Dirty War: Dirty Justice Book Two

by N. E. Henderson

  I vaguely hear Justin call my name, but I can’t look away. Drago is having lunch with her and a man. He’s older, judging from the gray in his dark hair, but I can’t see his face. Could it be D’s father I wonder?

  Rebecca is smiling so much it actually lightens up her face, making her look like less of a bitch.

  My eyes drop, watching her run her palm slowly down his forearm until she reaches the hand Drago has resting on the table. She slides her fingers over the top of Drago’s hand, wrapping hers around his.

  The air I gasp is involuntary. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d tried.

  “Is something wrong, Bri?” Justin asks.

  If the concern in his voice matches his expression, I have no idea. I still can’t stop staring at Drago’s table. As if feeling someone watching him, D’s eyes snap to mine.

  “Jesus Christ,” Justin draws out. “At least act like you don’t have feelings for him. Seriously, Andrews.”

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head, trying to gain back my composure. It doesn’t work; only frustrates me.

  I lift my eyelids, taking in Justin’s disapproving green gaze. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “You do that.” He nods as he brings his napkin to his mouth, wiping.

  Once I’m in behind the ladies’ room door and out of Drago’s sight, I sag and breathe.

  Why is he here? And with her of all people, letting her touch him. My skin heats with anger while my chest hurts. If I hadn’t gotten out of there, I’m not sure if I could have stayed rooted to my seat. I want to go over there and rip her hand off him. She shouldn’t get to touch him, not like that, not so intimately.

  Pushing off the door, I walk a few steps until I reach the sink where I turn on the faucet and begin splashing cold water on my face to cool off.

  It’s a rather fancy bathroom, so there are cloth hand towels folded and placed to the side of the sink instead of the standard paper towel dispenser. Grabbing one, I dab it onto my skin, drying up the water.

  After staring at myself in the mirror for as long as I can possibly get away with staying in here, I take a deep breath of air and then toss the used towel into the basket underneath the sink and then leave, heading back out to where I left Justin.

  Only I don’t make it more than a foot out the door before I smack into a hard chest.

  Snapping my head back, I look up, seeing Drago staring down at me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You took off to the bathroom so fast I was about to come in to make sure you were okay.”

  “No,” I bite out. “Why are you here with her?”

  “Why do you care? You said yourself you aren’t any of my business, so why am I yours?”

  “Don’t twist my words. I’m not the one that broke up with you.” My words exit bitterly.

  Stepping around him, I try to seek distance so that I don’t lash out—or breakdown. The latter being more likely at this point. I thought I had my emotions in check. I was doing really good. I haven’t cried since I released everything on my sister-in-law this past weekend. I had gotten past it all. Or I thought I had. When I realized he was sitting across the room from me, everything came back tenfold, hitting all my senses at once.

  Drago snags me around the waist, stopping my escape, then he turns me back around to face him. He waits until I’m looking up at him before he says anything, and it takes me a moment to drag my eyes up his chest. The crisp white dress shirt he’s wearing contrasts well with his bronze skin, and I like that he doesn’t wear a tie. He looks dressed up and handsome, yet more appealing and maybe a little dangerous.

  I still haven’t figured out why I like that about him so much. Maybe it’s because deep down, I know he’s a good man. He’s not a criminal like his father or like others perceive him to be because of the last name he was given at birth.

  Finally, I raise my eyes, meeting his. I have to swallow the lump in my throat. I want nothing more than to reach up and pull him down to me. I want his lips on mine and his arms around me, securing my body to his. I miss the feel of him. I miss him so much and it hurts more and more with each day, worsening versus getting better.

  “I’m not with her,” he tells me, and I do want to believe him, but I saw what I saw. She was touching him and he wasn’t making her stop.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” he breathes out. His dark gaze drops down, eyeing my lips.

  It only causes more questions to wrack my brain. Does he want to kiss me? Does he still want me? If so, why did he force me away?

