Page 17 of Breeding Justice

“Justice,” he said, his voice softer now. “We need to go. Trust him.”

The words felt like a knife twisting in my chest, but I nodded, my hands trembling as Bash pulled me away. We moved deeper into the parking lot, my legs heavy and unsteady beneath me.

Skylar’s voice rang out one last time, sharp and defiant. “Yeah, fuck you!”

Okay, so he was still alive. And still crazy.

The words spurred me forward, each step a battle against the instinct to turn back. The night air bit at my skin, cold and unforgiving, as we wove between parked cars. My breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline pounding in my veins.

"We can circle back for him," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I believed it. Bash didn't respond, just pulled me faster toward the edge of the lot. The sound of shouting and the crunch of glass under boots grew fainter, but not far enough for comfort.

“They’re going to come looking for us,” Bash said.

"Where are we even going?" I asked, my voice a desperate whisper. My mind was still back with Skylar, imagining the worst.

“Here,” Bash whispered, pulling me into the shadow of a large SUV. He crouched low, scanning the area. “We’ll wait until they move Skylar, then—”

“Then what?” I hissed, tears streaking my face. “We just let them take him?”

“We get out,” Bash said, his voice firm. “We regroup. We find another way.”

"Another way?" I echoed, my voice hollow. "There is no other way without him."

Bash's eyes flickered with something I couldn't place—guilt, perhaps, or maybe it was the resignation of someone who had already accepted the unacceptable. He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"I'm not leaving without him, Bash. I can't."

“I know,” he said. “But our priority is Sebastian, not Skylar. Hassan has our son, and we don’t know what’s going to happen when Vito tries to go for him and Zane.”

He was speaking in whispers, and I could barely hear him over the roar of my own thoughts. The mention of Sebastian made my heart seize. Our son, caught in a web of alliances and betrayals we’d spun too tightly around ourselves. Bash was right, of course he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier.

"They’ll be okay," I said, trying to convince myself. "Vito would never hurt—"

“Vito wants an heir. The rest of us are disposable. You get that, right?”

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I knew he was right, but hearing it out loud—Vito’s plans, the cold calculationof it all—made it more real than I was ready to face. Bash's eyes never wavered from mine, as if willing me to accept the brutal truth.

"Justice," he continued, his voice a strained whisper. "Every move we make has to be smart. If we rush in and get caught, it's over. For Skylar, for us, for SJ."

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the world for just a moment. The images of Skylar beaten and of Sebastian potentially being held captive swirled together in a nightmarish dance. How had we let it get this far? Once upon a time, it was just the all of us against the world—now we were pawns in someone else’s game.

When I opened my eyes, Bash was still watching me, waiting for some sign of understanding. I gave him the smallest of nods.

"We’ll wait," I said quietly. "But not for long."

The sound of an engine roared to life, the van’s tires screeching as it sped away. My heart sank, the weight of failure crushing me. Skylar was gone, and we were no closer to freedom than before.

Chapter Seven: Hassan

We were there.

In Dante Moretti’s New York City penthouse. Our apartment in Brickell was nice, but this was something else. Miami was expensive, obviously, but it was nothing like NYC.

I didn’t like Dante Moretti, and I didn’t understand why we couldn’t have this conversation over the phone, but at least we were here now.

The lights of Manhattan blurred into a kaleidoscope of color beyond the window, their flicker unyielding, unfeeling. The contrast between that vibrant chaos and the suffocating stillness inside Dante’s apartment gnawed at me. I pressed my forehead against the glass, letting the cool pane ground me while my thoughts raced ahead to plans, contingencies, and the million ways this could go wrong.

Behind me, SJ’s voice rang out, bright and pure, a stubborn thread of innocence in a room weighed down by tension.

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