I Am Justice Read online

  But she was safe. Sandesh’s partner, Victor, had a contact that had gotten them over King Hussein Bridge and into the West Bank. He’d given them food and water and even clothes.

  Well, he’d done his best. She currently wore men’s white boxers and a T-shirt. This wasn’t exactly the Ritz. The sound of Sandesh in the pipe-rattling shower nearly drowned out Momma’s voice. “Justice, I need to know what you’ve told this young man.”

  “He knows nothing about the League.” She swallowed what felt like a lie. He didn’t know about the League, but he wasn’t an idiot.

  Momma made a stern tsking sound. “M-erasure is painless. Harmless. And in this case, we only need to alter his memory very slightly. Not removing actual events, but shifting only those moments of heavy suspicion and distrust, where he suspected you and our operation. When he thinks of it, he will dismiss his suspicions and be reassured it was the price of doing business in the area. Nothing more.”

  Harmless? Really? Momma would see it that way. But just because you employed and trained some of the greatest scientists in the world, women who could not only implant memories but erase them, didn’t mean you should use that power.

  Not on Sandesh. But she’d deal with that threat once she got back home. “Did you take care of security at the school?”

  “Of course, I increased it. But we already have the best security of any school in the world.”

  Momma. She didn’t mess around. “How long until you arrange to get me out of here?”

  “A few days. I’m working on covering up your abrupt departure.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “No. You did good going to Zaatari. There is no one to connect Justice Parish with what happened at the hotel.”

  “And Salma? Is everything still okay there?”

  “Yes. Sandesh has taken care of her. He mobilized his volunteers at a speed that I envy.”

  Justice had to agree. Sandesh and his IPT cofounder, Victor, actually managed to locate and organize two former soldiers fighting with the Kurds. Even now, they were protecting Salma and the women she’d rescued in a secure location while they waited for the volunteers from the States to arrive in Jordan. And he’d done it while keeping Justice’s secret.

  Which is why she wasn’t giving Momma anything on Sandesh. She owed him her life.

  The running shower switched off. “Okay. Thanks for all your help. Got to go. Love you.”

  “Love you, Daughter.”

  Justice listened to Sandesh moving in the bathroom. She could hear him grab a towel and dry off. There had been only one towel, so he was using the one she’d used.

  She couldn’t help smiling at the idea of him wiping himself down with a towel that had been against her body. She tried not to imagine him all sexy, wet, and naked. Whoops. Too late.

  Crossing her legs again, hair still damp from her own shower, she familiarized herself with the threads of red and brown in the hotel room’s carpet. Things were getting crazy.

  Even though Amal was safe, Salma had had to close up shop. Damn. She never should’ve involved Sandesh and Salma. In one fell swoop, she’d crippled a charity that had been doing a lot of good, turned an honorable man into a fugitive, and brought attention to the League they couldn’t afford.

  Ugh. Don’t think about that. Or about those women Salma’s charity helped, so eager to learn, so excited and joyful despite the pain and uncertainty of their lives.

  She rolled onto her side, stared at the closed shower door, and tucked her legs into a fetal position. She had to remember she’d killed Aamir. She’d done it.

  So why did she feel like such shit?

  She’d thought once the man who’d killed Hope was dead, she’d feel better. Something like relief. Something like she’d earned the sacrifice of Hope’s life.

  But now the pain of losing Hope had only been added to by the regret of destroying Salma’s and Sandesh’s good work and putting her family in danger.

  The bathroom door opened. Sandesh walked into the room, bringing the smell of hotel soap and warm steam. He wore only boxers and had the abs and pecs of a man who needed no help getting laid. Damn. He worked out.

  He stopped on seeing her checking him out. A grin spread across his face. “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely.’”

  He’d left out the “more temperate” part of that line. She smiled, very much aware that her white cotton undies and tee did little to cover her. “So in addition to being smoking hot in boxers and providing expert cover fire, you also recite Shakespeare. Guess that’s not something you learned in the military.”

