Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  “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.

  38

  “That’s your cue,” Khani said with an elbow to Magdalena’s upper arm. The nudge caused a major collision of the stacks of paper she held in each hand. Pages curved and bent at odd angles, voicing their protest with pops and snaps. Her white knuckled grip on the facts of Hues’ and Weaver’s terrorism held firm as her heart skipped at Khani’s words. She tore her gaze from the black ink, and then pasted it to a white van with BBC block letters parked a few feet away on the main street.

  “I’m going to throw up on my fancy shoes.”

  “Just do it after you get out of my car. I already have to get the trunk detailed from Weaver’s rancid ass.”

  Thinking about the weasel, who had hurt her best friend and tried to have her and Law killed, trussed like the pig that he was eased Magdalena’s nausea. Thinking about him and his sleazy partner getting their comeuppance steeled her backbone. She straightened her stacks of proof into a neat pile and turned to Khani.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like a budding journalist.” The last of the tension Mags had sensed in her new friend finally ebbed as Khani smiled, a nearly imperceptible curve of her vivid lips. The grin she’d given after slamming the trunk on Weaver had been bigger, but this one was honest. “Now, get out of here. So I can hand deliver this trash to the Met and you can tell the world what they did.”

  Magdalena spent the next hour reporting the biggest news story since the queen’s trip to Ireland or the proposal of the Scottish Independence Referendum. After tonight, she guessed Law could call her a reporter. As long as he tacked on and journalist to the end. Her favorite shot of the night was detailing the two men’s scheme while the police escorted Livingston Hues from his posh flat in boxer shorts and handcuffs. If there was any liberation for the women they’d hurt, this was the first step in the winding staircase.

  Minutes after Hues had been hauled away, news vans, police cars, and onlookers littered the tight one-way street, choking off any hope of escape. Magdalena exhausted every angle the directors could possibly want on the scarcely believable drama. She handed the clip-on microphone to the cameraman, a sweet old pro, and wiped her damp palms on the waist of her jacket as though smoothing it out.

  “Thank you so much, Arthur. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Call me Art, Ms. Wells. You’re a natural with the story punches. We’ll get your camera fright under control in no time, not that anyone watching would notice. I’ve never seen anyone who can fidget so much below the waist and keep stock still on frame.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment and would love to work with you again, but I think this was a one shot deal.”

  The salt and pepper bloke snapped his fingers and tapped an index to his forehead. “I’d forget my blood pressure meds, if Irene didn’t shove them down my throat every morning. Don’t know what I’d do without that woman. Take a breath and I’ll be back in a sec.”

  “All right.” Mags shrugged and tried not to tap the sole of her shoe on the hard concrete. Art disappeared into the back of the van in a spry hop for a man with close to thirty pounds of steady cam rigging and recorder strapped to his chest. She released the air she’d fortified herself with in Khani’s car, oh so long ago, and nearly collapsed on the sidewalk. The weight of everything suddenly seemed more than she could endure.

  The rumble of a far-off engine pricked her ears. Magdalena snapped her head up so fast she stumbled on the towering heels. She righted her stance and scanned the crowd and gridlock of cars, but didn’t see the smooth looking ride she sought, nor the man she wanted so desperately. She hugged her arms around her middle.

  People hollered as the motor roared and the crowd on the sidewalk parted. Law maneuvered the Hog through the angered mass and up to the police blockade where a small officer with an even smaller hand told him to S.T.O.P. At least that’s what she gathered from the gesture.

  Magdalena’s hands fell to her sides. She took a step toward him then another. The instinct to run to him took over.

  “Hold up a minute, Ms. Wells. Opportunities like this don’t come along everyday. I don't think you want to pass it up.”

  She didn’t want to pass Law up. Not ever. Not for anything. She smiled back at Arthur. “I have someone to meet.”

  “Is he more important than a job with the BBC?” He held up a thick packet of papers and shook them at her with are you crazy eyes.

  Shock stole her tongue, but only for a moment. “Yes, he is.”


  “Good, then he’ll wait thirty seconds while you shove the contract in that briefcase of yours.” Art came forward and shoved the stack into the guts of her teal tote, along-side the other sheets she had stowed. “Enjoy tonight, but review it and get it back to the boss as soon as you can. He’s ready to put you to work.”

