Chapter Sixteen
J ustice couldn’t take his eyes off Fisher. Long black hair fell to the top of the man’s ass when his head fell back. The column of his throat lay exposed and those bright blue eyes were closed.
Somehow, a friend of a friend had found out that Fisher was at this club tonight. It was too much of a coincidence and Justice suspected that Rogue might have had a hand in him getting the information. That didn’t mean he didn’t need to stop watching his back. There would be a reckoning day with Rogue, of that Justice had no doubt.
Whatever the case may be, he didn’t give a fuck. All he knew was that he wasn’t leaving this club without Fisher.
Or at the very least, talking with the guy. That Fisher was inebriated might be in his favor. First, it would make physically handling Fisher easier and second, booze did tend to trigger the truth to words.
He thought about tossing back a few drinks before joining Fisher on the dance floor, but he needed a clear head.
The crowd was deep and it took some time to work his way through the throng. When he finally made it to Fisher, the three people dancing with the guy were all over each other.
Ellie Goulding’s song Miracle switched up the beat slightly and Justice didn’t wait.
He came up behind Fisher.
Moving his body in time with the assassin’s slighter form, Justice stayed close.
Fisher sent his head back to rest on his upper chest and then gyrated his ass back into his crotch—clearly unaware of who was behind him.
Justice felt his throat grow tight and all he wanted was to rest his head down on Fisher’s shoulder and let the world fall away.
The other three people moved even closer to them and soon all five of them were in sync. Fisher reached his hands up and closed them at either side of Justice’s neck, pressing their bodies together more tightly.
God help him, Justice closed his arms around Fisher’s waist and held on, locking his hands around the man’s front.
Dropping his head, Justice nuzzled into the fall of dark hair and he ghosted his mouth over Fisher’s ear.
Regret was a bitter thing.
The way Fisher danced back against him clearly showed Fisher didn’t know it was him.
Playing a trick on Fisher had never been his intention, and he wasn’t going to start by lying now.
“Hello, Slim,” he growled against the shell of the man’s ear.
Fisher tensed and after one long moment, relaxed. Justice knew without a doubt he wasn’t forgiven, but at least he was still breathing.
It must have been the alcohol that made the man compliant. He knew that Fisher had consumed enough for two grown men. It was a wonder the slender man was still on his feet.
Justice jerked his head back slightly when Fisher spun around in his arms. Their gazes locked and held.
Unable to resist, Justice bent his head down when Fisher pulled at the back of his neck to bring his face closer. The man went up on his tiptoes and through the loud noise and music, Fisher shouted next to his ear.
“I fucking hate you.”
Justice closed his eyes and tightened his arms.
Fisher groaned and rolled over.
The bed beneath him was soft and the sheets cool.
He couldn’t remember jack shit about last night and the pounding of his head told him why. The hangover was going to be a bitch, but at least he wasn’t still drunk. Now, if he could only figure out where the fuck he was.
Nothing bad had happened, of that, he was sure because he could remember being at the club last night.
He remembered…
He rolled his head to the side.
Son of a bitch!
He recognized that head of dirty blond hair and that rippling muscled back. Lifting the sheet, he gazed down at himself.
Fuck.
He wore only briefs.
Scenes from the night before rolled through his head.
Justice giving his dance companions death glares until they finally disappeared. A punch to Justice’s face, delivered by him. Well, that at least made him feel better. But remembering the lip lock that followed out in the parking lot turned his jaw to granite.
Because he’d been three sheets to the wind, there was zero recollection of the drive to Justice’s house nor did he remember how he had become almost naked in the man’s bed.
Had they fucked last night?
Easing out of the bed, he assessed his body. No, they hadn’t fucked, he was sure.
Fisher spotted his clothes hanging over a chair. The thought of pulling on the smelly clothing wrinkled his nose. Instead, he stalked into the washroom and stepped beneath the water before it was even warm. Soaping up quickly, he rinsed and started on his hair. Ten minutes later, he dried off and reentered the bedroom wearing a towel around his hair and his waist.
He found Justice awake, sitting up and resting against the headboard, with the sheet pulled up to his waist.
Fisher pasted on a glare and marched to the closet with those hooded blue eyes following him. He yanked a gray t-shirt from the man’s closet and grabbed a freshly laundered pair of black sweatpants.
Everything was miles too big, but he cinched the drawstring tight. Jerking on the t-shirt, he returned to the bedroom and stalked over to the chair to sit down and put on his shoes.
“Fisher…” Justice murmured.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Fisher growled, cutting off the stumbling apology.
Hell, at this point, he didn’t even know what the fuck Justice was sorry about.
“I just needed you safe…”
“Safe?” He sounded incredibly outraged, but couldn’t help it.
“Yeah. I needed you to stay out of it.”
Stay out of what, he wanted to shout.
Angry all over again and not knowing why made fury rush through his body.
“You know what, Justice? Fuck you.” He gave the man a scathing look and walked from the room.
He fully expected Justice to follow him, but he was able to leave the house on his own. Once outside, he walked to the closed gate. He waited, but it didn’t open.
Fuck this. Anger lent him speed. There wasn’t much on earth he couldn’t scale and nothing could contain him.
Except for a cage.
Other than that, he was a master at getting out of a jam.
Glancing back toward the house, Fisher spotted Justice at the front door wearing only a pair of unbuttoned blue jeans around his hips. The man held a clicker in his hand.
The gate started to roll open but it was slow as fuck. The wheels beneath the gate moved painstakingly slow, grinding over the concrete.
Their gazes locked and held across the distance.
He was still too angry.
He wanted to strangle Justice with his bare hands.
Fuck the gate.
Spinning around, he sprinted toward the cement wall that butted against the left side of the exit.
When he reached it, he ran half way up before he pulled himself up and perched easily at the top.
Normally, he’d stop there and glance back, but fuck that.
He disappeared over the wall and dropped onto the grassy bank below.
Justice watched Fisher go with a lump in his throat. For some reason, he thought they’d get a chance to talk before the gloves came off.
He’d been so wrong. Fisher was still not ready to talk to him. The man’s anger was off the Richter scale.
And that right there told him he was missing something.
He was missing something big.
And he wasn’t going to get answers from Fisher or the man’s friends. He thought briefly about calling Echo or hell, trying Owen again, but he knew that was a lost cause. There was no way in hell they’d tell him a fucking thing.
He needed to find answers and perhaps that would lead him to forgiveness.
He dialed Wrath’s number and his brother picked up on the first ring.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need an answer.”
“About what?” Wrath said after a long moment.
“What did he do to them?” The words came out rough and raspy.
“Who?”
“Solomon…what did he do to those boys?”
“The scene is still there. You should see it for yourself,” Wrath said with a heavy sigh and gave him an address in San Bernardino.
“Is that the place?”
“It’s the place where Solomon kept Cash, Apollo, and Azrael. According to Echo, it’s similar.”
“Just tell me.”
“You need to see it to believe it, baby bro. The key is beneath the right front fender of the rusty old Ford parked at the left of the door,” Wrath said and quietly ended the call.
“Fuck!” He punched the arm of the couch before he put the address into his phone.
According to the map, it would take three hours in traffic to drive from Ventura to San Bernardino but that was a small price to pay.
Whistling for Axel, he and his dog jumped in his truck.
He needed answers. Perhaps he’d find the truth at that facility because one thing was for certain…
Fisher wasn’t going to tell him shit.