  Grabbing my hips gently, he guides my body closer to his. With his right hand, he roams up my waist until he reaches my throat where his scorching hot palm lingers. Parting my mouth, I take in air and then exhale on a shaky breath.

  The way he’s looking at me ignites all of my senses and without thinking, I lean forward, inhaling him through his shirt. His smell, clean and manly with a hint of salt water sends a bolt of electricity to my core. It’s calming in all the places I’m plagued with the anxiety I’m not used to. It’s shocking in all of the places I’ve been lonely for what seems like forever, even though it’s only been a little over two weeks since we’ve touched. It’s like breathing in air when you’re on the brink of suffocating.

  “D,” I breathe out, mumbling his name through the soft material.

  His left hand squeezes my hip, but it’s a pain I welcome. With his other hand, he slides up, running his thumb under my chin, forcing me to look up at him once again.

  My eyes close briefly when his fingers slide through strands of my hair, but I don’t want to miss a second of this moment, so I slowly open my lids to look back into those eyes I love so much. He’s staring at my mouth again and before I know it, he’s sinking down to my level.

  Suddenly, he stops his descent. Drago’s eyes jerk up, looking over my head just before someone’s hand wraps around my waist, pulling me until I’m flush against another rock-solid chest. The gesture is firm, but not rough. Possessive or protective maybe.

  “Excuse us, will you?” Justin doesn’t give D a chance to respond. By the fury in Drago’s eyes, I’m not certain he’s capable of getting words out right now. “I’m going to take my date back now. Perhaps, you should get back to your own date before she comes looking for you.”

  Justin pulls me away as he takes a step backward. The sudden loss of contact with D brings a whine out of my lips. I needed him and he let Justin take me without a fight.

  Staring at Drago, I beg with my eyes, needing and wanting him, yet not able to call out to him. I watch Drago’s dark eyes intensify the farther away I get. Then my eyes drop, seeing his hands clenched together in fists at his sides. It’s not much, but for a split second, it gives me a little pleasure to know he’s affected by seeing another man touch me the same way I am when Rebecca had her hands all over him in the restaurant.

  “Let’s go, Bri,” Justin whispers into my ear.

  Grabbing my hand, he squeezes tight, making sure I can’t readily escape his hold and drags me behind him until we’re outside of the hotel, heading toward the parking lot.

  “We didn’t pay,” I yell, while at the same time yanking to get my hand free from his.

  “I took care of it,” he barks but doesn’t stop.

  “Justin, let go,” I demand.

  Finally, when we’re at least twenty yards from the main entrance, he stops, turning around to face me, but he doesn’t let me go. It’s becoming awkward and strange, him holding my hand. I’m not sure if I feel like a kid right now or what. Either way, he shouldn’t be touching me.

  “Let go!”

  He releases me, the reluctance showing clear in his green eyes.

  “What the hell was that?” He shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal. Oh, it’s a big deal to me. “That back there”—I throw my fist up, stabbing my thumb behind me—“was some territorial shit. So, I’m going to ask again, Summers. What was that?”

  I take a step f
orward, crowding his personal space and place my hands on my hips, waiting for an answer.

  Justin’s chest expands, filling with air as he looks down at me. His green eyes bore into mine, but I don’t cower. It’s not in me to do so. When his lungs fill to capacity, he releases them, fanning my face as he exhales. Surprisingly his breath doesn’t smell like the meal he just ate. It’s minty like he popped a mint or chewed some gum.

  “I’m good at getting under people’s skin. It’s why I close more IA cases faster than any other Internal Affairs detective. I have a hard time turning that skill off.”

  I shake my head. “What does that even mean? Are you saying you just wanted to get under Drago’s skin?”

  “I felt he deserved exactly what you felt when you watched him and the woman sitting next to him, right before you escaped to the bathroom, Bri.” He blows out another frustrated huff of air. “And I wanted to see if his feelings for you are as real as yours are for him.”

  “And what did you see?” The sizzle coursing through me dies.

  Why do I even want to know? Is it because I want reassurance that I’m not making Drago’s feelings for me more than what they actually are?

