Page 26 of Breeding Justice

I tightened my grip on the stone and twisted my wrist, yanking hard against the chains. The motion sent fire racing up my arms, but I gritted my teeth and kept pulling. The metal dug into my skin, but then—finally—something gave. The cuff on my left wrist shifted, loosening just enough for me to slide my hand free.

I slumped forward, letting out a sharp breath. One hand was free, but the other was still caught. I switched the stone to my free hand, using it to chip away at the rusted chain holding me in place. The sound was faint, barely more than a whisper against the steady drip of water in the corner.

I worked quickly, the adrenaline dulling the worst of the pain. The second cuff gave way with a low, reluctant creak. I fell to my knees, catching myself against the cold stone floor before I could hit it too hard. My wrists throbbed where the metal had bitten into them, raw and bleeding. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

The first guard would come back soon. He’d said he’d be back, and I believed him.

I crept to the door, crouching low to keep my steps silent. My fingers brushed the seam where the door didn’t quite latch, and I pressed against it, cracking it open just enough to peer into the hallway.

I couldn’t hear anyone anymore.

Empty. For now.

The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by flickering bulbs. Shadows danced across the walls, shifting with the sway of the lights. I tightened my grip on the stone and stepped out, barefoot and silent, keeping close to the wall.

The first guard was around the corner, humming to himself as he tapped the baton against his palm. His keyring jangled with each movement, a sharp, rhythmic sound in the otherwise quiet hall.

I pressed my back to the wall and waited. My breath slowed, my pulse steadying as I focused. When he passed, I stepped forward and swung the stone as hard as I could, catching him just below the ear. The sound of impact was a sickening crack, and he crumpled to the ground without a sound.

I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to one knee and pried the baton from his hand, looping the keyring off his belt. The weight of the baton felt good in my grip, solid and familiar. I stood, testing its balance as I moved further down the corridor.

The second guard wasn’t far. I could hear him muttering to himself, the scrape of his boots against the floor as he paced. I kept low, my steps careful as I rounded the corner.

“Hey, Darren?” the guard called, his voice sharp. “What’s taking you so—”

I swung the baton hard, aiming for the side of his head. He turned at the last second, and the blow glanced off his temple.He staggered, cursing, and reached for his holster. I didn’t give him the chance. I drove the baton into his stomach, doubling him over, then brought it down across the back of his neck.

“Where are they?” I hissed, my voice low and venomous. “Where’s Justice?”

“Go to hell,” he spat, blood dribbling from his lip.

I slammed him into the wall, hard enough to make his head snap back. “Try again.”

His eyes flicked to the left, toward a door halfway down the hall. I didn’t wait to see if he had anything else to say. I slammed the baton against his temple, knocking him out cold, and stood.

The door was locked, but the keys jingled in my hand as I worked through them. The first one didn’t fit. The second caught in the lock, and I twisted it with a sharp click. The door creaked open, revealing a stairwell that led upward.

I glanced back at the guards, their unconscious bodies sprawled across the floor. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed them, and I needed to be long gone by then. Justice wasn’t here, but I was closer now. Every step brought me closer.

I gripped the baton tighter and started up the stairs. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Eleven: Hassan

The city hummed with its usual early evening energy, a mocking backdrop to the suffocating tension inside Dante’s penthouse. I stood near the window, staring at the skyline. The lights were too bright, too cheerful, as if they didn’t know how close everything was to falling apart. Behind me, Zane and Dante hovered by the table, their voices low, their words sharper than the edge of the knife I wished I had in my hand.

I didn’t want to do this, but…it felt like the right choice. I needed to get Justice back.

“If I bring SJ, Vito will know we’re serious,” I said, turning to face them. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, but it carried the weight of desperation. “It could buy us some goodwill.”

Zane shook his head, slow and deliberate, like a parent about to crush a kid’s naïve hope. His lean frame looked fragile underthose damn bandages, but his tone was anything but. “It’s too risky, Hassan. You know that.”

I bristled, the heat rising in my chest. “And doing nothing isn’t?”

Dante leaned back in his chair, all calm detachment and smug indifference. His eyes glinted like a snake’s, and that sly little smile on his face made me want to smash something. “Listen to the good doctor,” he said, gesturing lazily toward Zane. “He’s right. Bringing SJ would scream desperation. Vito would see it as a weakness, and trust me, you don’t want to show him weakness.”

My jaw tightened. “Zane shouldn’t even be here,” I shot back, my eyes snapping to him. “You need to rest.”

“I’m not sitting this out,” Zane said firmly, his calm voice cutting through my frustration. “Injured or not, I’m here.”

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