  Magdalena grabbed Art’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you. Get on home to Irene.”

  “I’ve got some b-roll to collect, but she’ll wake up when I get home.” The sly dog winked.

  Mags blushed to her toes, turned, and ran on three inch heels toward Law. He sat like an immovable wall of black from helmet, to leather jacket, to pants and boots. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She weaved around the barricades and eagerly accepted the helmet he held out to her. With a hike of skirt and swing of her leg Magdalena slid behind him, not caring one bit how indecent she appeared to the throng. She held tight to her bag and banded Law’s torso with her other arm.

  For a long while neither said anything. They weaved through dense city traffic, exchanging scorching body heat and sharing the freedom of the ride. How far she’d come in such a short time. From fearing the pulse of need and love, of abandon, Law stirred inside her, to craving it like the air she breathed. She hugged him as hard as her muscles would allow then decided she needed to lift weights because her grip wasn't nearly strong enough to convey her love.

  “How is Willow?”

  “She is strong and in good hands. It’ll be a long road, but she’ll work through it because she has people who care about her.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “I’ll take you as soon as she gets to her father’s house.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “At Dr. Dylan Cole’s clinic. He’s keeping her for observation tonight. When I left she was sleeping with the help of a few drugs. Her dad sat beside her bed with his boyfriend, Roark, holding his hand. And doc is staying the night.”

  “You are too good to me.”

  “Not even close.”

  “How did you get me a crew, special anchor spot, and a job with the freaking BBC?”

  “On your merit with a little records help from Mrs. Fry. But they’d flagged your stories for the UN. You were already on their radar.

  “Magdalena, can I take you home?”

  “Only if by home you mean your home.”

  39

  Magdalena’s eyes opened then blinked into uncomfortable clarity the rays of daylight filtering through the windows. The room greeted her with the familiar scent of her man and she slumped back into the fluffy down. Tiny bits of fabric and feathers launched into the air and wafted through the streaks of day in casual eddies. Remembering waking in this house similarly two-and-a-half weeks earlier, she smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.

  So much had changed since then. Not the least of which was the fact that she was about to propose. Screw waiting. Boink tradition. Mags knew what she wanted and who she wanted it with. Forever was a long damn time. If Law didn’t turn tush and run, she’d cherish every day she was given.

  Since Hues’ and Weaver’s arrests he’d been whatever she needed him to be. A sounding board for career decisions. Firm arms to hold her up when she’d taken care of Willow and bore witness to the effects of the atrocities she’d endured. A shoulder to cry on when it all became too much. An ardent lover, kissing away the pain. Quick hands to catch her when she met Baine’s love, Sloan, and found out he was getting married in a week. Which happened to be today.

  Mags rolled toward the center of the bed, but, as she’d expected, found it empty. Well, not empty. Just void of the person she wanted most. In his place as it had been for the past few mornings was a handwritten breakfast menu.

  Lordy, if he doesn’t know the way to my heart.

  Two minutes later Law strolled through the door, his chest resplendently bare save for the breakfast tray and its accouterments blocking the carved ridges of his abdomen. Over the last two weeks she’d mapped the topography of his body with her tongue and knew every hard inch of him intimately. Enthusiastically. Even the parts hidden beneath his flannel pajama pants.

  “Strawberry waffles? I’m so spoiled, I may never leave.”

  Law set the tray on the side table and bit at the hand she used to steal a crinkled bite of bacon. Mags squealed, shoved the burn her tongue hot morsel inside her mouth and huddled back in the bed, carefully holding the near sizzling piece of meat between her teeth until it cooled.

  “You don’t have a flat to go back to, not that you couldn't buy a nice one with your new job.” Law’s muscles flexed as he arranged things about the tray, blocking her view.

  Mags chewed the warm, salty tidbit and swallowed. “The flat held bad memories for Willow and me. Selling the place was a healing step. She’s looking so much better in just a short time. Cole is good for her. He pushes her, but no more than she can handle. I really can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for her. And me.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, tart. But I thoroughly enjoy the effort you put forth in that department.” Mags thought she heard a smile in his voice, but he turned with a slanted grin and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His stalk toward the bed curled her toes.