  “Doesn’t matter, Andrews. You cannot have a relationship with him. What the fuck is going through your head? Do you want your boss to contest my findings? Do you want to lose your job?”

  “No!” I cross my arms, hating where he’s taking this conversation.

  “So, then it’s my turn to ask you. What the hell was that back there?”

  I can’t answer him because I don’t know myself. I know D was going to kiss me and right now I’m pissed at Justin for stopping it. Does he have a valid point? Sure. But I can’t control my heart. I want my career and I want the man back there that I love.

  Is that really so much to ask?

  “Fuck!” Justin scrubs his hand down his face. “I’m going to be late.”

  Flipping my wrist, I look down at my smartwatch to see what time it is and sure enough, he is going to be late. He has ten minutes before he has to be at his interview.

  “My father’s office is only a couple of blocks. I’ll walk.”

  He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.

  “No, you won’t. Let’s go. I’ll still drop you off. If I’m late, I’m late. I’m not that kind of asshole, Bri.”

  “I never said you were. It’s not a big deal, Justin.”

  He sighs, closing his eyes. for a second, I think he’s going to concede and leave me, but he doesn’t. My hand is once again locked in his and he’s pulling me toward the parking lot. This time I don’t grumble. I know it would be of no use. He’s set on taking me, so why argue?

  16

  My dad’s office is only five blocks away from where we were, and I could have easily done the trek by foot instead of Justin driving me. Five blocks are nothing compared to what I used to walk when I was first hired on as a rookie. Although, I can say I don’t miss it. I love working out. I enjoy the MMA style best. Treadmills, ellipticals, and normal gym equipment, I hate. It bores me; there is no thought process to the workout. It’s mundane and not something that engages my mind.

  “Hey, Susan,” I greet my dad’s receptionist.

  “Brianna,” she greets me, the surprise evident on her face. “What brings you by today?”

  For a lady close to my father’s age, she is fit, the same as my dad. Susan is taller than me by several inches with styled dark blonde hair. I have a lot of hair myself, but I can never bring myself to trim it above my shoulder blades. Hers sits just under her chin, cut at an angle. The last time I saw her, she had a hairstyle that reminded me of Rachel’s from Friends back in the day when I used to watch that sitcom as a teenager. The show was nearing its end by the time I started it, but I always found it funny.

  Before I have the opportunity to ask if my dad is busy, I hear shouting coming from behind his closed office door.

  Tapping my hip on instinct, I double check making sure my weapon is there even though I already know it is. Now that I’m finally wearing it again, my holstered gun is like a second skin. You know it’s there but you don’t always feel it. It long stopped feeling foreign.

  The shouts are loud and don’t sound like my father’s voice—which has me on high alert.

  “Bri,” Susan calls, but I don’t answer her as I move in the direction of my dad’s office.

  He’s in real estate, corporate and residential, so this may be just another day at the office for him, but I’m a cop and I too often see yelling escalate to violence. My father and I may never see eye-to-eye on most things, but he’s still my dad and if I need to protect him, I will.

  I open his office door without knocking, expecting to find anyone besides the man I see shouting at my father. The side of his face is filled with more anger than I’ve ever witnessed.

  “Jackson,” I holler over his booming voice. The room finally goes silent. “What the hell? Why are you yelling at Dad?” I demand. I’ve never seen my brother raise his voice. Sure, he’s a stern man and I’ve watched him on numerous occasions correct or discipline one of his kids, but he nor Alana scream at them. He’s never yelled at me, even though I’ve given him plenty of reasons to over the years. It’s not that I ever got into a lot of trouble, but I was a teenager and there was more than once that I acted a little too wild for my own good. Parties were fun and they always had alcohol. Back then, I couldn’t hold my liquor for shit. What kid can?

  “What are you doing here, kiddo?” Dad asks, concern etched on his forehead. “Are you okay?”

  I can understand why he fears something may be wrong. It’s not like me to pop into his office unannounced. I can probably count the number of times I’ve been here since moving to LA.

