with mind-bending pain. A devil of a headache stabbed him between the eyes. Still, Khani didn’t have to screw him with Street just because she screwed herself with the kid. He’d much rather be staring into Magdalena’s sultry face than waiting inside Weaver’s flat, catching King Street’s,
what the hell kind of name is that,
astute gaze. The kid in a man’s body considered Law like he were a Taylor series function to calculate.

At least Street could move his hulking body like a silent wrath and flatten a bloke with one pop of his fist. Had Law been alone against the six-man security team spread over two roofs, the front and rear building entrances, and inside Weaver’s flat, things could have gotten messy.

Now all they had to do was wait for the weasel to stroll through the door, which, according to the chatty chap bound and gagged in the master bedroom closet, they expected within the hour. Waiting didn’t usually bother Law. He’d waited seven hours in Columbian mud for his target to arrive, twelve days by Clara’s bedside for her to take her last breath, and nearly a decade to resume living his life after. But instinct and Street’s knowing gaze told him the kid was about to cross into unwelcome territory.

“Do you love her?”

Sometimes Law hated being right. “We’re on the same team, but it doesn’t mean you get to juggle my balls.”

“I’ll take that as an affirmative.” Street’s voice whispered over the room that separated them, but his amusement made the journey on an easy chuckle.

“Take it as you’re going to end up with my boot in your mouth, if you don’t shut it.” Law growled.

“Am I sensing some pent up frustration?”

“You’re sensing your death, if you fuck Khani over. Career and family mean everything to her. Don’t take one away because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“Ever heard the term it takes two to tango?”

Irritation inflamed Law’s skin. It screamed for relief or release from the stony pose he’d taken twenty minutes ago. The perfect reprieve would be going rounds with Street. The kid was big, but Law had shaved Baine to size a time or ten. He had no doubt he’d do the same with Street, but banked Scouse bled through the kid’s accent, just once, in a phrase he’d used while knocking a tooth out of one of the guards who tried to sneak up on the bloke. Law didn’t know Street’s background, but the way he rather skillfully hid his Liverpool roots spoke to the kid’s intellect and street smarts. In a fair fight he’d go dirty every time, which is what separated the men from the boys. Maybe he’d have to refer to him as a young man.

Two pairs of footsteps tapped in the hallway, moving quickly toward the door. Neither Law nor Street made a sound, their back and forth forgotten for the time. A key slid into the lock and the door sung wide, pouring a rectangle of artificial light into the dark foyer and offset living area.

Law breathed as steadily as if he were relaxing on the couch catching a one-sided game. When a woman’s voice split the air with a sob his breath suspended in his lungs. A slender figure stumbled into his line of sight, grasping the side of an antique entry table four feet from him.

“What is it with uncooperative bitches? One won’t put out. One won’t die. And now you. Oh, you’ll give me what I want or I’ll splash your mum’s affair with her intern all over the news. She’ll lose her job and you’ll have to quit school. Waitressing won’t get you through Oxford, will it?” Haltman Weaver tossed a key into a ceramic bowl on the side table from which the young woman retreated. His jacket came next, sailing through the air and landing on a wing-backed chair at the den entrance as he kicked the door shut.

The room plunged into inky darkness, but Law watched Street step out from behind the parting wall and nail Weaver square in the nose. A startled cry left the man’s mouth a moment before the crunch and subsequent silence replaced it. But the young woman took over the shrill exclamation.

Law stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist, pinning her arms to her side. With his other hand he pinched a nerve at her nape. Her panicked holler faded and he cradled her weight. Weaver, on the other hand, hit the floor like a wet stack of newspapers.

“What the hell?” Street barked. “She wasn’t a threat.”

“One, never underestimate a woman. Two, she’s easier to deal with unconscious. Three, take her home. To her home, not yours.”

“Screw you. I’d never take advantage of a woman. I may be a lot of things, but a fuckwad isn’t one. And I’m not leaving until I have a crack at
that
fuckwad. His guy shot me yesterday.”