  He walked to the bed. His eyes jumped along her body, caught the curve of her hip, followed it up. He shook his head. “As a kid, my mom read poetry and Shakespeare to me.”

  His mother. Justice had heard him call to check on her a short time ago. “Was she okay when you called?”

  “She’s doing the same. My partner at the IPT, Victor, goes over nearly every night and reads Shakespeare to her while she eats dinner. He says sometimes she likes it.”

  “Victor of the many contacts sounds like a good guy.”

  “He is. Most of the time.” That last seemed almost like a warning. His eyes, which had wandered again down her body, traveled back up to her face. “He would like you.”

  “What about you? Do you still like me?”

  He sat on the bed. It dipped with his weight. He was close enough that she could feel the moisture and heat on his skin, see the sky-blue of his eyes grow serious, detect a subtle tightening along his sharp, kissable jaw. That couldn’t be good.

  He put one arm back, supporting himself with his hand. “You’re a vigilante. And you’ve started a war.”

  Okay. They were going there.

  She raised herself up on one hand, so they were eye level. “No. Men started the war. I’m just defending my sisters.”

  “Men? Not me. I didn’t start this war. You dragged me into it.”

  He had her there. “But you’re a good man; why not fight bad ones?”

  His lips pressed together then relaxed. “Because I’ve tried that way. Tried it until I didn’t recognize myself. And that’s not my job anymore. There has to be more than that, Justice. That can’t be my only choice.”

  He was right. Her eyes charted the muscles in his forearms, the length of his fingers, the spread of his hand. Strong and gentle. “What made you decide to do this, start a charity? Was it just that experience you had helping Victor? Was it your mom?”

  He stiffened, started to get up. She put a hand on his thigh. It was muscle and tension. He looked at her. Spent a long moment staring into her eyes.

  He ran a thumb along her brows, across the edge of her eyes. He whispered, “Your eyes…endless.”

  He dropped his hand. “Partly that. But my mom getting early-onset Alzheimer’s made me realize I wanted to create more good memories. I saw what the bad memories did to her. The terror of an abusive relationship she escaped too late, one that is now part of her waking nightmare. But it was also…my own nightmare.”

  “The one from the plane?”

  He nodded. She waited, didn’t want to ask him to share. He had to know she’d listen if he wanted to tell her.

  “You have your own shit, Justice. You don’t need to carry mine around too.”

  What? That’s why he hadn’t told her? “So what? I burdened you when I told you about Hope.”

  He startled, as if he hadn’t thought of it that way before. Men. Sometimes they got such a bad deal. Don’t share. Be tough. Sheesh. He took another moment and then said, “I was on a mission in Syria.”

  “Not Iraq?”

  “We went all over the Middle East. This was the end of my tour. Before things in Syria imploded. We were training the FSA.”

  “FSA? Free Syrian Army? The good guys, r
ight?”

  “They weren’t the good guys, but a whole lot better than the Syrian president, Assad. Trainees usually met us in Qatar, but we’d been sent into Syria. We were close by when Assad dropped a barrel bomb filled with chemicals on the local girls’ school.”

  He scratched hard behind his ear, as if digging out a memory. “Someone had a hose out trying to wash the girls. The kids were screaming. Frantic. A young girl came running at me. I mean directly at me. She’d been stripped of skin and clothes. I didn’t even think. I just picked her up. Her skin sloughed off in my hands.”

  Justice’s stomach turned over. “Oh God.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know what to do. Nearly vomited. One of my team had called for an extraction earlier. He alerted me to the helo. I started to walk toward the LZ. Thought I could get her to safety. I was so tense with anger I could feel it harden my veins. The kid was shaking like a leaf in my arms. But she reached up to me. The bones…the little bones in her hand visible.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Before she died, she said, ‘Poppa, don’t be angry. There is more.’”

