I Am Justice

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  The driver pulled away from the building. Interior limo lights cast a faintly bluish glow on the sleek leather interior. Sandesh rolled his shoulders. Damn he was tense. There wasn’t much that could get under his skin, but being compared to a groupie pretty much did it.

  Victor didn’t know the truth though. He’d never sat at dinner with a bunch of kids rescued from impossible situations and given chances for better lives. He’d never seen those kids, even in the face of a school bombing, empowered and strong. Who would they have been if not for Mukta? Who would Justice have been? Would she even be alive?

  Victor didn’t know. If he did, he’d understand.

  Honestly, it would be a hell of a lot better to be led around by his dick. At least he’d have single-mindedness. Right now, every doubt in his mind played Russian roulette with his determination. Was the plan good enough? Would it work? Was there another way?

  He shook himself from his thoughts. Where was this guy going? He pressed the button to lower the partition. “Driver,” he said, “You missed the turn for 76. Has the venue been changed? I thought the affair was at the Parish home.”

  The driver didn’t answer right away. After a minute, he said, “Sorry, sir, we have one other guest to pick up before we get there.”

  The partition went back up.

  Okay. Weird. Not that he cared, but he was fairly certain when you sent a car for someone it didn’t turn into a bus ride. Still, Mukta did things differently. He liked that about her. And having someone to share the ride might actually make the drive less about what was going on in his head.

  The driver turned toward the Ben Franklin Bridge exit. Sandesh leaned forward. This was wrong. Courtesy be damned, there was no way Mukta would send a car that had to circle this far back in the wrong direction.

  Sandesh pressed the partition button. Nothing happened. The car sped up. His heart rate increased. He shifted into the seat opposite of him, lifted his hand, knuckle knocked. “Hey, buddy.”

  Nothing.

  The car slowed for traffic. Sandesh reached for the handle. Locked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. No signal. Oh…kayy.

  If this guy did work for Mukta, his night was about to suck royally.

  Raising his foot, he drove the heel of his shoe into the side window. He hit it one, two, three times. It splintered like a web.

  Security glass. Barely cracked.

  Rubber-soled pieces-of-shit shoes. His leg ached. Damn. He longed for the days when leaving his home without a gun would’ve felt as comfortable as leaving the house naked during a snowstorm.

  He kicked again and again.

  The limo banked to the right. He slipped sideways. He braced himself. The limo veered off the exit and into a run-down area close to the docks. Place could double as a landfill.

  Rusted metal fence. Trash everywhere. Large, dented storage containers. A bulky, bolt-rusted, four spread-legged crane, with a precariously dangling claw. The thing looked like one serious wind could push it over.

  As they veered around equipment, Sandesh noticed a car followed close behind them. This was getting serious. What was it Gracie had told him about Walid? He thought that Sandesh was the key to everything.

  The attack on the school had switched Sandesh’s focus from worrying about himself to the school. Stupid. Should’ve done both.

  The limo jerked over a pothole and slammed to a hostile end alongside a steel storage container.

  The crunch of tires sliding against stones, and the car pulled up behind them. Two men got out. They stalked toward the limo with a ready-to-bust-heads set to their shoulders.

  Chances they were friendly? Nada. Each headed toward a different door. Wouldn’t be easy to fend off two attacks. But it was even harder to coordinate two attacks.

  One of them would be first.

  He looked around for a weapon. A wayward glass. A bottle from the mini-fridge. A toothpick. Nothing. Damn it. The limo-driver released the doors with a click.

  Sandesh loosened and readied. Both doors flung open. But not simultaneously. The faster man came inside, led with his gun. Mistake.

  Sandesh grabbed his wrist, locked his gun arm, pulled. He twisted the gun hand, aimed, fired at the second guy. The guy had already jumped back.

  The first guy yanked. But Sandesh had secured his feet on the doorjamb. Using the leverage, he jerked the guy forward and head-butted him.

