Broken Justice (Justice Brothers)

by Halliday, Suzanne

  Sprawled across the bed, she was captivated by the width of his shoulders and the unusual tattoo circling his bicep. His deeply tanned torso, contoured with the distinctive shape of some seriously hard-muscled abs, was covered by a smattering of dark hair that fed in a diminishing line into his boxers. Powerful thighs and long legs flickered across her glance before her eyes fixed on the clear outline of his sex in the soft cotton molded to his body.

  Not having any experience whatsoever in what a real, live, fully-grown man looked like in his underwear, Lacey couldn’t help but indulge her curiosity as she took in the full measure of the man before her. She’d seen a famous sports celebrity hawking the type of boxers he had on in an ad. Even passed out with sickness, he looked better than the guy had in the magazine she’d seen. Clearly he wasn’t a tighty whities kind of guy and considering what was staring her in the face, she was unexpectedly glad.

  The elastic band of the snug, grey cotton boxer briefs slung low beneath his navel revealing v-shaped lower abs that disappeared behind the soft fabric. Naturally slim-hipped, the boxers clung to the tops of his bulging, muscular thighs in a way that made Lacey’s mind go blank. It was the pouch where his private parts were that almost made her stop breathing. The snug cotton clung to his manhood leaving very little to the imagination, even for an inexperienced and slightly naïve imagination.

  Feeling like a naughty voyeur, she cleared her throat while staring shamelessly. The rounded spheres of his balls supported the outline of a penis that she could clearly make out where it lay against his groin, almost topping out of the waistband. Even passed out, his virility screamed loud and clear as she mapped the impressive length and fat head of his staff. Yeah, there was no denying it - he was devastatingly gorgeous.

  What the hell was she doing? Lacey’s mind screamed as her conscience tapped on her shoulder with a snappy reminder that she was ogling an unconscious man. Well, she was only human after all and her dark knight was one mouth-watering sight capable of drenching the panties of a nun, if truth were told.

  Yanking her messy ponytail over her shoulder, she cleared her throat yet again and tried unsuccessfully to pull her wayward thoughts back in to line. Fantasizing about some hot guy was a luxury Lacey hadn’t had time for in her daily struggle to survive. She’d been fierce in her determination to get past the limitations visited upon her life by those who should have been taking care of a young and growing child. All the normal teenage things like having girlfriends, make-up, boys, dating, clothes, pop culture, going to prom, and even graduating from high school had been totally absent and left unfulfilled.

  With a self-conscious grimace, she admitted that something as simple and innocent as enjoying the sight of a good-looking guy was an extravagance she’d never indulged in. Keeping herself together and safe was a tall order that dominated every waking hour and seeped into her dreams. While young women her age were daydreaming about careers, weddings, a house in the suburbs with a mini-van in the driveway, and a hunky husband mowing the lawn, Lacey’s fanciful musings were more basic like having a real bed to sleep in, enough to eat and some money in her pocket. Cameron’s passed out form shot right past all those basics and struck her emotionally in a place she didn’t know existed.

  Looking around the room, she spied a shallow plastic container that could be filled with water so she could get a cold compress on his head to help lower his body temperature. The bathroom was a disaster but he managed not to vomit all over the place, a small blessing that allowed Lacey to focus on other things like the sick man she felt compelled to help.

  Several hours passed with no improvement in Cameron’s condition. In fact, the fever and shaking only seemed to increase. Lacey’s anxiety spiked higher and higher as she struggled to stay ahead of the escalating problems. Biting her lip and frowning with concentration, she tried pressing a cold washcloth to his forehead but the fever seemed to be raging out of control. When that didn’t get the desired results she went one step further, running the cooling cloth over his impressive torso.

  He certainly was something to behold. His body was so hard and uncompromising that saying he had abs of steel seemed like an understatement. As she swiped the cool wet cloth across his torso and down his massive, muscled arms, she studied the dark tribal looking tattoo that wrapped around one bicep. Even the ink marking him seemed dark and dangerous.