  More. More than violence. More than pain. He was looking for the pot at the end of the rainbow. Maybe not something clean, but a way to feel something other than anger. And didn’t he deserve that? Didn’t he deserve the other side of the coin? He’d fought enough.

  Something in Justice’s chest, a kind of hopeful ache, moved forward as if seeking him.

  “What did it mean when she said that? The more part?”

  “It could’ve meant nothing to me. And in that moment, it should’ve. But I knew exactly what she meant. She was telling me that as total and awful and fucked up as that moment was, it wasn’t all there was to life. She was telling me to keep going. Reminding me my life wouldn’t end that day. For me, there would be a lot more than the moment of violence that ended her life, even more than the violence I’d participated in.

  “And she was telling me it was okay for me to have that more. So now, I’m trying to make my more be a way to help others, kids like her.”

  Aw, hell. She rose to her knees. “I’m sorry, Sandesh. Sorry I dragged you into this. I’m going to make this right. I promise.”

  She ran a hand along his jaw. He’d shaved. It was smooth and still damp. She kissed him there, sucked the moisture. His breath caught. It smelled minty, like toothpaste. She kissed the side of his lips.

  He sat deadly still. But he wanted her. So said the hardness expanding his boxers. She kissed his jawline until she met that soft place below his ear. She licked.

  “Justice.” He sighed her name. A plea. A prayer. A promise.

  She swept her tongue inside his ear and breathed a sultry sigh. “Sandesh.”

  He moaned, a sound so hot it could have burned away walls. He turned his head toward her. “Justice.”

  The invitation was there. She took it, put a hand around his neck, tugged him forward, and leaned back.

  He rolled so she was solidly under him. He rubbed his hard cock against her already-wet core. His eyes searched hers for an answer.

  She arched, letting him know with the rise of her body that she needed and wanted this. And even though every signal told him to proceed, she still knew he’d ask.

  He closed his eyes. His breath heavy. His body pressed so intimately she could feel the pulse in his cock. “Justice, let’s share details. I’m clean. Had a whole workup before I left the States. I don’t have a condom. So?”

  He battled his own need as she writhed under him. Damn, his control was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

  And that shouldn’t seem like an opportunity, but it did. She gripped his ass and made soft pleading sounds. He shook his head. He tried to lift off her. She put her arms around his waist, held him.

  He closed his eyes. “One of us has to think here, and it’s getting really difficult for me to think with you rocking under me.”

  She put her palm against his face, waited for him to look at her. He did. He stared at her like it would cause pain to look away.

  “I’m clean. Tested regularly. And the GPS isn’t the only thing implanted. I’m on the pill. Long-term. But I don’t want you to stop thinking. I want you to think. Be aware of this moment, with me. Feel it with me. Don’t let go of this day, this room, us. Stop talking. Be with me. Please.”

  She kissed him on the lips, drawing it out, sweeping her tongue into his mouth. She probed their slick, soft connection with gentle eagerness, then a teasing softness, then a raging, wild desire.

  He responded in kind.

  She wanted to shout with the pure, electric joy of him against her. The exploration of their tongues and hands—filled with heat, igniting every inch.

  Skin. She needed… She pulled at his boxers. “Off.”

  They stripped. The seconds of separation felt like an eternity. They reunited hot skin against hot, smooth skin. Glorious. She was wet and crazed with the need to have him inside her.

  She reached for his cock. “Please.”

  He smiled against her mouth as he pushed himself against her hand. She whimpered.

  “I want to taste you.”

  Oh. Okay.

  He kissed his way down, sucked her breasts, her stomach, moved to her center. She arched expectantly as he brought his lips around her clit, sucked and licked and stroked. Her head fell back.

  His tongue danced along her edges, dipped inside her, stroked her clit until she lost her mind. She threaded her hands into his hair, pressed herself against him.

