18. Chapter Eighteen Justice
Chapter Eighteen: Justice
T he late-night quiet of the safe house in Naples was fragile, broken only by the rhythmic creak of the bed beneath me and the faint hum of cicadas outside the window. Zane’s hands were steady as they worked, but I could see the exhaustion carved into his features. The dim light overhead cast shadows under his eyes, deepening the lines etched by days of running, fighting, and barely sleeping.
Pain flared in my side as he applied antiseptic to the wound, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft but clinical. His words carried no comfort, just the efficiency of a man used to patching up others under worse conditions.
“It’s fine,” I said, though my tone was tighter than I intended. My hands gripped the edge of the mattress, knuckles white against the worn fabric. I wasn’t sure what hurt more—the searing sting of the antiseptic or the weight of guilt sitting heavy in my chest.
In the next room, SJ’s soft, steady breathing filtered through the baby monitor on the nightstand. I glanced toward it, the sight of the tiny glowing screen both a comfort and a dagger.
“He’s a tough kid,” Zane said, following my gaze. “You’ve done good by him.”
My throat tightened. “Have I?” The words came out bitter, edged with doubt. “I brought him into this. I dragged him into my mess.”
Zane didn’t look up from his work, but his movements slowed, just for a fraction of a second. “You didn’t drag him into anything, Justice. You’re trying to protect him. That’s more than a lot of kids ever get.”
I let out a hollow laugh, bitter and sharp. “Protecting him? By running, hiding, and hoping we don’t all get killed?”
“What was his other choice? Jez and Alicia? You and Bash are doing better. You’re giving him a chance at a normal life.”
“How the fuck is this a normal life?”
Zane didn’t reply immediately. He finished securing the bandage around my torso, his fingers gentle as they smoothed the edges. Then he sat back, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. “You’re still here. He’s still here. That’s all that matters.”
His words landed harder than I expected, cutting through my spiral of doubt. I looked away, staring at the cracked paint on the wall. He was right—about SJ, at least. But Bash and Skylar?
And Hassan?
How were they going to get out of this unscathed? I loved all of these men and I couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to any of them. I was barely aware of my own pain—I had never been shot before, but until I’d seen Hassan carrying my baby into the safe house and putting him into his crib, I was running on adrenaline. The pain hadn’t come yet.
Not even as Zane was touching me.
“You need to rest,” Zane said, standing and gathering the scattered medical supplies. “You’re no good to him like this.”
“I can’t,” I murmured, shaking my head. “Not with Vito still out there. Not with—”
“Justice.” His voice was sharper now, cutting through my protest. He placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but grounding. “You need to rest.”
The weight of his hand was warm, steady. For a moment, I let myself lean into it, closing my eyes against the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said, softer this time. “We always do.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was standing close, his expression gentler than I’d seen in days. There was something in his gaze—something unspoken, heavy with history and trust.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
“I know,” he said, and in that simple acknowledgment, I felt the slightest easing of the knot in my chest.
Zane moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He stayed quiet, his presence steady as my thoughts raced. My body ached, my mind reeled, but his calm felt like a tether keeping me from unraveling completely.
I reached out and took his hand, my fingers curling around his. His calloused palm was warm against mine, grounding me in the here and now.
“Stay,” I said. “Stay with me tonight.”
Zane hesitated, and for a moment, I feared he would say no. But then he gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, and squeezed my hand.
"I'll stay," he said, his voice a whisper that seemed to soothe the raw edges of my fear.
I stood and moved to the door, turning the lock with a soft click.
“They’re always invited,” I said. “But right now, I just want to enjoy you. Zane, I thought I lost you…”
Zane's eyes searched mine, as if trying to gauge how deep my words cut, how true they rang. In the silence, the hum of cicadas grew louder, a natural chorus that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside me.
He stood slowly, every movement deliberate, and took a step toward me. "Justice," he started, but I didn't let him finish. I closed the distance between us, our bodies just inches apart. The heat from his skin was almost enough to make me forget the pain in my side, the fear gnawing at my insides.
"I need you," I said, my voice barely more than a breath.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “The bullet grazed you, but…”
His concern was real, but so was my need for something tangible, something that could ground me in a moment of sanity amidst the chaos. I leaned in, my lips brushing his with a tentative softness. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t press forward either, caught in the balance between wanting and holding back.
“I can take the pain,” I whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingers. “It’s nothing compared to losing you.”