“Well, you can catch her or let her hit the ground.” Law released his hold on the woman and smiled as Street scrambled to capture the co-ed’s weight before she met the floor. When he succeeded, Law made a clicking sound with his mouth. “I knew you were fast.

“As far as a shot at Weaver goes, you’re S.O.L. That bastard tried to kill the woman I love. And me, not that I get bent out of shape over that. Plenty have tried and I’m still here.

“Wipe that damn smirk off your face and get lost.”

“It’s too dark to see my smirk,” Street said.

“But I know it’s there.”

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely, but I’m coming back. Director’s orders.” Street scooped the light haired woman into his arms and tucked her face in the crook of his neck. “The door?” Law opened the door and watched as they headed toward the stairs. To anyone passing, they’d look like entangled lovebirds. When he could no longer see the kid’s broad back or the pale legs and sandal covered feet swaying with each long stride he closed the door and smiled at Weaver’s listless body.

“Get ready for one hell of a wake-up call, buddy.”

About ten minutes after having his nose broken in a knock-out, Haltman Weaver came-to in stages. The pants of his narrow chest increased. White skin stretching taut over each thin rib gave him a skeletal quality. He moaned, the sound muffled by silver duct tape fastened over his lips. Noise escaped from the small slit Law cut in the center of the adhesive to keep the fuckwad alive. The bastard’s head lobbed up then swung back down, until dark, demented eyes popped wide in horror.

“Feels a little different when you’re the one tied up, doesn’t it?”

Law lounged on the sofa, legs sprawled on either side of the dining chair where the weasel, as Magdalena called him, wiggled and jerked against the man’s own leather restraints.

“I found your nice bracelets in the closet. If you’d only used them with consenting women, we wouldn’t have a problem. But you went and ruined something that could have been a beautiful experience with violence and blackmail.

“If that wasn’t bad enough, and it was, you royally fucked yourself by threatening someone I care deeply for.”

Law sat forward, pulling in his knees and resting his elbows atop them. He scratched at the scruff of his out of control beard and huffed in Weaver’s face. Law should have never questioned Baine’s judgment in Mexico. Sure he smeared some lines to grey, but that’s what you do for the people you love. As long as when it’s all said and done you’re still standing on the right side of the smug.

“I bet you’re wondering where your men are, who I am, what I’m going to do to you. Let me settle your mind right now. Your security force is alive, but their first priority upon consciousness will be the hospital. Not you.

“I’m your conscience come-a-callin’, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get through to you. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get answers to questions.” Law pointed his index finger at his own chest. “Demand.” Then he stabbed it toward Weaver. “Supply.” He stood and dragged the chair to the center of the room, the metal chair legs whining against the lacquered floor. The weasel tried to fight, but had already spent himself. “The sooner you understand our arrangement, the better your chances of survival.” Muted hollers siphoned from Weaver’s throat, filling the room with the dull burble of promising music.

“To make myself clear, we’ll start with a little incentive. My ribs are really killing me right now. Your men did that. Would have done worse, if I hadn’t severed their spinal cords and brain stems with a bullet each.

“If you don’t wish to feel my pain, Halt, I suggest you start by telling me how you get these college-educated women to turn tricks for you and half the government’s elite. Oh, before we begin, let me explain further that a broken rib can quite easily puncture a man’s lung and cause him to suffocate on his own blood in agonizing minutes. Same goes for a broken nose, which you obviously have; it doesn’t take as long though. I mean, look at all the blood. All it would take is a solid strip of tape right here.”

Law slapped his hand over the man’s mouth. The snap rippled through the air and Weaver’s eyes filled with glistening moisture. His black-death eyes mapped with broken blood vessels and gaped as wide as a stripper’s thong. “Bet that stung.” With pinched fingers, Law gripped the edge of the tape and yanked. “Supply,” he demanded.

“You’ll never get away with this.” Haltman sobbed. “They are powerful men you’re— No! No!”

