by Jamie Magee
She rounded a corner and Murdock was there, coming up the other way with a cup of coffee in his hand.
He actually sneered at her, which made her blood boil with rage.
Just behind him she saw Dawson walking by. She glanced up as if she heard Justice’s fear calling her name. Instead of coming to her defense, fighting her battle for her, she simply nodded and walked on.
Dawson didn’t go far, only one aisle over, where she could not only hear what went down, but also see Boon who hated every minute of being stuck in a library.
“Well, well,” Murdock said to Justice. “I used to know a girl who looked a lot like you,” he said in a low tone. He nodded toward her stiffly “When did you get back? Did he get over it? Not tight enough for him any more?”
Justice gasped. She had thought through this scenario a thousand times. Each time she fought with Dawson she’d yell, “Who do you see? Who are you stronger than? Fucking show me, girl! I don’t believe it. I don’t. Make me.”
Murdock seemed bigger to Justice. He was never small by any means, but somehow, even though the logical side of her mind said he was weaker, that the drinking and drugs were leaving a mark, she saw him as a massive demon. An evil that would not let her rest.
She felt her heart racing, her skin dampened with fear, her fist clutched.
But then she breathed, deep and slow. Then she heard Dawson in her head. The four hours a day they spent ‘training’ started to flood her.
She was still scared. There was no stopping it. But she was angrier.
A manic smirk reached her lips for a second before resentment took over her expression. She slammed her heel on his foot, punched him in the jaw, and upward thrust contact was made with the palm of her hand.
Dumbfounded, Murdock moved back, holding his face and spilling his coffee all over the front of him. “What the fuck?”
“That’s what you want to say?” she asked brandishing the Taser she had on her. If she really wanted to get crazy she could have pulled out the forty-five she had concealed at her back.
He jerked his head up, looking at her like she was the insane one. “After the shit I’ve done for you. After your jarhead buddy nearly got me to confess to our night of hell, the least I should be allowed to do is tease you about who you’re fucking.” He leaned a bit forward giving her reason to take aim at his groin.
She shook—her hand was trembling with rage, rage because she knew he didn’t even fucking remember. He had ruined her all over again and it was nothing to him but a black out drunk.
Her gaze dipped to his forearm, to the scar she had left there when she bit down when he all but suffocated her. She swallowed harshly and thought of every reason to kill him and not to kill him—the latter was coming up short.
Could anyone be any more dangerous? Psychopathic? To destroy a life and not even remember?
“You raped me,” she hissed, saying it aloud for the first time ever. Admitting it happened to herself. The pain of the moment was indescribable, but the strength it gave her was much the same.
His dark eyes searched hers rapidly, confirming what she already knew. He didn’t remember.
“Yeah, try pulling that off—see what I don’t say,” he said in a shallow tone a few seconds later.
She almost laughed, because what he said was exactly what she knew he’d say the night it happened. She knew him that well. How sick and self-righteous he was.
She stepped forward and fired, tasing him right where it mattered. He yelled out but before anyone came to investigate she stood over him and glared down. “Come near me again and I’ll cut it off.” And then she walked away.
She stormed out of the library, Dawson hot on her heels. Boon set off to figure out who was yelling and why.
“What the fuck, Dawson!” Justice raged when they got outside, when she felt the sun wash down her, really felt it for the first time, when she tasted the air, noticed it was there. “You just left me!”
Justice couldn’t focus on anything. Her entire body was numb with adrenaline.
“It was your fight.”
Justice shook her head as she paced. “I’m fucking armed. I could have killed him! Then what?”
“You wouldn’t have,” Dawson said calm as ever as she dropped her sunglasses over her face.
“You don’t know that,” Justice argued. “What was this? Some training bullshit? Some way to help me get over it?”
“No,” Dawson said honestly. When Justice met her gaze she said, “You’ll never get over it. Ever. It will stay with you. What you do with it, what you allow it to do to you is your choice. Own the demon or let it own you.”