He kissed me then, slowly, as if testing the waters of a familiar yet uncertain territory. It was a kiss layered with history, with the unspoken words of two people who had been through too much together to ever truly be apart.
He knotted his fingers in my hair and pulled me closer, and I winced as the pressure tugged on my wounded side. But I didn’t stop him. The pain was a reminder that we were still alive, that we still had time—however fleeting—to make things right.
The kiss deepened, a slow-burning fuse that ignited something fierce and desperate within me. I clung to him, not just for the comfort of his touch, but for the hope he represented. Zane had always been the steady one, the rock I could lean on when everything else crumbled.
He slowly slid his hand down the front of my body, toward my underwear, his fingertips sliding down under the waistband. “Are you already wet for me?” he asked.
I could feel the heat of his breath, the roughness of his voice sending shivers down my spine. My body was betraying every rational thought, every worry and fear I had been holding onto. He was right; I was already aching for him, a desperate need to feel something other than the emotional wreckage that had consumed me.
“Zane.”
“You’re so fucking hot,” he said. “My perfect little slut.”
He tugged my hair back and kissed down the length of my neck.
His fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, teasing and torturous. "You need this," he said, his lips brushing against my ear. "You need to remember what it feels like to be alive. And that’s what you need my cock for, right, you pretty little whore?”
His words sent a shiver down my spine. He didn’t let me form a response before he stuck his finger inside of me, his thumb playing with my clit. “God, you’re already soaked,” he said.
I gasped, my body arching involuntarily into his hand. The mixture of pain from my side and the intense pleasure he was giving me created a dizzying cocktail of sensations. My fingers dug into his shoulders, clutching him as if he were the only thing keeping me from tumbling into an abyss.
"Zane," I breathed, but it came out as a moan. He silenced me with another hard kiss, consuming and relentless. His finger worked inside me with expert precision, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure on my clit to make my legs start to buckle.
He caught me before I could sink to the floor, lifting me with an ease that belied his lean frame. The movement sent a sharp jolt through my wounded side, but I bit down on my lip, refusing to cry out. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently, his eyes never leaving mine.
He withdrew his finger and brought it to my lips, tracing them with the wetness he had drawn from me.
"Taste yourself," he commanded, his eyes burning into mine. I opened my mouth and took his finger in, sucking gently. The taste was metallic, an echo of my need mixed with the lingering fear that still coursed through me.
Without a word, he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off slowly. The fabric whispered against his skin, revealing the hard lines of muscle that spoke of a life lived on the edge. I reached out, running my hands over his chest, feeling the warmth and life beneath.
He caught my wrists and pulled me close, our bodies flush. The friction sent sparks flying. "Tell me you want this.”
I answered by unzipping his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His huge cock pressed against me, hot and insistent. I stood on my toes, kissing him with all my might, the back of my legs pressed against the frame of the bed.
His hands gripped my hips with a ferocity that bordered on desperate, pulling me against his hardness. The kiss was a clash of teeth and tongues, an explosion of pent-up emotion and raw desire. I broke away, gasping for air, my hands sliding down his back to his ass, squeezing him closer.
"Zane," I said, my voice rough with want. "I need you inside me. Now."
He turned me around and bent me over the bed, my wounded side protesting but not enough to make me stop him. He yanked my leggings and my underwear down in one swift motion and paused, his breath ragged.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he said. “I’ve been dreaming about coming inside you ever since I woke up from that surgery.”
The weight of his words crashed over me, mingling with the rush of blood in my ears and the ache in my heart. Every part of me was on edge, teetering between the cold reality of our situation and the blazing heat of the moment.
"Zane," I said, trying to turn my head to see him. But he held me firmly in place, his hands gripping my hips with a possessiveness that sent another shiver down my spine.
"Do you even know what it was like?" he continued, his voice filled with a raw emotion that cut through the lust. "Lying there, not knowing if I'd ever get to touch you again, to hold you like this?"
I clenched the sheets beneath me, my mind flashing back to those agonizing hours in the hospital, waiting for news, for any sign that he would pull through. I knew too well what he had been feeling because I had felt it all just as intensely.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said.
With a growl, he positioned himself at my entrance and thrust in with a force that made me cry out, a blend of pain and exquisite pleasure. He filled me completely, stretching me around him in a way that left no room for anything else—not the fear, not the doubt, not the gnawing ache of what had happened earlier.
His hands roamed up my sides, then back down to my hips as he set a relentless pace, each thrust driving me deeper into the bed. The animalistic nature of it all left me breathless, each stroke a declaration of his need, his anger, his love.