  Crack. The guy’s nose broke like an egg. Hot blood poured out. Sandesh’s stomach gave a reflexive roll. Fuck. Gusher.

  Gusher guy made a whiny, distressed sound and loosened his hold on the gun. Sandesh punted up with his pointy, worthless, POS-soled shoe. The guy grunted, released the gun, fell across his foot. Sandesh kicked him off. The guy stumbled back.

  Rolling out of the limo, Sandesh crouched, kept the long car as a barrier between him and guy two.

  Where was guy number two?

  The limo took off. Raising the semiautomatic, Sandesh shot at the back window. The glass barely splintered.

  Guy two still nowhere to be seen. Guy one on the other hand?

  Hands covered in blood, Gusher charged. Sandesh was painfully aware of the amount of pressure he put on the trigger—next to nothing—the snap of the shot—loud—the recoil that rode up his arm—forever.

  Gusher went down.

  The driver spun the limo around with a squeal of tires and burnt rubber.

  Sandesh darted left. The limo swung in the same direction.

  It followed him the way a dog follows a sheep. Slow. Leading. They obviously wanted him alive.

  At the last moment, the limo veered past him, doubled back. It came straight at him this time. Still slow.

  There was a ladder on the storage container. Taking a running leap, Sandesh vaulted up. He slammed into the steel container. His fingers latched on to the ladder. The rusted metal sliced his knuckles.

  At the top, he got a knee up, pulled himself onto the container. Both of his hands bled. Barely noticed. He crawled to the center edge, took out his cell.

  The limo had backed up and now headed straight for the container. He was going to smash it?

  Sandesh spread out like an X, held on.

  The limo hit with a slam that rocked his body. And a vibration that shook his skull. Stupid fuck. What good did that do? He rolled. Just in time to see the guy suspended by a crane fire the Taser.

  Chapter 60

  The thin spikes of Justice’s Louboutin pumps tap, tap, tapped against the marble floor. The sound echoed in the wide hall as she made her way to the gym.

  With each step through the main corridor of the Mantua Home, the energy increased. Electric anticipation warmed by the promise of rich food, rich conversation, bubbly drinks, and the anything-can-happen vibe.

  Though it was early, barely eight, the house was a hive of activity. Caterers buzzed in from the kitchen, through the dining room, into the hall and gym. The gym was set up with lights and music like a high school dance to delight the kids. The main celebration would be out back on the lavish patio.

  The serving staff, dressed in black-and-white uniforms, familiarized themselves with the home’s layout. Six bartenders were already set up, some inside the house, most outside on the patio.

  Her sisters flitted around here and there, many in flowing ball gowns, but some in shorter dresses. Three in tuxedos. Well, Tony, Romeo, and the youngest girl in Vampire Academy wore tuxedos.

  Everyone had their marching orders. Dance. Mingle. Strike up conversations. Ask questions. Meet eyes. Shake hands. Be polite. Don’t leave the party without permission. That was typical. Momma was big on courtesy to guests. No wallflowers here.

  Music played softly through the entire house, even in the gym. The music made the room seem even more high school prom. Momma had let the Troublemakers pick the playlist. Kind of surprising they lik
ed the acoustic stuff.

  The overall effect as her feet clicked against the wood gym flooring was theatrical. Bright and warm and full of opulent promise. Sort of perfect. If you were into that kind of thing.

  Tonight, she was. But only because of whom she waited for. She was aware of her every movement in her gown. Silk swept her legs. The same blue silk that plunged at the back hugged her breasts and butt. Long slits up both sides made it easy for her to move. Never knew when a girl might need to run. Or leave herself open for groping.

  Sandesh was going to love this dress. That thought made even her jaded nerves tingle.

  Speaking of Sandesh. She peeked out one of the long windows as guests arrived in droves of sleek, black limos. It was like watching the Academy Awards. Drivers escorted ladies and gentlemen from polished limos. The people gathered out front chatted, commented on the home, laughed, flirted, looked hot and wealthy and successful for the hired photographers.

