Breeding Justice

24. Chapter Twenty-Four Justice

Chapter Twenty-Four: Justice

T he boys had let me sleep in. But now my head was pounding, and my side was screaming.

There was no time to celebrate the little victories.

The sofa’s rough fabric imprinted patterns on my skin as I rolled to one side, trying to find a position that didn’t scream. Every muscle protested, a chorus of aches and twinges that told the story of the night in vivid detail. Sunlight trickled through the blinds, casting lazy stripes across the living room. It caught on the pile of clothes in the corner, on empty bottles, on the curve of Bash’s shoulder where he lay, blissfully unconscious.

I tried to sit up. The pain in my ribs was a knife, sharp and immediate, and I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. My hand went to the wound, feeling the heat of inflamed flesh. It was healing, but not fast enough. I glanced toward Zane. He and Skylar were a heap of limbs on the loveseat, Skylar’s blond hair spilling over Zane’s chest. He’d yell at me for moving too much if he were awake. Probably.

I could hear the shower running. Hassan had slipped away at some point and I hadn’t noticed him.

I lay back, just for a moment, letting the memories of the night and the morning wash over me. We’d needed the release, all of us. The tension, the fear, the constant edge of violence—it had to go somewhere. The tenderness between my legs was a welcome counterpoint to the rest of my body, a reminder that I was still alive, still capable of feeling something other than dread.

With a groan, I swung my legs off the sofa and stood. The room tilted, then steadied. I picked my way through the wreckage. Bash stirred as I walked by, muttering something in his sleep, but didn’t wake. I paused at the loveseat, watching the rise and fall of Zane’s chest, the way Skylar’s fingers twitched as if dreaming of a fight. We were a mess, but we were together. For now.

The bathroom was a stark contrast to the rest of the house—clean, bright, almost sterile. I closed the door softly, not wanting to wake the others, and looked at myself in the mirror. A stranger stared back. Her hair was a wild tangle, her eyes two dark hollows. A bruise blossomed on her cheek, and her lips were swollen, bitten raw. I touched a finger to my mouth, then to the bruise, tracing the path of the morning’s rough affection.

I unwrapped the bandage around my torso. The skin was angry and red, a puckered line where the bullet had torn through. Zane had done good work, considering the circumstances, but it would be weeks before I was whole again. If we had weeks.

The shower knobs were encrusted with lime, and I had to wrestle them to get the water going. Hot steam billowed around me as I stepped in, and the first spray was like needles. I flinched, then forced myself to stand tall, letting the heat work its way into my bones. It hurt, but in a way that was almost comforting, like prodding a bruise just to feel something.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. It went straight to SJ, as it always did. His little face, so scared, the last time I saw him. The guilt gnawed at me, a rat in my chest. We’d made the choice to save him, knowing it would put us all in Vito’s crosshairs. But what kind of mother was I, enjoying my men instead of checking up on him? I hadn’t wanted to disturb him. I hadn’t wanted to wake him. I had been hurt and frightening him was the last thing I wanted for Sebastian, who had already lost his real parents—at our hands.

The water traced lines down my body, carving temporary rivers. I thought about Vito, about what he wanted. About SJ. He wanted an heir, he didn’t care about the fact that he was just a little boy.

I turned the water off and stood dripping in the tub, the cool air biting at my skin. We needed a plan. We needed time. We needed a miracle. But we couldn't afford to wait. Vito was still out there, and SJ was still in danger. Every moment of calm was a borrowed one, a temporary reprieve from the storm that was coming.

I toweled off and looked at the mirror again. The glass was fogged, but I could still make out the silhouette of the woman I used to be, overlaid on the wreck I was now. She had a purpose, a direction. She knew what she was fighting for.

I wiped a streak through the condensation and met my own eyes. They were empty, like two bullet holes in a corpse. But beneath that emptiness, there was a spark of determination. I refused to let this moment of calm trick me into thinking we were safe. I refused to let Vito win.

I dressed slowly, every movement a negotiation with my body. The clothes felt strange against my skin, like an actor putting on a costume. But I wasn't just an actor; I was a fighter, a mother, a leader. And I would do whatever it took to protect my family and bring Vito down.

I stepped out of the bathroom, ready to face whatever came next. The others were still sleeping, unaware of the storm brewing in my mind. But they would wake soon, and when they did, we would move. We would fight. And we would win.

In the kitchen, I found an empty glass and filled it with water from the tap. The cool ceramic felt good in my hands, and I held it to my cheek before taking a sip. My eyes wandered to the backyard, where overgrown grass swayed gently in the breeze. The rusted swing set had long been removed, a reminder of the transient nature of our lives.

