Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel (2 page)

M
agdalena shoved
a handful of hair out of her face with a huff
and spread her handbag open wide. The teal green material yawned, like she longed to, revealing a heap of random crap. She tossed the three packs of plane peanuts and one of pretzels onto the library floor next to her bag, adding to the pile of shit already polluting the granite. Next went the teeny tiny models on the covers of the Elle and Vogue she’d picked up at the confectionary in the Nairobi International Airport. She dropped them unceremoniously on the heap of junk food and cigarettes.

Why the hell’d you even buy that rubbish? Certainly not for a boost of self-esteem.

At least the pile represented three addictions she’d outgrown over the last year. Hell, she deserved the scratchy irritation in the back of her throat. She’d ripped into the cancer sticks with wild abandon while running out of Heathrow, hoping to get one dear sweet drag before her father and Ruth found her in the crush of bodies surrounding the transport hub. She swallowed against the hurt she’d incurred with her haste. Turned out she choked and hacked on the poisoned air like a primary schooler stealing a puff from one of their parents’ ciggies.

With a growl, Mags thrust her hand into the thick locks at her forehead and peered into the abyss. The remaining clutter wasn’t enough to hide the USB drive she so desperately sought. Still, she abandoned her hair, pulled the straps wide, and sifted through the change, old receipts, and make-up. She scrubbed a hand over her face in irritation and was glad she’d forgone the artful gobs of cosmetics, even though she’d returned to civilization. Yet another thing she’d become accustomed to sacrificing.

Her hair caught one of her lashes and Magdalena cussed, wrapping the ornery hair around her hands and securing it with a tie, something she’d grown intimately acquainted with in the heat of DRC. In aggravation, she grabbed the bag once more and shook its contents, hoping against hope the device would magically appear.

“Blast it to Scotland and back,” she complained.

The outburst garnered her two exaggerated
shush’s
from across the expansive Law Library at Cardiff University and had the coeds at the other end of the short table talking behind their hands. One with, “Can you believe the nerve?” The other responded with a haughty shake of her prim blonde hair. “I mean, really. She is so crass.”

Magdalena scooped her heap off the floor and tossed it into her carryall with more force than necessary and straightened. She glared at the two, who had nothing more pressing than Lit 101 spread out before them, and stood. A smile curved her lips when the wooden chair screeched as she shoved it with her sandal, making room for her escape. Their hands went up again.

“Christ, just because you put your hands in front of your face doesn’t make you any quieter than me.”

Before she got thrown out on her bum, Mags turned and headed for the door. Exhaustion and anger took turns rolling through her on the six-block walk back to her apartment. When she grabbed the information she needed at the flat she could change from her white shorts and blue tank, so, when she went back to the sodded house for dusty old books and co-ed bitches, no one would recognize her.

The cool glass of The Corrier’s front door soothed the heat from her arm as she sagged against it while digging for her pass card and keys.
Home.
Jet lag, which had worked on her all day, receded to the background for a moment. Joy burst like tiny fireworks through her chest as she breathed deep the scent of exhaust, humid fog, and sausage from the restaurant around the corner. All she fancied was to curl on the sofa, catch up with Willow, watch a movie, drink some wine, sleep. Any order would do.

Her brow knit as she fished the magnetic card out and swiped it across the reader. Unease dampened her excitement of being home, much as it had when she’d rushed through her door this morning. She’d expected wide arms and girly squeals of delight from her longtime friend. What she’d gotten was a meek smile from a Willow look-alike, mild interest, and a request for Mags to vacate the flat for the evening. Her first evening back.

Magdalena wasn’t conceited by any stretch, but had it been so wrong of her to expect a warm welcome from the roommate she’d had since freshman year?
Shit, it’s not like I’m a sophomore.
She snorted. They didn’t have a neat term for what she was.
Lifer, maybe? No, that’s a prison term. Seventh-year senior, maybe.
Who the hell cared? This damn dissertation was the final hurdle to get her life rolling. After so much time wondering what she was going to do with herself, Mags knew. She finally knew.