  “I don’t have time to thank you much more or buy a flat with my dissertation and job. I can’t believe I’m a BBC journalist and reporter.” She giggled, trying to ignore Law as he gripped the covers at her feet and flipped them over his head. “I don’t even have time to enjoy you nibbling my toes…”

  He bit the arch of her foot. She yelped and instinctively jerked, but his firm hands held her to the bed at her thighs. Law spread them wide, nestling his wide shoulders between them.

  “My calves…” His lips molded adoringly to the gentle curve of her lower leg then higher. “My thighs…”

  “My…oh my God.” She moaned as his tongue slid devilishly from her cheeks to her clit. Her body opened to him, quickening at his touch. But far sooner than she’d been conditioned to expect, Law glided his magic mouth over her belly and up between the valley of her breasts.

  He tongued her right nipple then kissed the left before sealing one over her heart and surfacing from beneath the covers. The brilliance of his face stole her breath for the thousandth time. His full brows and green eyes, firm jaw and full lips, his stubble and sweet smile swelled her heart.

  “It’s your day off, remember? Wedding day.”

  “Yes, I do. We just disbanded a sex slave ring, but you’ve kept me imprisoned in this bed every moment you could for the past couple of weeks. How could I forget?”

  “You’re free to go at any time.” His lips thinned.

  “Really?” Her brow quirked.

  “No.” The smirk playing around his lips fell. Law bracketed his weight on either side of her body, snuggling his hot skin to her thighs and arms. He grabbed her left hand and held it in his own.

  Magdalena took a breath, knowing this was the perfect moment. “Law, will you…” His words overtook hers. “Remember when…”

  Noting the set of his jaw and the vulnerability in his wide gaze, she let him have the moment. There would be others.

  “Remember when I asked if I could bring you home and you said, ‘If you mean your home.’ I want us to make our home. Here or wherever you’d like. Whether we have twenty more days or eighty years on this rock, I want us to live them together.”

  Tears blurred her view of his face and Mags blinked them away.

  Law rubbed the wet trail down her face. “Magdalena, will you marry me?”

  “Yes!”

  Her morning breath probably kicked him in the face, but it couldn’t stifle the toothy grin she sported. Neither did it repress Law’s affection. He grazed his lips over her tear-stained cheek to her open mouth and attacked with precision and strength. When they both panted he broke the kiss and levered over her. He kissed the ring finger of her left hand, the one he straightened for her, then slid a ring that froze the synapses in her brain over her first knuckle.
r />   “Holy shit. It is… You get me,” she stuttered.

  A rectangular emerald hid the width of her finger, but it was far from humdrum. Carved like a starburst, the face of the gem exploded with character while below the surface, grass and sea green battled, claiming equally dazzling property. Diamond baguettes fanned the longest sides of the stone, anchoring it in place and snaking around the platinum band.

  “It’s not a diamond.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It’s better.” Law flashed her his one shallow dimple and she could have burst into song, but she spared them both. “I love you,” she laughed.

  “I love you, Magdalena.”

  A firm double knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Mags, thirty minutes till torture time. You love birds better get in one last quickie before we leave,” Sloan hollered.

  “You bet,” Mags called back. She poked her bottom lip out at Law. She looked at her engagement ring then back at Law. “We can’t tell anyone until after their honeymoon. I’m not stealing anybody’s thunder.”

  Law kissed her nose and reached for the breakfast tray. He pulled a long thin chain over her shoulder. It tickled and chilled its way across her neck and pooled over her heart. “It won’t fit on your finger for another couple of weeks anyway.”

  “What?”

  He unlatched the clasp then grabbed her hand and pulled it to his mouth. His lips warmed her top knuckle. “Swelling from the dislocation. So, I guess we can wait to tell people, but do not let my mom find out I asked before she or my sisters found out.” He pulled the ring from her finger and looped the beauty around the chain and fastened it behind her neck.

  “Until you can wear it on your finger, it can hide out in my favorite spot.” He adjusted the clasp and tugged the length, which settled in the valley of her breasts.

  “I’m not putting this gem in my pussy,” she quipped.

  “My second favorite spot,” he countered.

  “Not in my mouth either.”