Page 20 of Breeding Justice

Her chest heaved, her pale face twisting in anguish, but she nodded. Reluctantly. I didn’t loosen my grip on her wrist as I dragged us deeper into the labyrinth of parked cars.

“Come on. We have to move. We’re sitting ducks here.”

The parking lot was a maze, each turn and row a potential death trap. We weaved through sedans and trucks, keeping our heads low and our profiles smaller than shadows. I chanced a glance back towards the SUV. One of the goons lit a cigarette, its flare momentarily illuminating the rough outline of Skylar's face. He looked almost serene in his surrender, like a wax figure in a museum display titled "Defeated Hero."

I tore my eyes away and tightened my grip on Justice's wrist. She stumbled but didn't protest. Not verbally, at least; her silence was a loud, seething thing. We rounded a corner, and I spotted an emergency exit, its red sign glowing like salvation.

“Almost there,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.

The sound of boots echoed against the pavement, growing louder, closer. Vito’s men were thorough, systematic. They weren’t leaving until they had all of us.

I darted forward, Justice close on my heels, the faint glow of the maintenance exit guiding me. We moved like shadows, quick and silent, my ears tuned to every shuffle of gravel, every creak of leather. My mind raced ahead, calculating paths, exits, and contingencies we might never need—or worse, wouldn’t get the chance to use.

The headlights of a nearby SUV swung wide, briefly illuminating our hiding spot. Justice gasped, and I pressed her down against the wheel well of a truck, holding her there until the beam passed. My heart thudded against my ribcage, but I didn’t let it show. She needed me steady.

“We’re almost there,” I whispered. “Keep moving.”

We slinked along the edges of the lot, the warm winter air cutting through my clothes. Every muscle in my body was a coiled spring, ready to explode, but I forced myself to stay calm, to stay in control. This wasn't the first time we’d been in a tight spot, though it was certainly the worst.

From behind us came the sound of a heavy door opening and closing, then muffled voices and hurried footsteps. I stole another glance back and saw one of Vito’s men talking into a walkie-talkie. The headlights from the SUVs cast shiftingshadows across the lot, distorting their silhouettes as they moved purposefully, like wolves closing in. The others were piling into their vehicles, engines growling to life like waking beasts.

The maintenance exit of the parking lot loomed ahead, a promise of escape that felt too good to be true. My stomach churned with unease as we approached it, but I didn’t slow. Relief was short-lived when movement to my left caught my eye—a sharp interruption of stillness. Then they appeared—two men stepping into our path, guns raised, their movements sharp and deliberate.

My body went cold.

I moved instinctively, positioning myself in front of Justice, my hands already raised in surrender.

One of the men, a tall, gaunt figure with sunken cheeks and a perpetual scowl, barked an order: “Stop right there!” The other was stockier, built like a bulldog, with a face just as mean. Both sets of eyes bore into us with professional detachment.

The taller man advanced a step, his gun unwavering. The smaller one lingered behind, his lips twitching as if he relished the power of holding us in his sights. Justice’s breath came in shallow bursts. I could almost hear the wheels in her head turning, looking for an out, a miracle. But there weren’t any. We were spent.

“Bash…” she whispered, her voice so small it could’ve fit in the palm of my hand.

“Quiet,” I muttered back, more out of habit than hope. We were beyond saving ourselves with words.

My jaw clenched so hard it ached, but I forced myself to stay calm. They didn’t fire. They weren’t here to kill. That was our only advantage.

“You’re coming with us,” one of them said, his voice low and gravelly. The barrel of his gun didn’t waver as he jerked it toward us.

Justice stiffened behind me, her breath catching. I knew her well enough to see the wheels turning in her head, to feel the tension in her body as she searched for a way out.

“Don’t,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear. She hesitated. “Please.”

She exhaled slowly, and I felt her hands rise beside me, mirroring mine. My shoulders sagged slightly in relief, but only slightly. I couldn’t let my guard down. Not for a second.

The gaunt man motioned us forward with his gun, the barrel tracing lazy arcs through the air. "Slowly," he said, the singleword dripping with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you're holding all the cards.

We stepped towards them, our movements measured, deliberate. I could feel Justice's reluctance in every inch she gave, like a tightrope walker taking that first perilous step. My mind raced ahead, trying to anticipate their play. Would they throw us in one of the SUVs? Take us to Vito directly? The uncertainty gnawed at me, but I held it together. We needed a clear head if we were going to—fuck. I didn’t even know what we were going to do.

The gaunt man stepped forward, his eyes flicking between us like a snake sizing up its prey. "Vito just wants to talk," he said, though even he didn't seem convinced of the lie. He pulled a pair of zip ties from his pocket and tossed them to the bulldog. "Make it quick."

The gaunt man took a step closer, his eyes flicking between us with surgical precision. "Hands on your heads. Slow."

We complied, our movements deliberate and measured. The bulldog shifted his weight, taking a wider stance, his trigger finger tensed but not white-knuckled. These guys were pros, the kind who didn’t need to posture to be threatening.

"Your friend will be fine," the gaunt man said. "As long as you cooperate." His words hung in the air, thin as razor wire.Promises like that were worthless, but it was all we had to cling to.

The zip ties bit into my wrists as they restrained us, yanking us toward the middle of the lot. I stumbled once, and the sharp jab of a gun barrel in my back urged me forward. Justice was dragged beside me, her face a mask of fury and fear. My stomach twisted as the men stopped, their radios crackling with static and terse commands.

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