I Am Justice

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  There was a long pause, a pause where she imagined her sister climbing out of a leather seat and being shot by a huge idiot wearing a USA baseball hat, a pause in which her throat dried and her heart froze. And then her sister’s voice, slightly garbled. “In mine shaft. Fence down. You close?”

  Gracie had gotten inside? She’d gotten inside and turned off the fence. Whoa. Take that, American Ninja Warrior. You’re no match for a half-naked redhead with mad cyber skills.

  “Almost.”

  Static. “ETA?”

  “Ten. Copy.”

  The crackle of a mic. “Can’t wait.”

  Fuck. “I’ll catch up.”

  “Roger.”

  Justice clicked off, slid her body down while steering over bumpy ground and closer to the gate. She’d probably be shot at. Good thing this thing was bulletproof. If someone did shoot, her best bet was to drive straight through the fence.

  Sure it would attract a lot of attention, but she wasn’t exactly in stealth mode right now.

  She neared the fence. There were no lights on along it. No one shot at her. Her heart rate picked up. She had the craziest feeling, the most insane idea. She could still sneak inside.

  She slowed, parked the car, got out, pocketed the key. She looked around. It was quiet. No guards. The alarm had stopped.

  Was that Gracie’s doing? She definitely couldn’t hear the hum of the fence. She drew closer. Not that she didn’t trust her sister, but someone could’ve turned it back on.

  She chucked a bottle of Benadryl she’d found in the glove compartment. It hit the fence and rattled to the ground. Fence still off.

  Okay. It could go back on at any moment. She could end up at the top, legs straddling either side when the juice came back on.

  “J. Over here.”

  Flicking up her NVGs, she looked through the fence. At the end of the stable, Tony stood, dressed in a guard’s uniform. He waved to her. “Come on.”

  He stepped back into hiding.

  Tony. Brilliant, wonderful Tony. He’d taken out a guard, stolen his uniform.

  Slinging her rifle on her back, she took a running leap, hit the fence with a clang, and scrambled over. She landed like she’d been training for this her whole life—she had—and sprinted forward.

  She ran around the side of the stables, her nose prickling at the smell of manure, and spotted him. She reached for Tony’s hand. He reached for hers. She skidded to a stop.

  Walid.

  Walid stood behind Tony with a group of armed men.

  “Get down!” Quick as boiling hatred, she brought up her sidearm. Tony stepped up, intercepted her hand, pulled her forward, twisted her wrist into a lock. She cried out, dropped the Sig.

  He caught the gun, released her. “You need to come with us.”

  It took her a minute. It took her a lifetime. It took her breath away.

  “You?”

  Chapter 69

  The men at the bottom of the stone stairs froze. Blinked. They were looking from light into darkness. Perfect.

  Sandesh rolled Dmitri off his shoulders, dropped, and shot. Missed.

  One of the men, the better trained, belly-crawled to safety. The other stayed in the open, reached for his gun.

  Poor guy.

  Sandesh shot. The man fell.

  The alarm thrummed against the walls like a stone heartbeat. On the step behind him, Dmitri stopped convulsing. Sandesh reached over to confirm what he strongly suspected.

  Surprise. Dmitri still had a pulse.

  Getting his hands under Dmitri’s armpits, he dragged him back around a corner and sat him against the wall. “Dmitri, Dmitri, is there another way out?”

  Sandesh listened to the calls coming through the two-way to see if the guard below called for backup. Lots of noise. People checking in. But most of it had nothing to do with him or the guard he’d left handcuffed.

  The real problem was at the gate. The ranch was under attack. Two guards had been shot. Shot from a distant hill. Hell of a shot by the sound of it.

  Warmth rolled into his chest. Justice. His mother had always told him a man shouldn’t keep his woman waiting, so he better get moving.

  He patted Dmitri on his shoulder. The Russian was as good as dead. Even with the best and most immediate medical attention. And he wasn’t getting either. “Rest,” he said. “There is more.”

  Dmitri’s eyes flashed open, cleared, and focused on Sandesh. “Kill Walid.”