  The warm night was growing cooler. Many of the guests milled about in small groups before making their way into the house. Leland and Momma stood outside the large front doors, at the top of the stone stairs, welcoming everyone. Leland looked sharp and handsome and confident in his tuxedo. Momma looked elegant in her silver-and-turquoise gown with matching niqab.

  The little Ruskie, Bella, had grabbed a fistful of Momma’s ten-thousand-dollar gown and clung to it like a lifeline. Momma didn’t protest or try to drag the girl away. Her hand merely directed her guests around the little girl as she greeted them. From where she stood, Justice never saw her once ask Bella to engage anyone who came inside.

  Unusual. Momma had a thing for making sure each of her daughters interacted with the outside world in a forthright and open manner.

  The fact that Bella got special treatment meant that her story, more than any other Momma had ever heard, prompted a great deal of sympathy. Sometimes new adoptees were quick to tell their stories. Sometimes not. Justice wasn’t sure she wanted to know Bella’s story.

  “Looking good, J.” Tony strode up to her. She turned from the window. He wore a black tux. His dark hair brushed back, hazel eyes playful and amused.

  “Right back at you.” She ran a hand down the front of his tux. “Planning on getting laid tonight?”

  He grinned. “You offering?”

  “Gross, Tone. We’re practically twins.”

  He shook his head. “Last I checked, you’re an American Indian and I’m Italian.”

  She cocked her head at him. Was he serious? Where had this come from? She leaned in close, smelled his breath. Vodka. “You drinking already?”

  He took a step back. His shoes shuffled against the wood floor. He averted his eyes. “You see them?” He gestured out the window, then around the room, and toward the hall. He didn’t say feds, but she knew.

  “Yep. They kind of stand out. But it’s to be expected.”

  The attack had rattled the government and the locals.

  She took a longer look around. Lights low, disco balls, streamers. And though most of the people in here were kids, both family and the children of guests, she spotted the outsiders easily. Stiff. Capable-looking. Dressed nice but not too nice. Muscular and thin, like they ate nothing but knowledge and worked out as a matter of survival.

  These were the people she and Sandesh would have to fool. Not a problem. If there was one thing she could do well with Sandy, it was let sparks fly. Her insides fluttered.

  The plan was for her to take the microphone in one of the outdoor tents and give her speech thanking everyone for coming. She’d say something embarrassing, slur her words as if drunk, mention how hot Sandesh looked, then drag him out to the dance floor. Yeehaw. She kind of liked the idea of being the center of attention that way.

  But Sandy wouldn’t be here for a while. Ah, well. She’d have to entertain herself with Tony. “Okay, Brother, let’s show our siblings how it’s done.”

  She grabbed his hand and threaded her fingers through his. He didn’t complain or pull back as she led him out of the gym, down the hallway, past the library, dining room, and entrance to the kitchen.

  They exited through french doors held open by well-dressed servers, past a bartender bent over stacking crates, and the event coordinator aggressively speaking into a headset.

  Outside, the air smelled of the numerous flowers that now decorated the patio.

  Music played over speakers.

  Stone clicked under her heels. Tony made some comment about her birthday present being a pony now that she was thirty and a big girl. She laughed as they descended the three-tiered stone patio.

  “Shut up and keep up, old man,” she said as they walked down the walkway and through the garden maze to acres of open expanse, better known as the “bunting.”

  She suspected the name had something to do with the numerous ceremonies held here that were often decorated with triangular flags.

  Heaters ringed the area. It had warmed up this week, but the nights were still cool. Huge tents were set up on the bunting, one with a makeshift dance floor. They walked inside and stepped out onto the floor.

  Lights were strung along the inside of the tall, circus-like tent. The beat of the music thrummed under their feet as they circled the dance floor. Some couples were already dancing.