  “Bri.” Jackson twists around, facing me. He lets out a heavy sigh before stalking over and grabbing me in an aggressive hug. Also unlike my brother. He is a lot larger than me and firmer. Jackson is tall at six-foot-two, the same height as our dad, but he’s leaner than Drago. Jackson is a big runner, so even though he’s strong, he’s leaner than most men. Aggressive, he is not; at least he’s never been with me.

  “Your brother is upset I didn’t tell him what happened to you,” my dad says, standing from behind his desk and buttoning his suit jacket.

  “You mean pissed off you didn’t tell me my sister was shot or that she lost a baby for Christ’s sake?” Jackson corrects. He releases me, taking a step back. “Why didn’t you call me, Bri? Why keep me in the dark like you did?”

  “Jack,” I start to whine. I knew when he found out I’d feel like shit. This is much worse than when I told Alana. She got over the hurt quicker than I thought, so my guilt evaporated. With my brother, I don’t think that’s going to be the case.

  “Why wasn’t I notified, Brianna?” I really hate when he calls me by my full name. He makes me feel like one of his kids when he does it, and he knows that, which is why he uses it to his advantage.

  “Jackson, give your sister some space and let her tell me why she is here.” My dad rounds his desk, walking toward us.

  “No.” Jackson points his finger at our dad, his anger returning. Looking back at me, he says, “I want answers, Bri.”

  I ignore my brother for a moment to address my dad. “I wanted to see if you had time to run me back to my side of town.”

  “Where is your car?” Jackson demands. I get that he gave me my car as a gift, but his anger mixed with a demanding tone is getting on my last nerve.

  “It’s at a field office not far from my condo. The fellow officer I rode with had an emergency, so I said I’d find a way back.” I don’t bother with telling either of them about Eric or his task force or even the DEA. Too many questions would spark.

  “What kind of jackass leaves a woman stranded in LA?” Jackson huffs while shaking his head.

  “I wasn’t stranded. I was a couple of blocks over. Jeez, Jackson, you do remember I’m an adult and a cop, right?”

  “And y
ou should be neither.”

  I roll my eyes at my brother’s unreasonable attitude. At some point, he’s going to have to accept I’m grown. If he’s still like this with me, I can only imagine what he’ll be like when his three kids reach adulthood.

  “Brianna is more than capable of taking care of herself, Jackson,” Dad states, crossing his arms over his chest while staring my brother down.

  “Don’t talk to me right now, Dad. I can’t even fathom what you’ve done.”

  “Get off Dad’s ass,” I bark, getting sick of Jackson’s tone and the way he’s treating our father.

  “I don’t think so. He lied to me and he kept something from me he had no right to.”

  “Like hell I don’t. She’s my daughter.” Dad’s hands drop to his hip and I swear I see steam coming from his ears that have turned a bright shade of red.

  “Oh!” Jackson throws up his hands. “Now you want to play the fucking parent.” My father’s eyes light with fire after Jackson’s words fly out of his mouth, shocking me too. Even if my brother has somewhat of a point, that was uncalled for and he knows it.

  “Jackson!” I shout. “Stop this. Dad did what I asked him to. He honored my wishes. If you’re pissed off, then be pissed off at me. Not him!”

  “I can’t be pissed at you, Bri. Don’t you understand that by now?” Jackson pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes go up toward the ceiling.

  “Son,” my father starts. “I get you’re mad, but if you’d done the same and asked me to keep something between us, then I’d have done the same. And so would you.”

  My brother’s jaw locks. He knows our dad is right, but he isn’t going to admit it. They are both alike in that way—stubborn.

  He blows out a breath of air, letting his head fall until his eyes meet mine. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. I have a rental.”

  “I’m showing a house at two. I can take her,” Dad informs us.

  “Jackson,” I say, making sure I have his attention. “I am sorry I hurt you and Alana by not telling you, but I’d still make the same choice if the circumstances were the same. A lot happened, and I don’t have the time to hash this out. I’m working a case and it requires my full attention.”