  The pressure built. She could feel the orgasm so tantalizingly close. She wanted him. She needed him. Inside. She grabbed for him, pulled at his broad shoulders. “I want to come around your cock.”

  He growled. Approval. Need. He shifted over her, his cock between her legs. He lowered his head, kissed along her cheek. Pushed inside her.

  She cried out. He filled her, hot and dense, the most perfect feeling ever.

  He thrust. Deep. Oh. Better. So…much…better.

  He began to thrust and retreat, deep then shallow, deep then shallow. She rocked her hips, kept pace, made desperate sounds of want and need and please-don’t-stop.

  He responded, thrusting harder. Faster. And she was thanking him and moaning and pumping her hips to meet the slam of his thick cock. The orgasm tensed her core, tighter, tighter, impossibly so. Then it broke open. Tremors released and pounded over and through her.

  “Sandy, yes. Yes. Don’t stop.”

  She tossed her head. Waves of shuttering vibrations kept her moving, grinding. So good. She was distantly aware that he watched her, drank in her writhing curves, slick with sweat.

  She slowed her frantic pace. Her body melted as her nerves celebrated the last little shocks and tremors.

  He kissed her lips, teased her mouth open as he put his hands under her ass, scooped her up, and slid his knees under her. He draped her legs one and then the other against his chest. Her ankles up by his ears. The elevated position gave him better access. And her less control.

  “Justice. Watching you come is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He plunged thick and heavy inside her. Air broke from her in startled grunts. He moaned a rough oath, a gritty promise followed by the single-minded declaration in the slap and slam of his body.

  He thrust deep and fast, but not mindlessly. He watched her, watched so that the action of his hips met the sighs on her lips. His hard body responded, sliding against her pleasure points, teasing helpless cries and soft moans from her.

  His own desire lined his brow, tightened his jaw, parted his lips.

  When a second orgasm crested, she could see the knowing in his eyes, feel it in the arch and increased speed of his hips. Oh. God.

  The sharp muscles of his stomach coiled. The line of his biceps stood out as he squeezed her ass, bowed her hips, drove into her.

  The pressu
re built, rolled up tight. She rocked with him. It was too much. The electric, hot feel of him stretching her.

  She came again.

  The swell and roll of the orgasm wracked her body, sent her heaving against him, whimpering and calling out his name. It felt like dying, like nothing existed but the trembling, hot push of his body into hers.

  He responded to her cries with a groan. Then he lost himself. Thrusting without rhythm, almost uncontrollably, he broke hot and heavy inside of her.

  For sweet seconds, his slick heat pushed within her, then with a final moan that sounded like willing surrender, his thrusts naturally slowed, and he stilled.

  Panting, he disentangled himself from her and collapsed beside her, one leg partially on top of her.

  His leg was heavy, so warm. She didn’t need him to move, but he did. He moved his leg, kissed her forehead. A line of semen followed him, dripped across her hip. He drew her to him.

  He brought his mouth to her ear, nuzzled her.

  The sound of their heavy breaths filled the room for quiet, comfortable moments. And then she heard him chuckling.

  Okay. Apparently, she was amusing. He said, his voice a whisper of hot satisfaction, “The way you move—all gyrations and fury. Damn. I can’t get enough of it.”

  “And that amuses you?”

  “I love how carried away you get.”

  Uh? What? Doesn’t everyone? “You have had sex before, right?”

  He chuckled again, moved his head down on the pillow so his mouth was closer to her ear. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s a good thing. You’re easy to read.”

  “I’m easy? Careful, charmer.” She grinned at him, enjoying this part. Who knew pillow talk could be fun?

  He used his thumb to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “You tell me what you want with the double-pump action of your tits and hips. And those fuck-me-harder sighs and the way you beg. Oh God, the way you beg me not to stop. Like I have a fucking choice. Like seeing you moan and grind into me does anything but make me too crazy to do anything but lose myself fast and sloppy inside you.”