  Tony put a hand at her waist and drew her closer. He was warm. Even his smile was warm. He grinned from ear to ear. “J, remember when we’d play wedding when we were kids?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I remember.”

  When Tony had first been adopted, she’d told him they were going to get married one day. She’d forced him to practice the wedding. He’d been an extremely patient twelve-year-old. He’d never complained or tried to reason her away from her delusions. It was Gracie, sharp as nails, who clued them into the harsh realities.

  Justice increased the pitch of her voice, clipped her words like Gracie, and said, “You can’t get married. You’re related. Losers.”

  They laughed. Tony pressed closer. “But we aren’t.” He looked away. “Not like Jules and Rome.” His voice lowered. “Or me and Leland.”

  “What?”

  Tony twirled her around, avoided her eyes. After a moment, he said, “Manipulative fucks.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Last year…”

  His voice trailed off. His eyebrows drew together. He flicked his chin at something coming up behind her.

  She spun, searched for what had caused him to freeze. Gracie. The redhead strolled across the dance floor. She wore a deep-red gown. Her hair and body might have been on fire as fast as she moved.

  Justice’s heart leapt, skipped, and avoided the next beat. As if it could leap, skip, and avoid the truth. Something was wrong. Gracie was on the dance floor? She hated dancing. Hated touching people. She was headed right toward Justice and Tony.

  Gooseflesh. Like someone had ghosted past her window, screamed in the night.

  Tony sensed it too. His body tensed. “What the hell is she doing?”

  Gracie neared.

  “My turn,” Gracie said and swung herself at Tony. He was so shocked he nearly bobbled her.

  His arms came up even as they released Justice.

  Gracie laughed. She turned her head away from Justice but gave directions most definitely meant for her. “Don’t panic. Go to Momma and Leland’s office.”

  Already panicking, Justice threaded her way through the growing crowd of dancers. She noticed some of the agents along the perimeter moved too. Her heart picked up speed. Her feet did too. No one had to say it. She knew.

  Sandesh.

  Chapter 61

  Justice darted into Momma and Leland’s shared home office on the main level of the Mantua Home. More sedate than Momma’s office underground, it was twice the size, had two desks with chairs opposite them. And two sitting areas, e
ach containing a couch and four leather chairs.

  Justice’s hands were slick with sweat. Her heart so high in her throat she could barely breathe. Her eyes darted around the room.

  Leland.

  He was on the phone. She stepped over to his desk. He looked at Justice. Held up one finger. No. Way. That phone was going out the window. She reached toward him.

  Someone cleared a throat. Justice turned.

  Bridget?

  She was dressed in a loose gold gown cinched at the waist by a belt of faux flowers. It looked like something a Greek goddess might wear. Traitor. They let her come to the party. Of course. They needed everything to look normal. It wasn’t normal. And soon Bridget wouldn’t be normal. She’d be M-erased.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Justice.” Bridget used her customary let’s-get-calmed-down-and-seated-before-we-proceed voice.

  The familiar tone, the normalness of it, hurt in a way Justice hadn’t anticipated. A physical ache in the center of her chest. She shoved it away, shoved all the pain into a box. “Don’t fuck with me right now, Bridget.”

  Leland put a hand over the mouthpiece. “The limo we sent for Sandesh was found abandoned. The driver dead in the trunk.”

  The driver? Lewis? His poor family. Justice straightened her shoulders, lifted her head, clenched her stomach, readied for the next punch. “And Sandesh?”

  Leland raised a curious eyebrow. Paused as if listening on the phone. Come on. She could barely fucking breathe right now. “Leland.”

  Leland hung up the phone. “They took him.”

  Justice didn’t faint. She would never in a million years faint. Her legs though, it turned out, could forget to keep her standing. She sat. Plopped right on her ass in a chair in front of Leland’s desk.

  It was Walid. It had to be. She turned to Bridget, glared.

  Bridget shook her head. “I know nothing. Maybe Dada. Her contact, Juan.”