The slab of tape Law pulled from his neatly lined pre-cut row of four inch strips stuck to the edge of the coffee table ceased the watery refusal. It only took the man a second to realize the polyethylene, cotton, and adhesive lacked the convenient hole of his last gag. When his muscles strained it looked as if someone vacuum-sealed the skin at his neck. He thrashed, but could go nowhere.

Law jabbed his fist hard and hot into Weaver’s low right ribs, mimicking his own injury with the crack of bones. The man sagged as far as the leather securing his chest would allow then convulsed in a battle for air. Law slowly unsheathed seven inches of black steel. “You might want to hold still.” Weaver shivered, but stowed the wild antics while Law raked the tip of his KA-BAR across the center of the tape. While the weasel hauled rattling breaths, Law spoke.

“You don’t follow direction very well and that’s bad for you. The same demand, Haltman. If I don’t get an accurate supply this time I’ll have to give you one of these suckers.” Law pointed to the jagged wound splitting his right brow. Weaver focused on the spot and shook his head as though he’d suddenly developed Parkinson’s.

Law’s phone vibrated against his thigh and he stepped back from the bound man. “Only a short reprieve, Weaver,” he said, retrieving the phone from his pocket. He greeted Khani’s encrypted number. “Pierce.”

Magdalena’s honeyed voice filled his ear. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” The desire to reach through the phone and hug her to him rankled. He couldn’t even tell her how the sound of her sweet words warmed his heart. The fact that his tart spoke to him, instead of Khani, did crazy things to his insides. Turned them gooey. With Weaver watching he couldn’t give anything away.

“Thank God,” she huffed. “Law, they have Willow. I think Hues does.”

“I’ll find her,” he vowed then discretely ended the call and continued talking. “If not, stay by the mail box and I’ll ship you pieces of Weaver’s sorry excuse for a dick, one pitiful piece at a time. How much do you want to bet he’ll spill after I carve off half his tiny head? I mean, it’ll hurt me, but not near as much as it’ll hurt him.”

He slid the phone into the pocket of his black fatigues and winked at Haltman Weaver. Joy exploded in Law’s chest at the stark terror dilating the man’s murky eyes.

“Since I’m a man of my word, we’ll tackle the head wound first then the tiny piece between your legs. First demand is still in play. How do you get bright young women with promising futures to devalue themselves with you and other political puppets?”

Law ripped the adhesive from Weaver’s mouth, ripping raw the skin around his quivering lips. The chav sucked in two shaky breaths and bit back a sob.

“We ferret secrets and use them as leverage.”

“More.”

“Sometimes it’s their secret they don’t want shared. Other times, it’s their parents’ secret or an old family one.”

Crossing his arms, Law stepped back from the naked man and goaded him on with a raised brow.

“They’ll do anything to maintain public pride. Their upbringing taught them it’s the most important thing. Later we developed enough credit that we manufactured false truths or made tapes as insurance.”

“Who is we?”

Weaver hesitated. Law shifted his weight to move, but words spewed from his throat along with spittle. “Livingston Hues. We started The Council for Higher Education and took on our first clients before we had any girls ready.”

“How did you acquire your clients?”

“Oh, God.” Weaver moaned. “Livingston and I were members of a high-end kink club, but were dismissed for misconduct. Our first four clients came from similar situations. Word spread.”

“I’m a little disappointed you picked up so quickly on the inner workings of our arrangement, Halt. But I’m not finished demanding things from you. In fact, I’m just getting started. It would be in your best interest to continue cooperating, but don’t do so on my account.” Law tossed the man’s clothes into his lap. “When I untie you, you’re going to lead me to Willow Wren. And, Weaver, if I step into a trap, I’ll use you as my shield.”