She breathed a sigh of relief at the accomplishment then groaned when she rounded the last banister and came face to face with her front door.
The thing may as well have an unwelcome sign tacked to it for all the warmth its current tenant gave. Willow’s
cold reception hadn’t been the only thing off with her flatmate. Gaunt features hollowed the beauty’s usual voluptuous curves. Something the two had in common from the start. In the land of stick figure models they were the buxom babes, sticking out in a crowd, well, like their asses did.

Sure, nothing was wrong with Willow shedding a pound or two. Lord knows Africa had melted a few off Magdalena. But the deep, dark circles under Will’s eyes looked like bad horror film make-up. More than anything though, Mags didn’t like the way her friend had hugged herself so tightly around the middle, like she’d shatter if she didn’t hold the running crack together.

With deliberate care not to disturb the artists’ guild meeting, for fear of further alienating Willow, Mags turned the key in the lock and eased the door open without a sound. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her with the same consciousness. Expecting heated debates of Pissarro over Gauguin, when silence greeted her Mags pursed her lips, irritated at having to be so quiet as to not draw attention. She pressed to the side of the corridor, slipped off her sandals then tiptoed toward her bedroom.

She tried not to look into the living room, but it was an exercise in futility for a nosey gal like herself. Surprise double-arched her forehead. Not a single person crowded the small living space. The teal sofa sat vacant. No tushes warmed the rug, a grey vomit of geometric shapes. Only Willow’s small sketchpad lay on the coffee table.

Before Magdalena could take a step into the common room, a throaty moan reverberated through the otherwise still apartment. A wave of heat rushed over her body from the tips of her pink toenails to the top of her messy bun. She exhaled hard against the sensations brought to life by that tiny noise and tried to shake the tension coiling in her most intimate zones.
For the love.

It had been a long time since she’d thought about sex and even longer since she’d had it.
A damn shame.
But getting aroused from Willow’s moan made her skin feel a little dirty and the rest of her feel a whole lot horny. She eyed her tits and the fabric covering her erect nipples.
Sorry gals, but now is not the time.

Willow could have said, “Hey, my boyfriend’s coming over and I need to get laid. Could you give us a few hours alone?
”
Sure, she’d have been jealous her friend had chosen to get laid over welcoming her home, but she’d have understood. Willow had been way overdue for a good lay when Mags left.

Hell, maybe he’s married, or her professor. Maybe he’s a she.
Magdalena smiled. The possibilities were endless, and she didn’t have time or brain power for all of them right now. She’d talk to Will tomorrow.

With a shake of her head, Magdalena crept down the hallway, ignoring the sliver of light piercing the darkness from Willow’s bedroom, and ducked through the first doorway. Grateful, for once, a streetlight with the same wattage as the sun hung just outside her window, she avoided the two large suitcases she’d dumped in the middle of the wood floor only hours ago and closed in on the third smaller one on her desk chair.

Like it had every other time before, the painting above her tiny lilac desk stole her breath. Strokes of vibrant green livened the background while bold swaths of violet, curls of yellow and brown, and wisps of white formed the most intricate Bee Orchid she’d ever seen. Her hand rubbed away the ache its sight composed in her heart.
Better to have loved and lost. Than to never have loved at all.
The pain eased with those words because they were true. She and her dad had taken them up as their motto the day her mother died.

Willow whimpered and Magdalena automatically turned her head toward the sound. Her twin bed and wall collage of snapshots filled the space between her and the wall from which the passion seeped.
Well piss. Where the hell am I going to move my bed? Can’t leave it on the fuck wall.
It just wouldn’t do to get shaken out of bed before her alarm went off every morning. She stepped toward the pictures for a quick look at the wall-o-men she’d missed out on while getting her life together. They inhabited a majority of the photos, each a delightful memory of a shagging good time. And if she stayed in this sexed-up place a minute more she’d be tempted to give one or two of them a ring. Old habits and all.

Mags turned away from her past, figuratively and literally. She crouched and reached for the zipper to collect her USB drive. A slap split the air. The unmistakable crack of forceful skin on skin contact crackled her instincts to life. Willow cried out. The shriek held no hint of throaty lust, only stunned pain. Magdalena’s guts origamied and a crane threatened to spew from her throat. Her hand fell from the bag and she leaned toward the door, straining to hear more and at the same time hoping like hell she didn’t.