Every collision of our bodies sent new waves of sensation through me, a swirling mix of hurt and ecstasy that threatened to drown me. I bit down on the sheets, trying to stifle the moans that grew louder with each passing second. My body responded to him with an intensity that bordered on violent, muscles tightening and releasing in a frenzied dance.
"Fuck," he groaned, his voice thick with passion. "You take me so well. You love my big cock, don’t you? You’re just a little hole for me.”
The raw power of his words shattered the remnants of my restraint. "Yes," I gasped. "I'm your little slut. Fill me, Zane."
He pounded into me, each thrust more demanding than the last. My fingers clawed at the bed sheets as if they were my only anchor to this world, while he drove me closer and closer to the edge.
I could feel every inch of him inside me, rubbing against sensitive walls, igniting nerves that sent fire coursing through my veins. The pressure built with a swift intensity, coiling tight within me. His rough hands explored my body, squeezing my breasts, tweaking my nipples hard before sliding down to where we were joined.
He pressed his thumb against my clit in time with his thrusts, and all I could do was writhe beneath him, completely at his mercy. "You like that?" he growled into my ear. "Look at you—you're fucking dripping for me. Such a needy little whore.”
His words sent electric jolts through me, and any lingering thoughts blurred into a haze of lust and longing. Each drag of his cock against my inner walls brought me closer to a blinding release.
Then he shifted slightly, changing the angle just enough to hit that perfect spot inside me with ruthless precision. My body went stiff and an overwhelming surge of pleasure tore through me, obliterating any semblance of control I had left. A scream ripped from my throat as I came hard around him, muscles clenching in a desperate attempt to hold him deeper.
The world around me dissolved into a white-hot void, and for a moment I was weightless, lost in the pure sensation of our violent union. His pace never faltered, each thrust prolonging my orgasm, sending aftershocks coursing through my body.
"Fuck, yes," Zane growled, his voice a distant thunder in my ears. "Feel that? Feel how tight you are? I'm gonna come."
Zane didn’t slow. He rode out my climax with unrelenting determination, his pace as brutal as ever. Each thrust sent aftershocks rippling through my body, prolonging my high to the point of painful pleasure. My legs quivered and threatened to give out completely, but he held me up, his grip on my hips like iron.
I was barely coming down from my peak when I felt him start to tense behind me. His breathing grew more ragged, his thrusts more erratic. The realization that he was close sent a renewed rush of heat through me. I wanted to feel him lose control, to give in to the same primal need that had consumed me.
I tightened around him, squeezing with all my might, trying to milk every last bit of his impending release. "Come for me, Zane," I whispered, my voice a broken plea. "Fill me."
With a guttural roar, he drove in one last time, as deep as he could go. His body shook with the force of his orgasm, the hot rush of his cum flooding into me. He held me there, locked in place, as wave after wave of his release crashed over us both.
The room was filled with the sounds of our heavy breathing and the faint patter of rain against the window.
Zane slowly pulled out, and I felt an immediate emptiness where he'd been. I collapsed onto the bed, my body a limp rag doll, utterly spent.
The warmth of his cum trickled down my thighs, mixing with my own wetness. I didn't move, didn't speak. My mind was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each fragment more vibrant and piercing than the last. The anger and fear that had gnawed at me all day were momentarily silenced, drowned in the aftermath of our violent passion.
“I love you,” I said. “Promise me you won’t get shot again.”
He laughed. “Okay,” he said. “If you promise to stop putting yourself in dangerous situations, okay?”
That time, we both laughed.
It was the kind of haze one would expect in a movie, where our lives seemed like a scene shot in hyper-realism and meant to linger - a snapshot of pure intensity. Zane eventually softened against me, every line of tension easing into softness and vulnerability. We were both stripped bare, in every sense.
"I mean it," I whispered, feeling the rawness in my throat from my earlier screams. "I need you."
He rolled to lie beside me, pulling me into his chest so tightly that it felt almost like he feared I would disappear if he loosened his grip. His scent wrapped around me, sweat and heat and something that was distinctly him. It was as intoxicating as his touch had been.
"Hey," he murmured softly into my hair. "You know you're the most important thing in the world to me, right? I can't lose you."
“I know, Zane,” I said. “I can’t lose you either. Never. Okay?”
He nodded, but he said nothing else. There was nothing else to say. I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose any of them.
I definitely couldn’t lose my son.
So if I had to kill Vito De Luca myself…I sure as fuck was going to do it.