Breeding Justice

1. Chapter One Hassan

Chapter One: Hassan

Z ane was lying down on the bed, looking paler than I had ever seen him. It had taken me a few tries to get Sebastian to go to sleep, but now he was, and he would forget all about everything that had happened over the past few days soon. Hopefully. I really hoped so.

“Are you okay?” Zane asked, his words almost slurred.

“I’m not the one who was shot,” I said, rushing to his side. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”

“We’ll get them back,” Zane set his glassy hazel eyes on me. “We always do.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to tell him that things were different now; there was no motivation for Vito to keep Bash or Justice alive, and Skylar was simply an added nuisance. The truth was that, for all his faults, having Jez around meant that Bash was protected, and so were we, by extension. Jez might have been evil, but Jez loved Bash. They were brothers, and their bond often superseded whatever the fuck was going on with us.

Vito didn’t love Bash. Vito just wanted his grandson.

“You look like shit,” Zane said. “Come here.”

“You want me to lie down with you?”

He laughed, a hollow sound that rang through the space between his teeth like a hiss. “Hassan, you’ve seen me naked countless times. This isn’t any more gay than that.”

I supposed he had a point.

He scooched over so that there was space for me on the bed, setting his gaze d7on my eyes as he flashed me a smile.

I laughed.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m just…this is the most high I’ve ever seen you.”

He laughed again. “Yeah,” he said. “The stuff they give you at the hospital is serious.”

“You can’t go get them with me, Zane,” I said. “You’re still recovering from a gunshot wound, and they have to keep thinking you died. Otherwise, they’re just going to keep coming after you.”

"Alright, fine," Zane said. "Whatever. Just make sure to make a proper plan, please. Don't go in there guns blazing. I don't want to lose any of you. If you go without a plan, that's as good as suicide."

I licked my lips, which were dry. "Yeah, I know. But I can't take too long."

"You're going tonight, right?"

"Tonight," I echoed.

Zane nodded, his eyes practically closing as he did. "Listen," he said. "It'll be alright."

"You only believe that 'cause you're so high."

He laughed. "No, no," he said. "It's because you have a knack for fixing things."

I laughed too. "You believe in me a lot."

He got serious. "I always have. Always will," he said. "Try and get some sleep, alright? You should rest before you go in."

"I..."

But then he had wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him as if I was a teddy bear, and I couldn't bring myself to pull myself away from him. He needed to rest to recover, and he was right, maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing if I got a little sleep. I already had some of my men on it, and I needed to make sure I had the element of surprise working for me. My eyelids were heavy; the day had been long, difficult.

I drifted into sleep. Not for long. I rolled away and then it wasn't Zane behind me. I was in a dark room, and it smelled of weed and sweat. I could hear fans spinning around me. I wanted to turn around, but I couldn't. I was held in place, frozen. I could feel Jez's presence behind me, inching closer to me, his arm slung around my belly.

"I'm sorry," he said into my ear. I could feel how hard he was against the small of my back. "I promise I'll be gentle this time."

I tried to tell him to stop, I tried to move, but my voice died in my throat and my body wasn't listening to me.

A nightmare. I was caught in the throes of a nightmare. I knew it, my conscious self aware of the disconnection from reality. But that change of knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear. Jez's voice was an echo of the past, the phantom pain that had clawed into my soul so long ago.

I wanted to turn around to tell him to stop, but when I finally managed to look behind my shoulder, it wasn't him there.

It was Bash, who looked...kind. Tired. Alive. Aroused. "Do you want me to stop?" Bash asked, his voice low.

Jez had never once asked me if I wanted him to stop.

I shook my head, unable to form words in my dry throat. But Bash seemed to understand. He loosened his hold, his gaze tender. Then the scene shifted and we were no longer in that suffocating room, but in an open field, under a clear sky with Bash still by my side.

"I can keep going," he said, his voice breathy against the shell of my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine. "You like how it feels, right?"

I nodded, my mouth so dry I was almost certain I was never going to be able to speak again. Bash's hand slowly moved below my waist, toward my growing arousal. His touch was expert; he knew exactly how to make me squirm with pleasure. A sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it, and Bash laughed.

"Just relax, Hassan," he whispered into my ear. He was warm against my back, his body pressuring mine, demanding a response. "Let me take care of you."

How did I tell him I didn't want to like this? How did I pry my gaze away from him at that moment, when he looked so much like his brother?

In this twilight realm of dreams, logic fled and reason held no sway. I could hear Jez laughing in the background - a toxic whisper that was an undercurrent to Bash's soothing words. I reached down, covering Bash's hand with my own, intending to pull it away from me.

"Do you want me to go faster? Harder? Tell me what you want."

I couldn't tell him what I wanted. Even though this was a dream, and I was sure it was a dream, I couldn't tell him anything.

