Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  “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.”

  37

  Street 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?”