Justice dropped her head.
“You faced him,” Dawson said. “Done. Now you know this beast can be defeated.” Dawson stepped up. “Now you need work on getting back to where you belong. Making shit right again.”
A beat later Boon charged out the doors franticly looking for Justice. When he found her, saw how calm she was, a half smirk emerged as he shook his head. “I want to brag about this but it will just piss him off,” he said.
No one needed clarification. It would do more than piss Declan off if he knew Murdock was breathing the same air as Justice.
“My fight,” she said, sternly looking at Boon before turning and walking away, feeling lighter than she had in months. Her demon was walking next to her, not perched on her shoulder, and she was sure it was a bit smaller now. Not much, but still. Every victory deserves to be celebrated.
***
By the time the summer class was over, Justice felt right, strong. It was time to go home to Declan. The plan was to stay with him until he had to deploy. Justice was determined to see the plan through. She knew it was going to be a battle when she saw the distant look in Declan’s eyes when he picked her up at the airport. His guarded touch as he took her hand nearly broke her before she ever stepped onto the battlefield.
“Beautiful,” he said, leaning into to kiss her brow, then slowly guiding her against him. He didn’t hold her tighter until she wrapped her arms around him then drifted them up encircling his shoulders pulling him hard against her, so hard that she hoped she could slip inside and hide forever. It was hard to tell if his grunt was a tease when she squeezed him or if she really took him off guard.
“Friendly fire,” he quipped putting his arm around her and guiding her out to his truck. “I guess Dawson wasn’t joking when she said she was going to put you through boot camp.”
“I don’t think Dawson knows how to joke, she needs a dose of a good time—overdue.”
The random phrase stifled the mood all the more. It was said around the Rawlings the reason ‘Tomorrow’—as they called her— fit Nolan so well was because they were perfect opposites. He’d never be serious about anything without her, and she’d never smile without him. Justice still didn’t know their story, but had a feeling it wasn’t all sunshine and butterflies.
The storms were rolling in the emotions of everyone, Declan and Dawson bore the brunt of the pain and there was nothing Justice could do to make it better. Hell, it was all she could do to get herself right most days.
It was hard the first few weeks with Declan. His touches were too cautious, he’d glanced away too much when they spoke, and the silence wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it used to be.
Sex sucked.
There was a gaping hole between them and in the gap her fear and his anger swelled. Neither emotion was meant for the other. She told Dawson about it, and after Dawson cussed her out and threatened to fly to where she was and kick her ass, Justice came up with a plan.
When Declan came home from work that afternoon, she had all the furniture moved and was standing in the center of the living room in boy-shorts and a tank, in a stance that said she was ready to fight.
~
Declan’s gaze was full of confusion and anger. More of the first.
He’d been as delicate as he could with her, and done his best to keep his anger in check, som
ething he figured out was far easier to do on the phone, or even when they Skyped for hours at a time.
Being in the same room with her, feeling how different her energy was, feeling the space between them—what his career, the loss of Nolan and all the other shit had done to them only made it worse. Declan was sure he felt like an obligation to her, a mountain, a challenge she had stubbornly chosen to climb.
Loving someone shouldn’t be hard. And they had always been hard.
“Let’s go,” she said, loosening up.
Declan recognized this philosophy, it was dished out to him his whole life, and when it wasn’t, he was dishing it out. On the surface, it seemed more physical than anything, but the truth is it was all-emotional. This exercise burned away all the bullshit that had been clogging your head. It proved to you and yours that you were stronger than before, whatever jacked you up was a gift.
What happened to Justice was not a fucking gift. It was a curse. The curse of him. She’d never see it that way. His girl walked through hell her whole life, had only poked her head out of it for moments across her life. To her this was how life rolled. Declan knew she deserved more. She deserved to feel safe and he couldn’t give that to her, no matter how hard he tried.
Declan’s stare stayed the same as he emptied his pockets like he did at the end of every day. When he reached for the remote as if her standing half nude in front of him wasn’t interesting, she kicked it from his grip.