I turned away from the window and made my slow, painful way back to the living room. The Knives were still there. They were still sleeping.

I thought about waking them, about rousing the whole crew and getting us moving. We didn’t have the luxury of time, and every second we spent here was a second Vito could use against us. I refused to let this moment of calm lull me into forgetting what was coming next. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. We were all so frayed, so close to snapping. A few more minutes of stolen calm might make the difference between breaking and bending.

I sank back onto the sofa, slowly, carefully, and closed my eyes. The sounds of the house seeped into me: the soft whir of the fridge, the occasional groan of wood, the rhythmic breathing of my men. I let myself drift, not to sleep, but to that hazy place where thoughts are dreams in waiting.

The weight in my chest grew heavier, denser, like a star collapsing in on itself. Vito was still out there, and SJ was still in danger. I couldn’t let myself forget that. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, tracing imaginary cracks with my finger. We’d been here before, in this exact spot, thinking we were done for. And each time, we’d found a way through. This time had to be the same. It just had to.

I heard a rustle and looked over to see Skylar stirring. He disentangled himself from Zane with the groggy precision of someone used to waking in strange positions. Stretching, he caught my eye and gave a small, tired smile. I beckoned him over.

He padded across the room and slid in next to me on the sofa, careful not to jostle my side. For a moment, we just sat there, the silence speaking for us. Then he put an arm around my shoulder, gently, and I leaned into him. Skylar’s presence was grounding, a reminder of the bonds we shared and the strength we needed to face what was coming.

"We’ll get him back," Skylar said, his voice a rough whisper.

"I know," I lied.

We sat like that for a while, taking what comfort we could from each other. The storm outside the safehouse was still distant, but we could see the lightning, hear the low rumble of thunder. It was coming for us, and we would have to face it soon.

But not just yet.

A small noise from the bedroom caught my attention as water dripped from my hair. I held my breath, listening. The house was still, but for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling wood. I tightened the towel around my chest and walked toward the bedroom, each step a cautious inquiry.

My heart did a stupid little flip when I saw SJ stirring, his tiny fists rubbing at his eyes. He looked so much like Bash at that age, the same stubborn jawline, the same mop of unruly hair. The second he saw me, he grinned, and something inside me unknotted. I was afraid he'd forgotten me.

I picked him up carefully, mindful of my wound, and cradled him against my chest. He babbled something in toddler-speak, too sleepy to form real words, and nuzzled into my shoulder. The warmth of his little body seeped into me, dissolving the cold core of fear that had taken up residence in my heart.

This was why I fought. Why I killed. Why I had to finish this.

SJ started to drift back to sleep, his breathing slow and rhythmic. I kissed the top of his head and held him a little tighter. We were in so deep, and the only way out was through.

Vito was still breathing. But not for much longer.

I swayed gently, rocking SJ as he slept. We would have to move soon, to make a plan, to take the next step. But for this one stolen moment, I let myself believe that everything would be okay. That we would win. That SJ would grow up safe and loved.

I heard footsteps approaching me and looked up to see Bash staring at us. “He’s alright?” Bash asked.

I nodded, a soft smile tugging at my lips despite the exhaustion settling deep in my bones. "Yeah. He's good. For now."

Bash stepped closer, his usual swagger muted by the weight of too many sleepless nights. His eyes, dark and sharp, softened as they lingered on SJ. He reached out hesitantly, brushing a hand over the little boy's hair, his fingers gentle and reverent in a way that didn’t match the rough, unyielding man most people knew.

"He trusts you," Bash murmured, almost to himself.

I sighed. "He doesn't have much choice, does he?"

Bash shook his head. "He could have given up. Kids feel it when the people around them are broken. But he’s still fighting, same as us. Maybe better."

The words hung between us, their truth undeniable. SJ was a survivor. We all were, but he deserved more than just survival. He deserved a future, one free from the blood and violence that defined our world.

"I hate that he has to grow up in this," I whispered. "That he has to be tough just to stay alive."

Bash crouched in front of me, his gaze steady and grounding. "We’re gonna change that. We’ve been fighting just to stay breathing, but now... now we fight for him. For all of us."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. Bash was right. This wasn’t just about staying alive anymore. It was about making sure SJ had a chance to live without fear, without Vito looming over him like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

“How do we do that?”

Bash shrugged. “First, we take care of Vito. Then, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

I sighed, looking at Sebastian. “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know. I hope you’re right.”