S
treet arrived
with a hackney as Law and his hostage exited onto the rain-dampened sidewalk and arched a thick brow at him. Law ignored him, shoved Weaver in the car, and climbed in behind the chav. Street ground his teeth. Law guessed the guy was pissed over missing his shot at the man sandwiched between. He used what little room he had to text Magdalena and Khani the address and his list of directives for the take-down.

Khani replied, “
You know, I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving the orders. But it’s solid. We’re in.”

His phone vibrated again, surprising him. “
I love you! -Magdalena
”

He wrote back. “
Stay up late tonight and I’ll show you how much I love you.”

Law wiped at the perma-smile on his lips and stowed his phone. After a snail paced drive across town through evening traffic they reached Hues’ residence, which was the first place he’d have looked for Willow, had Weaver been the type to hold back. They made the block and exited the cab three blocks down from the building housing Willow and the sexual deviant she’d spent far too many hours entertaining. For the sake of his sanity and the mission, Law didn’t dwell on things he couldn’t change. He waited until the hackney pulled away then shoved Weaver into a brick alcove.

“Weapons check,” he ordered Street.

The man jutted his ample jaw and set to work on his Wilson Combat Supergrade nine elevens, inspecting the magazines and wracking a bullet into the slide of each.

“I think I have gun envy.” Law sighed.

“I wouldn’t say that too loud. Your Sigs’ll get jealous. Bad luck to question your weapons before a mission.”

“Well, here comes my good luck and your tough luck.”

To his credit, Street didn’t blanch as the grey Benz paralleled into a dime sized spot between a white Mercedes and royal blue BMW. Magdalena’s small feet hit the pavement a second later clad in sleek cream heals. Her legs tapered into perfect curves and his cock saluted. When she stood she knocked him clean out. Law grabbed his heart and staggered as she dazzled him in a like-colored skirt suit, adoringly tailored to the sway of her luscious body. The faint lines of worry fell from her face and it lit with the curl of her lips and brow in playful joy, which he’d come to depend on in such short time.

She walked into him, banding her arms under the leather of his holster and holding tight. Law gripped her nape, careful not to muss her neatly styled hair, but held her as securely as he could without compromising her breath. Street stepped toward Weaver, giving them some time, and he didn’t rush it away. He treasured the feel of her warm body pressed to his, the smell of her airy floral perfume, and the earthiness of her exhalations, the strum of her heart over his middle.

Far too soon Magdalena loosened her death grip and stepped back. Moisture glistened in the well of her pale green eyes and it pinched his heart. “Don’t cry, tart. It’ll ruin your make-up. I’ve never seen you in make-up. It’s nice.” He lowered his head to her ear. “Though, I’ll enjoy melting it off your pretty skin even more. I want to see those freckles.”

“You are too much,” she whispered.

“Nope. I’m not enough, but I’ll try to be.” He kissed her red lips.

“All right, you two need to get going,” Khani barked. “Are you sure you don’t need the ass-hat?”

“He already spilled his guts. It’ll be an in-and-out. Don’t worry. Either of you.” Law narrowed his gaze at Magdalena. “Are you sure about spending quality time with him?”

“Yeah.” Magdalena nodded and let her voice carry. “You taught me how to shoot a gun. If Weaver screws with me, I’ll just show him my newfound skill.”

Law gave Magdalena his signature wink and turned toward Weaver. “Last chance to confess. If I live through an ambush, and the odds are very likely I will, I’ll make sure you live the rest of your life dickless. Not that you’re far from it now.”

The bloke had the mind not to glare when he replied. “I’ve told you everything, enough to get me killed by a thousand different men.”

Law turned his gaze on Street and gestured toward Khani. “Hand him over.” The big chap frog-marched Weaver across the concrete to stand next to his tall, leanly muscled friend. Standing side-by-side, Street and Slaughter looked ready to rip each other apart. Law just couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way. He doubted they knew which side the arching tension favored.

Street released Weaver and got in his face. “You fuck with either of them, I won’t stop at your dick. You’d be truly amazed what a man can live without.” He straightened and the snarling beast receded as a smile spread across his face and he chucked the chav’s shoulder. “Eyes. Nose. Ears. They’re all nonessential. Can you believe that?”

