Page 25 of Breeding Justice

I opened my eyes and glared into the darkness. I had to hold on.

Justice needed me to survive this. SJ needed me to survive this.

I took a slow, shallow breath, wincing at the protest from my ribs. Pain was temporary. It had to be. I’d been in tight spots before, but this—this was something else. Life and death, not just for me, but for them. Failure wasn’t an option. No matter what it took, I would find a way out.

The chains groaned softly as I shifted again, stretching my wrists against their unyielding grip. My muscles protested, but I needed to know—needed to feel their limits. The room came into sharper focus as I scanned it, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. Stone walls, slick with dampness. That caught my attention. The moisture had weakened some spots, patches where the mortar was starting to crumble. Small, but something.

Think, Bash. Plan. I’d been in tighter spots before, and I’d gotten out. This was no different. My gaze drifted to the weak spot in the wall again, and I filed it away. Later. Right now, I had to conserve my strength. Still, it lingered in the back of my mind—a tiny seed of possibility, buried beneath the agony.

The door at the far end of the dungeon groaned open, and a flood of harsh light spilled into the room. I squinted, my vision swimming as a shadow filled the doorway. The figure stepped inside, and the door slammed shut behind him, sealing us back in the dark.

One of Vito’s men. Big guy, cocky swagger, baton in hand. He smirked like he’d already won. “Rise and shine, Rivera,” he said, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. “We need to have a little chat.”

I didn’t say a word. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him like a hawk, cataloging everything. His uniform was stained with sweat, his hand lingered a little too long near the holster on his hip, and his keyring jangled with every step. Details. Always watch the details.

“Nice shiner,” he chuckled, tapping the baton against his palm. “You know, you put up quite a fight. Almost made us break a sweat.”

Still, I stayed silent, letting him fill the space with his own voice. He wanted a reaction, wanted to poke and prod until he found a weak spot. He wasn’t getting one.

The smirk on his face widened. “Don’t worry,” he said, his tone laced with mock sympathy. “We didn’t hurt Justice too bad. Or the British guy. Skylar, right?”

My jaw clenched. Barely. Just enough to make his smile flicker for a second. He thought he had me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He could drop all the names he wanted; I wasn’t biting.

“They’re tougher than you, I’ll give them that,” he continued. “But everyone’s got a breaking point. Even you, Bash.”

The way he said my name, like he owned it, made my skin crawl. He stretched lazily, like he was bored, and leaned closer, just enough for me to catch the stink of tobacco on his breath. “What’s it gonna be? You gonna make this easy, or do we start breaking things?”

I stared him down, my voice a low rasp when I finally spoke. “You talk too much.”

His smirk faltered. Just for a moment. Then he shook his head and stepped back, tapping the baton against the wall as he turned to leave. “Think about it,” he said, his tone almost casual. “I’ll be back.”

The guards outside were talking. I couldn’t see them, but their voices carried through the gap in the door. I stayed still, straining to listen.

“Vito wants them separated,” one said. “Thinks the woman will talk if she thinks the kid’s in danger.”

“Justice won’t break that easy,” the other replied. “What about Skylar?”

“Vito wants to keep him as leverage.”

My stomach twisted. A pause. “And the baby?”

“Yeah, we still don’t know where he is, but Vito wants him. I don’t know what’ll happen if he finds SJ without their help. Maybe we should just kill them.”

“That would be easier,” the second guard said, voice flat, almost disinterested. It wasn’t even a decision to him, just a suggestion.

The words cut deep, each one sharper than the last. Skylar, SJ, Justice—all of them still in play, still in danger. And me? Chained in a goddamn dungeon.

I shifted again, the chains biting into my wrists as I tried to find relief. My fingers brushed the wall, damp and crumbling beneath my touch. This time, I paused. The mortar felt loose—softer than it should’ve been. My fingers scraped at it absently, flakes of grit raining down on my arm.

I glanced at the patch again, and for the first time, I let myself hope. Weakness. It was small, barely anything, but it was there.

I clenched my jaw, staring at that spot with renewed focus. Maybe it wasn’t just me with a breaking point.

I would get out of here. For them. For all of us. And when I did, there wouldn’t be a single man left standing.

The chains groaned as I shifted, pain shooting through my arms and ribs. My breath came slow and steady, each inhale a calculated effort to keep the sharp edges of agony at bay. My fingers brushed the wall again, finding the loose stone, rough and jagged under my touch. I clenched it in my fist. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

They wanted me to break. To sit here and rot until I begged them for mercy. That wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not ever.

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