Breeding Justice

14. Chapter Fourteen Skylar

Chapter Fourteen: Skylar

A sharp, 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."

"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.”

Her shoulders sagged for a brief second, and I could see through the bravado. She wasn’t fine—her shoulder was a mess, and every step looked like it cost her. But this was Justice. She wasn’t going to admit it unless her legs gave out.

“Good,” I said lightly, not pushing her. “Because I need you to back me up while Bash drags his caveman arse out of here.”

“Oi,” Bash growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched in the hint of a smile. “Save the jokes for later. We’ve got company.”

Behind him, the sound of boots pounded against concrete. Reinforcements. My grip tightened on the pipe, my body coiling for a fight.

“We’re not staying to chat,” I said. “This way.”

I led them down the corridor, Bash sticking close to Justice’s side, his hand never leaving the small of her back. They moved in sync, like they’d rehearsed this escape a hundred times. It was a hell of a thing to watch.

We made it to a junction, and I paused, scanning for movement. The faint wail of sirens echoed in the distance. Someone had tipped off the cops, which meant this was about to turn into a bloody free-for-all.

“This way,” I said, motioning to the left.

We pushed through another door and into what looked like a storage area, rows of rusted shelves casting long shadows in the dim light. Justice staggered, and Bash caught her, his face tightening with worry.

“Let me take her,” I said, stepping closer.

“I’ve got her,” Bash snapped, his tone all warning.

“Not the time to play alpha,” I shot back, but I kept my distance. His eyes burned with a fury that mirrored my own. He’d fight through hell for her, and I wasn’t about to argue with that.

Justice groaned, drawing both our attention. “Would you two save the pissing contest for later?” she muttered. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The door at the far end of the room burst open, and three men stormed in, guns drawn. My heart kicked into overdrive.

“Get down!” I shouted, shoving Justice behind one of the shelves. Bash spun, his own weapon already in his hand—when the hell had he picked that up?—and fired, dropping the first man before he could get a shot off.

I charged the second, swinging the pipe with all the force I could muster. It cracked against his wrist, sending the gun flying. He howled, but I didn’t stop, driving my knee into his gut and finishing him with a blow to the back of the head.

Bash took care of the third with a brutal efficiency that reminded me why he was the one everyone feared. The room fell silent again, save for the sound of our ragged breathing.

“We need to move,” I said, my voice tight. “Now.”

Justice nodded, her face pale but determined. Bash scooped up a gun from one of the fallen men and checked the clip before motioning for us to follow.

We slipped out into the alley, the humid night air hitting me like a wall. The faint glow of the city lights painted everything in shades of gold and blue, and for a moment, I just breathed.

Justice leaned heavily on Bash, her steps faltering. I moved to her other side, taking some of her weight despite her protests.

“Save it,” I muttered. “You’re a bloody wreck.”

“And you’re one to talk,” she shot back, but her voice lacked heat.

Bash glanced back at me, his expression grim. “This isn’t over.”

“Not by a long shot,” I said, my eyes scanning the shadows. “But for now, we’re alive.”

Yeah. The three of us were. None of us wanted to say the thing that was really on our minds—were Hassan and Zane also alive?

Was SJ safe?

And if he wasn’t…fuck. I didn’t even think about what we were going to do.

I just knew it wasn’t going to be good.