  His eyes dropped to half-lidded, dulled, and froze. And the once-real human, the broken and tortured body, seemed nothing more than an empty reminder of too much pain and anger.

  Sandesh closed the lifeless eyes. The two-way squawked to life beside him, and the guy with the Southern accent, in a voice a hell of a lot less cheerful, said he was handling, “That mess in the mines.”

  They were coming for him.

  Ready or not.

  Ready.

  * * *

  Crouched behind Dmitri’s body, by the only exit, the one that led down and then up, Sandesh wasn’t sure if the silence was a good or a bad thing.

  Actually. He was sure it was bad.

  The guards had organized. They’d changed frequency on their two-way. He wished he knew how many guards were in the camp. How many were coming for him.

  He had two semiautomatics, full clips, taken from the torture guards. He’d wait, wait for them to come through that damn door.

  Too bad his fight-or-flight reflex sang so loudly it was hard to stay put. Waiting was never fun. It never felt like you were being proactive.

  But if he tried to go down that tunnel, the one that led to some kind of elevator—he’d heard the thing creaking to a stop a short time ago—he’d be killed.

  He forced himself not to respond to the nerves that told him to fight, fight, fight. He let out a breath. Calm. Reason. He emptied his mind. He aimed his gun.

  The stone wall swung open with a whoosh. Wait for a visual. Justice was here. It might be her. It might. Wait.

  It wasn’t. A man, a huge guy with a USA baseball hat, stepped out, weapon down. Down? USA?

  A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Don’t shoot.”

  Sandesh hesitated. USA turned to the side as if to push someone back. The person shoved him in the ribs, stepped in front of him.

  “Gracie?” What the hell was she wearing? “You’re rescuing me in your underwear?”

  Gracie shrugged. “All the cool kids are.” She eyed Sandesh—shirtless, pants ripped. He wasn’t exactly styling. Gracie elbowed USA in the ribs again. “Don’t shoot this guy. He’s with me.”

  Sandesh lowered his weapon and climbed out from behind Dmitri’s body. “What’s going on?”

  Gracie jerked a thumb at the big guy. “This is American Ninja Warrior.” She gazed up at him. “I don’t trust him.”

  The big guy grinned down at the feisty redhead. Sparks flew. Temperatures rose. Global warming increased. He shook his head, reached a hand out to Sandesh. “Better known as Agent Leif McAllister of the FBI. You can call me Dusty.”

  The FBI working in Mexico? And he had a Southern accent. Sure. Why not?

  Gracie stepped forward. “Sorry, Sandesh, there’s really no time for a debrief.” She tilted her head back. Her cheeks were flushed. Excitement? Nerves? Something else? “This guy has gotten me safe this far. And he says he can get us out of here so we can reconnect with the rest of our crew.”

  “I can get you out, if you follow my rules.”

  She stopped, bit her lip as if remembering an important detail. “After we kill Walid.”

  Sandesh eyed the two of them. Shrugged. “Kill whoever you want. I’m only interested in finding Justice.”

  Dusty laughed. “You and half the world’s population.”

  Chapter 70

 
Yellow lights perched along the barn cast a broken shadow across Tony’s face, making him look two-faced. Appropriate. Tony’s eyes seemed a thousand years old. “I can explain.”

  He could explain? Explain betraying the League? Betraying her? Betraying the entire family? Letting Bridget take the blame for his actions?

  No. Her brain stuttered over the idea, confused. So confused. Because his eyes, Tony’s eyes, stayed on her, stayed locked on her, and they said, Trust me. This isn’t what you think.

  Disbelief and panic clasped hands around her neck, trapping her heart in her throat. Her training kicked in. Assess the situation. Assess options.

  Four armed men stood behind her brother. They had guns on her. Her gun was on the ground.

  Okay. Only one option kept her alive. She held up her hands. “What do you want me to do?”

  Tony let out a breath. He said softly, so softly his voice seemed to float like the airborne seed of a dandelion to her ears, “I have to search you, J.”