Law finished his weapons check and turned to Magdalena. “Not too early, okay?”

“You be safe and I will too.” She pulled him down for a quick brush of her lips then shoved him toward the alley. “Now go. I can’t stand imagining what he’s done to Willow. Waiting is eating me alive.”

He turned and hustled down the sidewalk to the narrow alley with Street at his heels. Their boots clopped softly against the damp pavement. At the next building they climbed the fire escape in complete silence as they’d done once before earlier in the evening. Law stilled at the top, listening for any sound. He heard the splashes of cars driving through large puddles on the main road, the bustle of the city, but nothing beyond.

Law eased his gaze over the edge, but found a guard in his line of sight. He climbed over the metal ornamentation at the roofline and jumped to the tar top with a whisper. Street followed and they split, crouching low and circling an ornate greenhouse overrun with twisting vines from either side. The guard kicked back on his ass, fingers clasped behind his head. Street reached the man first and Law felt a little sorry for the guy. The kid’s meaty fist caught his attention too late and put him to sleep for the next hour or so. After securing him with a series of zip ties they left to scout the other rooftops.

The second roof went similarly, but he and Street both had some fun at the rear entrance of the swanky building. Both guards covering it fancied themselves ninja, but they needed more practice.

With a regular doorman at the front they opted to go in through the back. It took Street less than ten seconds to pick the lock on the thick metal door, and again Law hated being impressed. Law picked Livingston’s front door in eighteen seconds and those three extra seconds raked the bloody hell out of his nerves, until he heard a woman scream.

“No! No! You son of a bitch. I hope you die of a heart attack.”

Shit got real in a flash. He and Street moved through the high-dollar hell. Guns drawn and ready, they cleared the area with economic sweeps. The gilded den and state of the art kitchen held nothing of interest, but Law’s stomach roiled in the dining room.

A twelve-foot long, carved cherry wood table held two place settings. One plate held only a charger, but no plate of food, while the other was littered with throwaways of a rack of lamb, potatoes, and green beans. The chair at the head of the table with the used plate was kicked at an angle toward the one to its left, which hosted leather restraints at the polished arms and legs. Just like he’d used on Weaver.

Law gave a hand signal and they moved like silent death through an office and a guest room with restraints and rumpled bedding. The final room sat at the end of the hall, its door opened wide, inviting them in to a show they didn’t care to watch. Street’s body was loose, but his jaw worked and nostrils flared, as Law knew his did.

Law holstered his gun, waited a count of three, and they moved in tandem. Street went low, scanning the area with the black barrel of his 1911 while Law went high. High speed, collecting more as he steamed across the room, and plowed into Livingston Hues. Law’s force ripped the pig’s potbellied nakedness from the back of Willow’s bruised body. The man screamed as he tumbled onto the floor. When Law landed atop him the cries muffled. Law looped his left arm under Livingston’s soft jowl and constricted like an anaconda, sinking his biceps into the man’s windpipe.

The old man wiggled, imitating a fish caught in the jaws of a shark. Law’s right fist balled, shaking with fury and the relentless urge to pummel the piece of shit into a pile of slushy bio-waste. He settled for one bone-shattering blow to the kidney. With any luck, Hues would piss blood for weeks and breathe with a hitch for far longer.

Livingston’s trembling body slackened as he faded into unconsciousness. Law released his hold and stood before the chav moved past oblivion and slipped into death. He didn’t deserve to die so painlessly. Law would let one of the hundreds of warlords and disgraced government officials Weaver and Hues entertained with blackmailed young women hire a prison yard hit. First, he’d watch them stripped of every luxury their twisted scheme earned them. Then he’d see them crucified in the media spotlight and public eye.