I could not form the words. I did not have the strength to shatter this temporary peace, to break this moment of illusionary respite. Bash was warm, comforting, but nothing about this felt right.

"You're so hard," he said. "I love how your cock feels in my hand."

His touch got more insistent and my pleasure grew, despite my thoughts swirling, despite the changing scenery around us.

Suddenly, we were on a rooftop, gazing out over the city lights. I could feel the wind ruffling my hair and the rough texture of the concrete beneath me. But Bash was still there, his hand still on me, his touch like silver fire against my skin.

"Tell me what you want," he repeated. "Anything."

But all I could do was moan and writhe under his touch, the pleasure consuming me, tearing through my resistance. His hand shifted, moving in a rhythm that promised release.

"Let go," he whispered into my ear. "It's alright."

And so I did. Waves of pleasure swept over me as I found release in his grasp, my body arching and shaking from the intensity of it. Bash held me tightly throughout the storm, his arms strong and secure around me.

When I finally settled, panting heavily and drenched in sweat, Bash kissed my shoulder lightly and pulled away from me. A sense of loss washed over me when he did. Everything had turned dreamy, pastel, almost gentle.

Then Bash bit my shoulder, this time hard, and when he looked at me, he had a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Jez was right about you. You're delicious."

My heart dropped to my stomach.

I awoke with a gasp, my body covered in an icy sheen of sweat, and shivering from the aftereffects of the dream. The darkened room tilted dangerously around me for several long moments before it snapped back into harsh focus. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal. I blinked away tears, the remnants of my nightmare fading like fog in the early morning light.

Zane stirred next to me, concern written all over his face. "Hey," he said. "What happened?"

"Nightmare," I rasped out, my voice choked with my strained composure. My knotted muscles refused to relax, still on edge in the afterglow of the dream. The room felt too chilly, my sweat-soaked shirt sticking to the skin of my back.

"Wait," he protested, lifting himself to an elbow as I reached for my boots. "Hassan, talk to me."

"I'm okay," I lied, my voice barely more than a whisper. He reached out for me, but I shrugged him off. Not trusting myself to look into his eyes. Zane...he was recovering from a gunshot wound. It wasn't fair that he should be the one to look after me.

"You're shaking," he said, his voice heavy with sleep and concern. I didn’t respond. "Don't shut me out. Talk."

"I can't..." I managed to choke out, hastily pulling on my boots. The cool air in the room felt sharp against my sweat-slicked skin, and a shuddering breath left me as I stood. I was still reeling from the dream, from the intensity of it all - Bash's hands on me, Jez's laughter...I shook my head violently as if to physically shake off the remnants of the nightmare.

"I'm so high, I'm probably not even going to remember. Get it out. You might feel better."

I looked at his pale skin, at the way his eyes were only half-open.

"I can't," I whispered again, the words a desperate plea more than anything. He didn't understand. He couldn't possibly understand the weight of the memory that clung to me, suffocating me with its presence.

"Try," he urged, his voice soft and comforting as he sat up in bed, propped against his pillows.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair and sighed, part of me wanting to give in to his calming presence. But the other part - the part that still clung to the echoes of my dream - pushed back. My gaze flickered from him to the window, the darkness outside seeming less threatening than my own thoughts.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," he said. He pushed himself up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Despite his injuries, he moved with a grace that I found mesmerizing.

"Where are you going?" I asked as he stood, wincing slightly from the pain.

"To get you some water," he said simply. "You're shaking like a leaf."

I watched him go, my body still trembling from the nightmare. He was back again soon, two glasses of ice cold water in his hand.

"You know," he said, sitting down next to me. "Nightmares are a totally normal part of the recovery process."

I glared at him. "So you knew it was about Jez?"

He took a sip of his water. "Jez or his dad, yeah," he replied. "I mean, we've all done some fucked up shit, seen some fucked up shit. It all pales in comparison."

"I don't want your psychoanalysis," I snapped, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth. Zane frowned, looking hurt. A wave of guilt washed over me.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't mean..."

"No," he interrupted, putting his glass down on the floor and turning to face me. "It's okay."

"You're literally a doctor. You know more about this than I ever will," I replied. "I'm just...look, the therapy is helping, right? It is. Abby is great. But then Bash is in danger and suddenly I'm not just dreaming about Jez but Bash is taking his place..."

"His place like," Zane seemed to consider his words carefully, then shrugged. "Like raping you? Sorry, I'm trying hard here, I'm just so high."

I took a deep breath and nodded. It was painful to admit, even more so with the bluntness of Zane's words, but it was a necessary evil. An evil I had to confront.

"Yeah," I responded quietly, staring at my trembling hands. "Something like that."

He didn't say anything for a moment, letting the words hang heavily in the cold air between us.

"You can't blame yourself," he eventually said, his voice soft. "You can't control your dreams and you certainly can't control what that bastard did to you."

