Page 33 of Breeding Justice

"Reassuring," I muttered, forcing my body to relax. If they wanted me alive, that was leverage. I could use that. I always did.

They cut the ropes at my ankles, hauling me to my feet. My legs wobbled, rubbery and uncooperative, but I stayed upright. Bulldog shoved me toward the door, and I stumbled, catching myself before I face-planted.

"Tell your boss he can go fuck himself," I said over my shoulder. "And while you’re at it, take notes. You’ll be joining him soon enough."

Bulldog raised the pipe, but Tall stopped him with a raised hand. "Save it. He’s not worth it."

They marched me down a dimly lit corridor that reeked of mildew and desperation. I kept my eyes sharp, cataloging every turn, every detail. My mind was already working the angles, planning.

We stopped in front of a reinforced door. Tall rapped twice, and a small panel slid open. A pair of eyes peered through before the door creaked open. The room beyond was just as grim as the last—a single table, a single chair, a single bulb casting deep, angular shadows. Real torture-porn chic.

They shoved me into the chair, Bulldog looming over me while Tall slinked into the corner. The door slammed shut, and the air grew heavier, suffocating.

"Tell me," I said, tilting my head. "Which one of you is the brains of this operation? Let me guess—it’s Tall and Creepy, right?"

Bulldog’s face darkened. "You’ve got a big mouth for a guy who’s about to lose his teeth."

I smiled, baring mine. "It’s my best feature. Be a shame to ruin it."

Bulldog swung the pipe again. This time, I ducked, the blow glancing off my shoulder. Pain exploded, but I twisted my wrists against the ropes, the jagged edges scraping skin but loosening the knot. That one little give was all I needed.

Tall moved closer, crouching to my level. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes and bad decisions. "Where’s SJ?”

“I don’t know. In his crib?”

The pipe came down again, harder. Stars danced in my vision, but my grip on the rope didn’t falter. My fingers worked faster, the adrenaline dulling the sting.

"You think this is funny?" Bulldog snarled, raising the pipe again.

"No," I rasped, pulling the ropes tight in my hands, testing their strength. "I think you’re pathetic."

Bulldog lunged, and that was his mistake. I yanked hard, the ropes snapping loose just as his swing missed me entirely. The momentum carried him forward, and I brought my knee up, driving it into his stomach. He stumbled, gasping for air.

Tall rushed me, but I was faster. I snatched the chair leg I’d loosened during their banter and swung it like a cricket bat. It connected with his temple with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a sack of bricks.

Bulldog recovered faster than I liked, but I was ready. I swung the chair leg low, catching him in the knees. He buckled, and I didn’t give him the chance to stand. I grabbed the pipe from his grip and brought it down on his head. Once, twice. Enough to make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

The room was silent except for my ragged breathing. My hands were raw, my knuckles slick with fresh blood. I straightened, the pipe in my grip like a weapon forged just for me.

I glanced at the two crumpled bodies, then at the door. My freedom was close. All I had to do was survive a little longer.

"Sorry, lads," I muttered, stepping over their bodies. "But I’ve got a date with Miami."

I crouched, stripping the gun and spare magazine from the one closest to me. I pocketed the other gun, then grabbed Tall’s knife. I pushed through the door into another dim corridor, the pipe still clenched tight in my grip. Blood throbbed in my ears, my vision tunneling as I scanned for any signs of them—Justice, Bash—anyone. The building was a maze of shadows and grime, and I cursed under my breath. If they were already out, I’d never forgive myself for wasting time in here.

The faint echo of a scuffle reached me, followed by the unmistakable bark of Bash’s voice. Relief surged through me, hot and fierce, but I forced myself to stay sharp. If he was still here, things weren’t safe yet.

I rounded the corner just in time to see Bash slam a man into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. He was a wreck—shirt torn, face bloodied, but he moved like a predator, every motion efficient and lethal. Justice stood just behind him, her dark eyes scanning the hallway, one hand pressed protectively to her injured shoulder.

“Bash!” I hissed, skidding to a stop.

He turned, his eyes narrowing before recognition dawned. “Skylar,” he barked, his voice half a growl. “Took you long enough.”

I ignored the jab, my gaze darting to Justice. She looked pale, her left arm cradled against her chest, but she was standing. Alive. Relief hit me like a punch to the gut, almost buckling my knees.

“Justice,” I said, stepping closer. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice sharper than I expected. Her eyes softened a moment later, and she added, “Or as fine as I can be.”

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