  He kept his hands out as he approached. A chill ran down her body. She wanted to step back. Every instinct in her body told her not to let him touch her. She stayed put.

  He began to search her. She ground her teeth. Betrayer. He didn’t speak. But his face came so close to hers, she could see the regret in his eyes.

  He felt along her arms, her back, her butt. He took the knife strapped to the outside of her leg, took the rifle hanging at her back, but left the knife strapped on her calf under her pant leg.

  What was going on? He’d obviously felt it. Hell, he’d given her the knife when they’d been getting ready. He stood up. His eyes seemed to be telling her something.

  What was going on?

  She swallowed.

  Tony stepped back. “She’s clean.”

  He handed the weapons he’d taken from her to a guard. It was then that she processed and understood that Tony wasn’t armed.

  What. The. Hell?

  As if given leave to move, to animate, Walid, and the two big guards flanking him, stepped forward. He smiled. He had some really nice teeth. Like he’d taken the money from selling women to be broken and used, and had gone straight to the most expensive dentist in town.

  Had Hope’s life paid for those teeth?

  She wanted to tear that smile out one tooth at a time.

  One of the two men flanking Walid said, “I think I should search her. I don’t trust him.”

  Walid considered. He nodded. “Search her.”

  The guard moved forward. Tony put a hand to the guard’s chest and shook his head. “No one. And I mean no one is going to touch my sister.”

  The man froze, glared. “I’m going to search her.”

  Tony kept his arm against the guard’s chest and spoke over him. “Walid, if you want what I have to give you, if you want your brother’s murderer, you will stay the fuck away from my sister.”

  Walid licked his lips. Other than that, he stayed composed. A man who’d faced a thousand tense situations, a thousand desperate moments, and who had survived them all.

  Walid waved his hand to indicate his guard should withdraw. He stepped back to Walid’s side, shaking his head.

  “You see,” Walid said. “Nothing means as much to me as getting my hands on my brother’s true killer. Mukta Parish.”

  Chapter 71

  Organized with Tony and Walid in the lead and Justice in the middle of four armed men, the group walked past the stables and toward the house in the distance.

  Justice walked with her hands raised. Her jaw couldn’t have been tenser. Tony. Tony, who knew what it was like to be used; Tony, whom she loved, whom she had begged her family to adopt, had conspired with Walid. Against her. Against their family. Against Sandesh, who had wanted nothing more than to help people.

  It was a good thing armed guards surrounded her.

  In front of her, Tony walked side by side with Walid, like a friend, a confidant, a brother.

  She wanted to jump on his back and smash his face into the piles of horse dung saturating her senses. Then pounce on Walid.

  They passed onto the porch of the main house, an expensive villa with a dry fountain and a thousand ruined lives paying for every spectacular piece of architecture, handcrafted item of furniture, and enough luxury to satisfy a tycoon.

  They went through a set of arches, down a red-brick-lined corridor, and into an expansive office.

  The brightly lit room had a Tuscan-ranch feel with terra-cotta tile flooring, exposed beams, leather couches, and heavy, parchment-colored drapes.

  Two stern-faced guards accompanied her, Tony, and Walid into the room. One of them—he seemed in charge—had ordered the other men to go help someone named Dusty.

  Completely comfortable and at home, of course, Walid sat on one of the two red-leather couches. A little awkwardly, Tony sat beside him. Sure, let’s all get comfy.

  Justice eyed the room, the layout and possible escape routes, as Walid’s two personal guards positioned themselves.

  The first, in-charge guy, who had a thick forehead and matching neck, stood directly behind Walid and Tony on the couch.

  The second, smaller neck, colder eyes, stood behind Justice and kept his gun on her. He stayed far enough away that he’d be able to shoot long before she made it to him.

  Plan B? Create time to make a plan B.

  “So, Tone,” she said. Tony looked up at her, met her eyes with a cringe. “You’re friends with human-traffickers now?”

  “Not so much friends as enemies with a common interest.”

  Something in her spine snapped to attention. Her hands fisted at her sides. Her bones fused into one giant club of anger. “Which is?”