"I know," I replied, taking another shaky breath. "But knowing it logically doesn't stop the dreams...or the guilt. When Bash takes his place, it always feels so...good. And then it feels wrong, right? I don't know why. It just does. I mean, we killed Jez."

"I killed Jez," Zane said. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

I looked at him, waiting for him to say anything else.

But he didn't. Silence stretched on like a void trying to swallow us whole. His gaze was steely, almost chilling. It wasn’t the high talking, it was raw conviction.

“Why did you do it?” My voice came out as a whisper, barely a scratch in the silence. I never asked Zane directly before. Not about killing Jez.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering his response. "Because he was a threat, to you and to everyone else around him." His voice was calm, measured. "And because he deserved it."

I swallowed. "Does this mean I'm like...into Bash?" I asked. "It always feels like these dreams are walking a thin line between nightmare and sex dream and I can't figure them out."

"I think that's something you can explore with Abby when you go to therapy next, but here's a little bit of info for free," he said. "Just because something felt physically good doesn't mean that you liked it. It makes sense that your mind would try to fill the space in with someone you feel safe with, even if you aren't actually attracted to him. Do you understand?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I mean, I understand what you're saying, I just don't, like, get it."

"That's okay," he said, reaching out to put a comforting hand on my arm. "It's not something you have to understand right now. And it's okay to feel confused. It's a lot to process."

I nodded, glancing out the window into the inky blackness of the night.

"You're not alone, Hassan," Zane continued. "Remember that. You have people who care about you and want to help you through this."

"Yeah," I whispered. "I know."

He took a sip of water then shook his head.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I...I mean, chalk this one up to me being stoned, but have you considered fingering yourself?"

I practically did a spit take. "Sorry, what?"

"So, right. Neural pathways are like a complex network of roads in our brain, kinda like a super intricate transportation system. And when it comes to trauma, especially of a sexual nature, it's like this big ol' roadblock that messes up the smooth flow of these pathways. Trying to get around those obstacles can be a real challenge, and sometimes it feels like we're stuck at a dead end. But you know what? Pleasure...pleasure is a totally viable detour," Zane said with his usual mix of medical smarts and friendly vibes. "These pathways are shaped by all the stuff we've been through, right? In your case, the trauma you've experienced has probably created some intense and negative routes that are deeply connected to sexual contact."

I stared at him.

"So," he continued, "if you reintroduce pleasure, on your own terms, it could help build positive pathways. Kind of like rebuilding the road. It's not a cure-all, and I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think it could be helpful.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "You're...you're suggesting I...?"

"Masturbate," he supplied helpfully, and I choked on my water. He chuckled despite himself but there was a serious look in his eyes. "Only if you feel comfortable with it, of course. And only when you're ready."

"But I do have pleasurable sex," I replied. "When I have sex with Justice, it's bliss. She's amazing."

"Yeah, that's why I'm saying you should finger yourself," he replied. "Look, when you're with someone else, even someone you trust and feel safe with, you still don't have complete control over the situation. There is another person involved, their pleasure to consider, their expectations..."

His voice trailed off as he seemed to gather his thoughts. "When it's just you though, you're in complete control. You can stop if something doesn't feel right. You can explore what you like and don't like without judgement. It's all about reclaiming those positive experiences."

I was silent for a while. His words were making sense, it was completely logical from a psychological perspective but it was still a lot to take in given my current state of mind.

"Okay," I finally said. "I'll...I'll give it a thought. But how do you finger yourself, though? Like, mechanically?"

Zane blinked at me, then burst out laughing. He leaned back against his seat, clutching his stomach, full-throated laughter echoing around the room.

I chucked a pillow at him. "I'm straight! I never even considered this."

He caught the pillow mid-fling, laughing so hard tears began to form in his eyes. "Oh man," he managed to gasp out, "I forget sometimes how...heteronormative you can be."

I scowled at him playfully, knocking the pillow out of his hands. "Stop laughing and help me out here, jerk."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He held up a hand in surrender, still snickering. "It's just...the idea of you not knowing basic anatomy is hilarious to me. Okay, okay..." He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Look - it's really not that complicated. You just have to make sure your hands are clean first and foremost."

"Clean hands. Got it," I said, nodding gravely.

"And then you...well, lubrication helps. Either from a bottle or...your own." His cheeks flushed slightly as he spoke. "And then you...experiment."

The laughter had died down, replaced by a graver tone. He looked at me, his gaze holding nothing but sincerity. "It's about finding what feels good to you. Start slow, and it doesn't have to be directly...you know. There's a whole lot of nerve endings around that area."

I looked at him intently, my heart hammering in my chest. I didn't know if I could do this myself.

He was right there.

He was good at it.

He had suggested it, so I didn't lose anything by asking.

"Alright, Zane. Will you show me?"