Page 32 of Breeding Justice

“He’s a hurricane,” Hassan muttered, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Then louder, he added, “No. He’s just scared.”

“We’re all scared,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road as the SUV crept closer to the outskirts of the city. The tall buildings gave way to squat, tired suburbs, and the traffic began to thin. “He needs to understand what’s at stake.”

Hassan’s sharp glare met mine in the mirror. “He’s two, Zane. He doesn’t even know what ‘stake’ means.”

I sighed but said nothing. He was right, of course, but logic was the only thing keeping me steady. Emotions were a luxury I couldn’t afford, not with Vito’s men hunting us, not with the gunshot wound I was still healing from, not with Justice and Skylar kidnapped by Vito’s men. I couldn’t even think about it. My mind was locked in overdrive, calculating every possible variable, every threat. Anything else was a distraction.

“Where’s Juju?” SJ’s small, fragile voice cut through the silence in the SUV like a knife. “Are we going to see Uncle Bash?”

Hassan hesitated before answering, his voice softening in a way I rarely heard. “We’re going to try, Sebastian.” He shot me a glance, his expression asking for guidance, but I gave a quick shake of my head. Not yet. “We’ll all be together soon,” he added, though his words carried no conviction.

As we merged onto a rural highway, the city becoming a distant silhouette behind us, I felt my shoulders loosen slightly. Not much, but enough to notice. Even so, my eyes stayed locked on the mirrors, scanning for anything out of place.

“He’s hungry,” Hassan said after a while. I didn’t respond. “Zane.”

“We need to clear a few more miles before we stop,” I said. “Just in case. I think there are peanuts somewhere?”

Hassan groaned and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. SJ’s tantrum had finally burned itself out, leaving him sniffling and tired in the backseat. The silence in the car was thick, filled with the unspoken fears that none of us wanted to voice.

Hassan opened his eyes and turned his head toward me. “Is this your way of saying, ‘I told you so?’”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s my way of saying we’ll make it. Like we always do.”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel his attention shift back to SJ. A moment later, he began to hum a soft lullaby, the kind of tune you’d hear in the background of a memory you didn’t know you still had. The sound cut through the tension in the SUV like a balm. I glanced in the mirror again and saw SJ’s eyelids fluttering, his thumb now tucked into his mouth as he clutched the stuffed bear Hassan had managed to retrieve.

For the first time since we left the safe house, I let my grip on the wheel relax. Only slightly, but enough to feel the difference. In moments like this, when the road stretched out ahead of us and the immediate threats faded to the background, I could almost imagine we were just a normal family on a road trip. Almost.

The truth was, we were barely holding it together—cobbled together by circumstance and necessity. Hassan and I played our roles, balancing the immediate needs with the long-term goals. SJ was the glue holding us all together, even if he didn’t know it. He was the reason we couldn’t afford to fail.

As his breathing evened out, Hassan looked out the window, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I hope he’s dreaming of something better than this.”

I didn’t answer. I hoped so too. But I knew that no matter what SJ dreamed of, reality would be waiting for us at the end of the road. And with it, the fight for his future—and ours—would begin all over again.

Chapter Fourteen: Skylar

Asharp, metallic tang filled my nostrils as I came to, the dim glow of a flickering bulb slicing through the haze in my mind. I tried to move, but the moment I shifted, pain shot through my ribs. My hands were tied behind my back, my ankles lashed to the legs of the chair. Bloody brilliant. Just the predicament I’d dreamed of.

The room around me had the feel of an industrial nightmare—rusted steel, cracked concrete, shadows pooling in the corners like old regrets. I tested the ropes on my wrists. Tight. Too tight. My knuckles were split and crusted with dried blood, the stinging reminder of the fight I’d put up. Not that it mattered now.

I let my head fall back, staring up at the ceiling as a slow trickle of sweat ran down my temple. Where the hell are Bash and Justice? The thought gnawed at me more than the pain.Were they caught too? Or safe? And Zane—was he out there somewhere? Was he well?

Was he alive?

The uncertainty sat like a lead weight on my chest.

I scanned the room. A workbench strewn with tools sat mocking me from the far wall, tantalizingly out of reach. The only exit was a heavy sliding door with a grated window. My luck, it was probably reinforced. Still, my mind started working. I could always figure my way out of a mess—eventually.

"Rise and shine, limey," the short one said, smacking a length of pipe against his palm like it was his bloody scepter.

I let my lips curl into a grin. "And here I thought Miami hospitality was all margaritas and sunshine."

He barked out a laugh, stepping closer, while Tall hovered by the door like a shadow waiting to pounce. "Funny guy. You’ll still be cracking jokes when the boss gets here?"

I spit on the floor between us. "Wouldn’t dream of wasting my best material on you."

Bulldog didn’t like that. He swung the pipe—not at me, mind, but at the chair, the impact jolting through my battered ribs. Pain flared, but I didn’t flinch. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction.

Tall stepped forward, his voice like a wheeze through a cracked window. "Boss wants you alive. That’s the only reason you’re not a bloody smear on the floor."

---