  Tony met her eyes again. And this time there was no regret. Only rage. “Stopping Mukta Parish, so that she never warps another child’s mind. Never takes a kid from the street and turns them into a killer, into someone who can never be good enough, someone allowed only two emotions, anger or shame, someone forced to hate his own gender.”

  Justice’s heart lurched, split, and broke in half. Unbelievable, stunning vibrations of pain shot through her. She doubled over.

  Walid laughed. “Women. They are the most devious of sexes. If not controlled, they will poison the world. With complaints. With excuses. With the vagaries of being female.”

  Justice rallied the muscles in her spine and torso, ordered them to straighten. Fuck Walid. Fuck Tony. Anger boiled in her cells. She pushed it down.

  She needed to stay calm and look for the opportunity to save Sandesh. She locked eyes with Tony. She saw them flicker, once, toward the couch across from him.

  Fucker.

  He wanted her to sit. Oh, sure, Tone, why not? You’ll turn on Momma, but you’ll help me. You shit.

  She pushed aside her feelings. She couldn’t afford them. She’d deal with it later.

  Legs like steel, unbending and tense, she walked to the couch. Cold eyes kept his gun on her as she moved, but remained stationed where he was. There was a sharp crack as her weight hit the couch. Truthfully, she more fell than sat.

  Justice didn’t need Tony’s eyes to keep traveling to his left, toward the window. She saw Victor almost immediately, standing behind one of the heavy drapes.

  Victor’s mostly naked body only slightly reflected in the window. And only because of where she sat. She made a point to keep her eyes focused on Walid and not give Victor away.

  Tony knew Victor was there, so he must’ve told Victor to be there. What was going on?

  “So this has been about Momma? You couldn’t have, oh, I don’t know, told us how you felt? Brought it up over an awkward Thanksgiving dinner like a normal person?”

  Tony laughed. Sarcastic. Hurt. And laced with hundreds of thoughts and questions no one had bothered to acknowledge. “You mean like write a letter? A letter that told ev
eryone—everyone in my family of female fanatics—exactly how I felt?”

  Female fanatics? What letter? The one with the plan for dealing with the Brothers Grim? She’d never seen it. She hadn’t—

  Not now. Deal with it later.

  Victor had a gun. She saw it glint off the glass. He had it raised. Was he waiting for some kind of signal? Or maybe just the right moment? Hmmm. “Tone, you don’t think the League is doing the right thing?”

  It was Walid’s turn to answer. “The bitches!” His outrage and disbelief made his words drop low and sound heavy. “They are trying to overturn the natural order of things. Women are to be bedded and fed and kept out of the way.”

  Tony laughed. He turned his body so that he faced Walid. He put his hand on Walid’s shoulder. He placed a thumb on Walid’s neck, rubbed it back and forth. “That’s the kind of shit that gets everyone in trouble.”

  Walid knocked his hands off. Too late. Justice knew. Tony had affixed the clear poison patch.

  How long until it took effect? How long until the guards noticed there was something wrong with Walid?

  Once they noticed, they’d figure out who did it. They’d shoot Tony. He’d die, and she’d never understand why he’d done any of it.

  She needed to do something. Now.

  She had a weapon. If she could get Walid close enough, she could use the knife tucked in her pants. Victor could probably take out the guard closest to him, the thick-necked one behind the couch where Tony and Walid sat.

  That left Cold Eyes for her. Okay. Kill Walid. Keep the knife, chuck it at Cold Eyes. Hope Victor took out Thick Neck.

  Not for nothing.

  She crossed her legs, ranch-hand style, right foot on left knee. Her pant leg rose up her calf. “I need to pee. About as badly as your brother did when I shoved that little piece of metal into his heart.”

  The room went quiet. Walid’s face turned crimson angry. “You will piss when I dig my knife into your gut.”

  Tony grabbed Walid by the shirt. “Knock it off.”

  The guard behind Tony put his gun to Tony’s head. By the look on Tony’s face, he’d finally registered the shit he’d gotten them into. Huh, it had only taken a gun to his head.