Law turned to see Street hustling through the door with the comforter from the guest room bed tossed over his arm. Willow lay belly-down in an X across the crisply made bed, the deep red paisleys contrasting her pale skin with a gruesome pop. Her leather-cuffed wrists and ankles were secured with a length of braided rope to each of the four intricately carved posts. The angle of her neck craned toward him and Willow’s muddy eyes challenged him. Streams of coal-watered mascara didn’t diminish their defiance.

His knees met the hardwood where he stood a good ten feet from the bed and offered Willow his palms. He raised his chin to Street who took the cue and hung back. Law held her gaze. “Willow, we’re friends of Magdalena. I’m Law Pierce, Baine’s housemate.” Her lips parted on a gasp. “The man behind you is Street.” She stiffened. “He’s a friend too. We’re going to get you out of here.”

When the tension on the ropes and in her body slackened, he continued. “Street has a blanket to cover you with then we’ll cut your binds. Do you give us permission to help?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

The rasp of her voice brought Law back to a dank hut in the middle of the misty jungle. Back to the ruined sound of his own pitiful cries. His hands gripped the fabric stretched over his thighs and bit down.
The fucking bastards. Then and now.
No matter how strong he’d been mentally, his body betrayed him, cowing in vicious growls then wrenching screams that clung to his brain like starving leeches.

How dare they do that to her?

Siren trills whispered in the distance. Law collected his past, shoved it into the dim recesses of his mind then trained it on the present. He looked to Street and the bloke stepped forward, covering Willow’s bareness with an inscrutable expression. Law unsheathed his KABAR. A tear slid over the curve of her chin and fell to the pillow.

“For the bonds,” he reminded in yoga calm.

She gave a wobbling, lopsided grin, and he lunged at the leather straps. After the hide separated he pushed toward the band at the head of the bed while Street mirrored his movements on the opposite side of Willow. She flailed beneath the garish gold coverlet, trying to reclaim her body.

Street’s rage flashed white-hot on his face as the behemoth stalked toward Livingston’s unconscious heap. His brows slanted toward the floor and his head dropped low like a dog ready to attack. Law held his tongue, anxious to see what the rookie would do. Angered or not the kid stuck to the plan, pulling a chair from the corner desk and shackling the rat bastard to it. Law turned his attention back to Willow.

“The feeling will come back to your extremities slowly. You’ll feel the pressure at your wrists and ankles for the next couple of days. Just breathe through the panic when it comes.” He stepped toward the bed. “I’m going to adjust the blanket and pick you up. We’ve got to move.”

“The police,” Willow whispered. She collapsed onto her side, gasping. “He has to pay. They have to pay for what they’ve done. I have to tell, no matter the cost. I have to believe my dad would agree that what they’re doing isn’t worth his secret or now mine.”

“You’re one brave lady, Willow. You can talk to the police after I get you to a hospital, but Hues and Weaver are going to be buried deep whether you come forward or not.”

“No.” Her voice quavered and her body trembled so profusely the tassels on the mounded pillows undulated. “I almost got Magdalena killed because I didn’t tell the police. I will, but I should have sooner. I’m not brave. I’m broken. The thought of being examined, of going to the sterile confines of a brightly lit hospital, makes me want to curl into a ball and die. Just end it all.”

“Broken doesn’t fight back.” He pointed to her raw and blistered wrist. “Broken doesn’t speak its mind. Broken doesn’t recognize the ease of death. It submits to death without a thought, without a word.”

Law slid his arms under Willow’s head and thighs and held his breath as he lifted her. The grimace on her face screwed tight, but when she didn’t cry out in pain he let out the imprisoned air. “You’re not broken. Chipped around the edges, but take it from someone who knows. The jagged points dull over time.”

Willow relaxed into his hold and whispered, “Thank you. But still, no hospital.”

“I know a clinic doc, but he’ll probably scare you more than a hospital.” He turned to Street who scattered the printed proof of Hues’ and Weaver’s crimes around the naked man’s feet. “Let’s get out of here before one of us kills the piece of shit.”

“Finally we agree on something,” Street said.