  She kept up the slow languid strokes of the cooling cloth across his fevered skin, telling herself all the while that she was simply doing what anyone in her position would. Liar, her conscience screamed as she tried desperately not to enjoy the way his skin felt under her fingers. Laying the palm of her hand against his temple once more to gauge his temperature, she couldn’t help but brush the long hair back from his forehead while enjoying the softness she discovered when her fingers swept through his black mane.

  He moaned at her touch, turning his face toward her hand as if seeking comfort. She highly doubted that was something he would do if not for the fever. He very much struck her as a man who didn’t look outside himself for anything. Seems familiar, she snorted wryly to no one but herself.

  Lacey glanced at the clock and then back at a severely weakened Cameron, whose temperature was showing no signs of abating. Sitting by his side on the double bed, she considered her options, trying to decide what she should do next. She spied the first aid kit he’d brought out earlier.

  “Oh, thank God,” she muttered upon finding a package of liquid fever reducer in handy single dose packets. She wondered why he travelled with a complete first aid kit that was something of a mini-triage set-up. Deciding it was none of her business, she set about ripping the top off of one of the packets and carefully dribbling the gooey liquid into his mouth. She followed that with a slow, thin stream of cold water to flush the fever reducer down his throat. Relieved to have accomplished this task so easily, Lacey crossed her fingers and prayed that the medication worked quickly.

  The next hour passed with his body still shivering even though he was under several blankets. In his delirium Cameron was mumbling and thrashing about the bed, obviously running from whatever demons his fever produced.

  “Drae, Drae,” he muttered in an anguished groan. “Find Alex. Oh my God! Oh my God! Everyone is dead,” he cried out as his body shook and shuddered. “No, nooooo!” he choked out as the fevered nightmare took over. Lacey looked around the room, wondering what she could do. He couldn’t continue on like this without possibly hurting himself and as big as he was she seriously doubted her ability to restrain him should he get out of control.

  “Oh, pooh,” she muttered tersely as she came to a hasty decision. Quickly peeling off her jeans and Cameron’s old sweatshirt, she slipped under the covers and pulled his sweat covered, cold, quaking body close to hers, wrapping him in her arms as she willed her own body heat to ease his suffering. He seemed to relax almost immediately while Lacey, in nothing but an old stretchy camisole and plain cotton undies, wrapped herself around him as best she could.

  She whispered to him quietly and calmly in his fevered restlessness so he would know she was there and trying to do all she could to help him. Cooing to him as a mother would to a sick child, she spoke in hushed tones trying to ease his pain. “It’s alright Cameron. I’ve got you. Relax. Relax.” Cuddling his body close while stroking fingers gently across his fevered brow, she noticed that he responded to the sound of her voice, going still and turning toward her.

  It wasn’t all that unpleasant to have the huge, muscular man in her arms. They seemed to fit together in some odd way. As she soothed him with inane words he calmed even more, eventually curling into her body with his head on her shoulder and a knee thrown over her leg, effectively trapping her in place. The crooked leg pressing between her thighs made her pulse race.

  While her heart thumped wildly, Lacey cooed on, telling him random details of her life and at one point, desperate for words, even reading the community messages she found flashing on the local cable channel. She to
ld him all about recycling dates and an arts festival coming to town. She read telephone numbers for animal control and recited the names of everyone in the school district’s administration, just to keep him still. Whenever she paused he moaned and became restless. It struck her someplace deep inside that the sound of her voice was bringing him comfort from his fevered demons.

  Time passed as his temperature continued to rage but Lacey never stopped her soft words and gentle touches. At some point he snuggled deep into her neck. She could feel his hot breath against her skin while he gently cupped her breast in the hand that had flung across her. She had to bite back a groan of her own when his sturdy fingers wrapped around the soft mound, causing her nipple to harden and ache from the contact. To add to her already off-the-chart physical awareness of him, when he shifted his thigh over hers she could feel the unmistakable presence of the part of him that made him so masculine; the part she had been ogling and curious about earlier.

