Page 23 of Shadows of Justice

“There’s something else, Viv.”

I stop.

“What?”

“They pulled five girls out of the basement. She’d had them fucking chained up down there. One of them was thirteen. We can thank the big guy upstairs that at least she had only gotten there the night before, according to her. Some of the others, not so lucky. But . . . we’ve now closed five Amber Alerts on account of finding them. Five, Viv.”

My hand flies to my mouth, suppressing a sob that suddenly climbs up my throat. Silent tears spill down my cheeks. Holy motherfucking fuck.

Leo Barone—you fallen angel, you.

“I gotta give it to you, kid. Good instincts on this one,” Jennings says, his voice thick with pride. I breathe sharply through my nose and wipe my cheeks.

“Yes, sir. I can’t tell you how happy I am about this news. Really . . . relieved. And happy to have been a part of it,” I manage to choke out.

“Go celebrate tonight. Between this and your ex-boyfriend drama, I’d say you’ve earned some fun. I’ll see you next shift,” he says, and clicks off the line.

I dance around in my apartment for a full three minutes like an asshole, but I don’t care. I’m on top of the world. Six girls’ lives saved. Six. This is even more of an incredible result than I ever could have imagined.

Jennings is right. I’m definitely celebrating.

Chapter Eight - Oxygen

Wednesday, July 15th

The moment that I called and told Carlos the good news, he told me to “get my white-girl ass over to his place,” and that he’d throw some steaks on the grill.

Now, the afternoon sun is finally setting behind the rooftops, the sound of sizzling red meat and joyous child laughter is in my ears, and a generously poured margarita on the rocks sits in my hand.

Life is muy bien.

“Miguel, if you hit your sister again, I’m going to sit on you until you squish,” Estefania says, coming through the back door with a beer in her hand and continuing the rest of her rant in lightning-quick Spanish.

Carlos’s wife has always been a radiant woman. Brazilian heritage, dark, luscious curls as thick as her curves, and enough sass to survive raising all of these kids. Now, her pregnant belly big enough to arrive everywhere five minutes before she does, she somehow looks even more spectacular.

Carlos and I snicker at her parenting method to wrangle their gaggle of screeching imps, and she hands her husband the beer. He twists it open and snakes his arm around her middle, pulling her in close. She giggles, blushing as he smooches her loudly on the neck and whispers something that I’m assuming is dirty into her ear.

She squeals and shoves him off, but not before all of their kids stop their playing to turn, point, and shout, “Eeeewwww!”

They’re so happy. It’s hard not to feel empty, looking around at what they’ve achieved. At what they’ve prioritized. The sensation that my life is lacking pangs through my chest in a nearly physically painful wave. I’ve always told myself that I didn’t want this lifestyle. The kids, the house in the burbs, family pets, and barbecue on Saturday nights in the manicured, kid-friendly backyard. It never felt like it was for me.

Growing up, I never had anything close to it, and that makes me think that I’d just fuck it up.

But seeing the way Carlos and Estefania look at each other . . . it’s like the other person is oxygen. I guess I don’t know what I want anymore. Maybe a little bit of that?

I sigh. The tequila must be going to my head.

“Viv, what are you going to do to celebrate your big promotion when you get it?” Estefania asks me with a smile, sitting on the leg of the armchair next to mine and absentmindedly tracing circles over her swollen tummy.

“Rub it in daddy’s face,” Carlos snickers from behind her. Estefania turns and punches him in the ass, but I laugh.

“He’s not wrong,” I say, “but, maybe go up north for a little vacay before I dive in. Get an AirBnB with a hammock and . . . read or some shit. That’s what mature people do, right?”

“Mature?” Estefania wrinkles her nose at me. “That’s what shut-ins do!” She stands up and smacks my shoulder. “You’re young, hot, and single. You should be going out in something tight and short and getting free drinks to treat yourself. Pfff.” She waves me off like I’m crazy. “Shit. That’s what I would do.”

“Oh yeah?” Carlos says, turning with the grilling tongs in his hand. “You’d be down on Second Street in those little snake-print shorts you never wear anymore, getting free drinks, mamí?” He pretends to pinch her ass with the tongs and starts mouthing off in Spanish, chasing her around the grill. I laugh at their antics, but eventually look away.

That pang is back.

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