No wonder Will hadn’t told her why she needed the flat to herself. Her pitiful appearance made sense now. Willow dated some sack of crap who beat not only her self-esteem, but her body too.

Willow May Wren, what the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into?

Magdalena shot to her feet ready to knock this ass-hat for a spin, but stopped as her mind steamed ahead, taking another corner. She was all boobs and bluster. Sure Baine had shown her a few things over the years, things a lawyer shouldn’t be able to do. Still, she was only a pie piece past five feet and a pie past one-hundred pounds. How exactly was she going to help?

And leave it to Magdalena's brain to loop again. But…the lady next to her on the plane had a novel with a silver key chain on the front. It had stirred a memory on the forever-long flight. Magdalena placed the book by a conversation she and Willow had at the beginning of her time in Africa. Will had said that bondage novels were all the rage in America and making a splash back home.

Maybe she’s into BSDM. No, what the hell was it. Bondage. Dominance. Submission? Sado-something? BDSM. Maybe that’s why she wanted me out of the flat.

Not that Magdalena would ever label Will a freak, not about any sexual proclivity.
Except the peeing thing. Golden showers. I’d for sure freak-label that one. Gross.
The tension seeped from her stiff muscles and her shoulders wilted. Suddenly her bed seemed like the best place in the world. The only place she wanted to be, regardless of the damn streetlight or kinky bang going on next door. It’d been more than twenty-four hours since she’d garnered any decent sleep.

Taking even one step seemed impossible. If she gave over to gravity, the majority of her body would make it onto the bed. She slid the tote from the crook of her arm, welcoming the tingle of circulation to her fingers, and settled it and her shoes next to an old pile of fashion magazines. Mags had just given herself permission to dive for the bed when a bitchy male voice screeched its way into her ears.

“You daft bitch. I get it all. Didn’t he tell you that? I get your cunt and your mouth. I’ll even take your ass, if I fancy.”

The blows that followed left Magdalena’s hands shaking. Fear and anger churned inside her veins. The world slowed, as did the viscous blood pumping through her body. She wobbled to the closet and gripped the white doorframe for anchor. Her forehead dropped to the backs of her hands while she inhaled past the nausea.

“Open your damn mouth or I’ll go and tell them you wouldn’t cooperate.”

There was a possibility Willow was exploring her sexuality. Lord knew Magdalena had done more than her fair share. But this was nothing like she’d ever experienced. It didn't sound safe. Sane. And how in the hell could Willow consent to the degradation of his mouth and the beating of his…fist?

Fetish or not, this shit had gone too far. Willow’s appearance earlier in the day told Mags all she needed to know. The relationship wasn't healthy. She pulled the closet open then dove into the recesses of garment bags, scattered shoes, and old textbooks. When her hand hit a slab of wood she fumbled up its length until she found the dowel-shaped top and wrenched it from the far corner. Thank God her dad had made her learn cricket. She’d scoffed as a young girl playing with all his grey-haired friends, but no more. Her fist gripped the bat like it were a billion pounds and Magdalena stalked toward Willow’s room like she had big fat balls.

Unprepared. Magdalena was completely unprepared for the scene before her. She longed to shrink into a ball, cover her eyes, and wish the image away. Willow knelt on the floor beside her bed. No rigidity held her posture. Her naked body caved in on itself, shoulders hunched in retreat. All of her beautiful curves had vanished into the pit of hell she found herself wading through. The blood smearing her precious face took a back seat to the horror Willow’s expression unleashed deep in Magdalena’s soul. Vacant eyes stared blankly at the man before her, unseeing. Resignation weighted her usual smile into a wretched frown.

“That’s right,” the man said as he shoved two fingers into her mouth. “Suck em’ like you will my cock.” Her lips sealed stiffly around the chav’s bony index and middle fingers as he pumped them in and out while his other skeletal hand wound tighter into her bronze hair. Willow gagged and the man spat. “Take it, bitch, and beg for more.”

When his fingers left her mouth, swinging back high in the air and balling his fist, Magdalena freaked. The truckload of nerves coursing through her veins took an exit ramp. Her convulsing stomach settled to a calm sea. Steady legs carried her forward while strong arms levered the bat like she was on the cut. Before his knuckles moved, Magdalena unleashed the full force of her fury in a hot arch straight at the man’s belly.