  She adjusted her hips to make the contact more direct and flushed with embarrassment at the realization that she was enjoying their tangled limbs. Biting back a string of graphic swear words that she would never dream of uttering out loud, Lacey kept up the running dialogue that was soothing the dark knight.

  They stayed like that for long hours with Lacey wide-awake and conscious of his every move. At one point in his delirium, he mumbled what sounded like military talk as he fought off the nightmares. She caught words like ambush and IED and shuddered knowing he’d been through some sort of soldier’s hell. She thought that explained a lot.

  Trying to ease his anguish, she stroked the muscled arm crossing her chest and much to her horror, allowed her leg to move along his thigh while his manhood pressed intimately against her female core. He seemed to like that and nestled deeper into her, relaxing and murmuring hushed sounds that she couldn’t make out. She thought she heard him mutter “ponytail,” and went completely still.

  When he shimmied slightly causing his thigh to rub sensuously between her legs, Lacey didn’t even try to bite back the moan of awareness and full body shudder that rolled through her. He was killing her with a flash of fire she’d never experienced before. That he was unaware of what he was doing brought pangs of regret to her confused mind.

  Seconds later she distinctly heard, “Mmmm, Ponytail. Been waiting for you.” Her world shuddered to a screeching halt. Was he talking about her? Fevers didn’t lie and couldn’t play mind games. Was he dreaming about her? A girl with a shaky past and no future who he’d only met this morning?

  Leaning into him she whispered, “I’m here, Cameron. You’re with me and everything is gonna be alright.” His answering groan and the heavy, relaxing sigh that followed sliced through her composure like a hot knife cutting through soft butter. Lacey was undone. She never, ever allowed anyone to get close so she didn’t understand what was happening. How could she, who rarely relaxed or felt safe, suddenly feel as though she’d found a place that was hers and hers alone; wrapped up in an embrace with a man she didn’t really know?

  Left alone with her thoughts, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and see where this strange encounter led. Dawn had long since passed when she felt his fever finally break. Waves of relief flooded through her now that the crisis had passed. Satisfied that she’d done all she could, Lacey slipped from the bed, pulled on his old sweatshirt once again, and collapsed in a thankful heap on the sofa before eventually drifting off into a deep sleep.

  The all-too familiar dream turned nightmare had him in its deadly grip as Cam burned through a fever that shut down his body and ignited his brain. As each flickering scene danced in his mind’s eye, building toward the black oblivion that waited, his body tensed just a little bit more until stiff and unyielding he was thrust backwards in time to that awful day.

  As always, the unremarkable parts of what had started off as just another sand and dust choked day played out in rapid fire fashion; a game of horseshoes with Drae, the way a bottle of water he’d been guzzling had warmed in the relentless heat, the muffled sound overhead when the occasional breeze of hot, dry air rustled the American flag that was raised each day just yards from where he stood. Nothing remarkable stood out because those were the moments of a soldier’s life that played on an endless loop. Then there were the scenes of horror and fear, reliving moments of physically demanding effort when, weighed down by Kevlar and firearms, each man’s mettle was tested over and over.

  He knew, even in the throes of the fever that had overtaken him, what was coming next. All these years later the sensation of apprehension racing through his nervous system and the way his senses switched from neutral to high alert in a flash never failed to get his heartbeat racing. He remembered with crystal clarity the way his weapon felt in his grip and the sound of gravel and sand being crunched underfoot as he and Drae raced toward the danger with no thought of their own safety. A warrior’s salvation was found in forward motion, only on this day that deliverance was framed in black smoke and surrounded by death and an anger that burned deep in his gut, even to this day.

  Eventually the nightmare exploded just as the day had and Cam was thrown into a deep tangle of horror punctuated with the sounds and smell of death, infused with treachery and fear. Blood and terror swam before his closed eyes until revulsion for what had been lost mixed with a steely determination to escape that burning hell hole lifted him from the past a split second before his eyes opened on the present day.

