Breeding Justice

10. Chapter Ten Bash

Chapter Ten: Bash

I came to slowly, the cold seeping into my bones like a poison. When I tried to move, pain shot through my shoulders, sharp and unforgiving. My wrists were chained above my head, the metal biting into my skin. I was hanging there like a piece of meat in a butcher’s freezer. The air was damp and heavy, reeking of mildew and rust, and the faint light from a small, high-up grate only made the shadows seem darker.

I groaned, my head pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. My face felt like it had been used as a punching bag—bruises blooming under my skin, a split lip, and the unmistakable tang of blood in my mouth. Every breath I took stabbed at my ribs, broken and aching. They’d done a hell of a number on me during the transfer, after the capture. I was grateful they hadn’t beaten me to within an inch of my life in front of my wife. At least that was something.

I tested the chains, flexing my wrists. The metal didn’t budge. My head fell back against the wall as I stared at that damn grate, trying to focus on the faint sounds filtering through it. Voices, the clatter of metal on metal. Far away, like they belonged to another world. Not mine.

I closed my eyes, clinging to the thought of Justice and Skylar. They had to be okay. They had to be. My sacrifice had to mean something. The memory of Justice, clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers, cut deeper than anything they’d done to me. Guilt churned in my gut, threatening to drown me.

The cold was unrelenting, seeping into every part of me. My clothes were shredded, my shirt nothing more than a blood-stained rag hanging off me. I shifted, trying to take the weight off my shoulders, but there wasn’t a position that didn’t hurt like hell. Agony was all I had now.

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.

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.