  He lay there, letting the past recede from his thoughts and willing his racing heart to calm and return to normal. Minutes ticked by and the memories that had been loosened by sickness slowly faded until silence was the only thing left. Cam blinked heavily once or twice then struggled to sit up before gingerly swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  At first he could only sit there, elbows resting on his knees that seemed just a bit shaky. Holding his head with both hands he scrubbed his fingers back and forth against his skull through hair that needed a trim. God, his mouth felt dry and downright nasty and the aftermath of a high fever left him smelling like an over-ripe kennel.

  Eventually raising his head, he swiped a hand down his chest and took a deep steadying breath. Looking around, he immediately started noting every detail about his surroundings. Down by his feet in a rumpled pile were the jeans he’d shed along with a t-shirt, his socks and boots. On the nightstand lay his pair of Oakley sunglasses, his key ring, the room key and the old, leather wallet he carried. A plastic container of water with a washcloth hanging over the side was evident and the bed he sat on was seriously rumpled.

  Turning toward the flickering TV he immediately noticed the Ponytail, with her back to him, where she lay curled on the ancient sofa under the window whose curtains were blessedly closed tight. The light peeking in around the sides told him it was probably mid-day but right this second a blast of bright sunlight would probably cause his head to explode.

  The surge of relief that shot through Cam upon finding her still on the scene almost rivaled the sudden tightening in his shorts. He studied her as she shimmied to find a more comfortable position and in doing so caused his oversized sweatshirt to ride up, revealing a pair of no-nonsense white panties.

  The sight of those simple panties shot through him like a cannonball of desire that landed squarely in his head, both of them. The one on his shoulders that should know better, and the one twitching between his legs that apparently did not. Unbidden, but definitely in full-on Technicolor, his thoughts created an erotic tableau that showed him moving across the room to strip the sensible white cotton from the deliciously heart-shaped derrière staring him in the face so he could run his big hands along the plump orbs to see if her skin was as soft and warm as his imagination insisted it would be. That mouth-watering thought was immediately followed by an urgent desire to flip her over and bury his face between her thighs. Licking and probing her damp folds with his tongue while she writhed and whimpered until he’d made her come with a scream that he knew
would be as sexy as her voice.

  When his dick started throbbing in the confines of his shorts, Cam knew for sure the sickness of yesterday had passed and the current aching of his sex was much, much more than a simple reaction to a morning hard-on. He’d never experienced a wanting as strong as the one turning him inside out now. Where the hell had all this come from?

  Having never had a girlfriend or anything that even remotely resembled an actual romantic relationship, Cam’s preference was for uncomplicated sex whenever and however he wanted. A direct result of his life-long impulse to never let down his guard with, or put his full trust in, a woman. Any woman. His mother had taught him that lesson from the cradle. He didn’t consider himself a man-whore, but in all honesty, he didn’t get all that invested in whether his sexual partners enjoyed what passed between them. He preferred adult encounters with women who were savvy enough to take control of their own gratification.

  Oh, he was great in the sack and had the necessary knowledge and talent to bring any woman to a quivering, moaning completion. But the last year or so he’d been more and more unsatisfied with everything surrounding the emotionally empty, sex-fueled encounters that were his norm. He’d been sleeping with a divorced mother of two who he’d met through work. She was a lawyer coming out of an ugly divorce with no interest in romance or relationships. What they did together was about getting laid. She was a terrific legal resource, wanted nothing from him but his cock, and was a high-energy lover with a taste for mild BDSM. They had hooked up every few weeks for more than a year at a motel out in the desert where ‘anonymous’ was everyone’s first name.

  Cam hadn’t been fond of the heavy-handed caveman antics she needed in order to get off but his powerful sex drive had overridden whatever dissatisfaction he felt afterwards. Until six months ago they had regularly indulged in what had become increasingly dreary encounters. After his return from Mexico, he simply never contacted her again. Something had happened to him in those long months south of the border. Maybe he’d had too much tequila or maybe he’d spent too much time thinking about the wasteland that his personal life had become. Whatever. There’d been a shift in his thinking and he didn’t need to pick apart his emotional life, or lack thereof, at every turn in the road. It is what it is, plain and simple.