“Stop it,” he snarled when she engaged again and he blocked her. “Not right.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
“Yeah,” he roared. His girl had been hit one too many times before she reached the age of six. This. Was. Not. Right.
Delicate rose. A delicate, wilted rose. One he had let down. One he could never understand.
She charged him again and his anger boiled. “Back off!”
Again.
“What are you? Two? I’ve had a shitty day. I don’t need this.”
Again.
She didn’t even hear what he was saying.
It was all games at first then her blows hurt. Shit, Tomorrow—you created a warrior...
Understanding he was in debt to his brother’s ex distracted him long enough for her to get another blow in. Fuck!
A sly smirk ghosted across her lips. Declan could see her adrenaline building across the lean tone of her body. How had he missed this? Fuck him, she had never looked more sensual. He felt his own body flex, a raw need to let loose come over him. There was no way he was going to hit her but he was positive the raw fuck he heard calling his name was the last thing she needed—the last thing he was willing to put her through. No matter how strong she was on the outside, he saw her demons sleeping in her eyes, heard them growl when they woke her at night.
Declan managed to pin her arms. “Stop this shit, get dressed. We’ll go get some beers.” He needed something to get him out of this cage with the only temptation he’d ever met that he could not best.
Justice slipped his grip and circled him, charging him again.
“Fucking fine,” he growled. She wanted a punching bag—bring it. Maybe it would make him feel better.
He turned and blocked her. Declan let her hit him; God knew he deserved it, if not worse. He should’ve done something about her daddy long before the storm, long before he dared to ask her if he was right about that fucker. The second he realized how corrupt his town was, he should’ve pulled her from there. He should have told her he didn’t give a fuck about her independence, that she could go to school where he was, build a life there. He should have been a bigger ass.
Instantly, Declan figured out that it would be best for him to pay attention to her blows. They were fierce and had far more power than he assumed they would. She was only playing before.
With each hit she was testing his mindset. She was waking him to the reality that shit happens no matter where the fuck you are. It’s how you deal with it that matters. Justice had prevailed. Declan felt confidence he had never known her to have before.
~
Justice knew he was taking it easy on her. The maneuvers they were doing were basic, and he was more or less her punching bag, blocking her arms and feet at just the right time, but not engaging.
Pride glinted in his eyes, then he started to coach her. “Block. Again. Move. I could’ve had you.”
He used the same positive but forceful tone that Dawson used with her; only it meant more when it came from him. So much more.
When he said, “Good,” she felt herself swell with satisfaction. The virtual demon became even smaller.
“You don’t want it bad enough,” he taunted. They were both soaked with sweat by then, out of breath, and starting to have too much fun with the hand-to-hand, adrenaline-building combat.
She flung herself on him then, but not in attack mode. Her lips crashed into his and her thighs squeezed him as tight as she could. “I do. I want you more than life,” she said as her hands pulled his lips to her.
Declan froze, you would’ve thought she was holding a loaded gun against his head. Then he narrowed his eyes on her, then looked a bit deeper. Astonishment struck him, then something he had not seen in a long while, hope. He’d recognized the fearless passion they once had.
His eyes sheened as he whispered, “God I missed you,” before his starved kiss touched her lips.
Their clothes were ripped away beats later.
They had loved each other silently before, and they had loved each other fiercely. But they had never loved each other with abandon before.
As his hand glided over her slick flesh, he could have sworn he felt her soul pulsing beneath his touch, a raw power, a heated flame that stood strong in the wind.
“You’re all here,” he panted as his lips moved across her heaving chest.
She lifted his head, made him look her deep in the eyes as she wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him in, “So are you,” she said across a breath. She arched her hips holding his gaze. “I love you so much.”
He stilled inside her, his hand cradled her face as he searched her gaze. “Promise to never let me go, no matter what...” An hour ago he would have begged her to kick him to the curb. He was trapped by his own demons. Justice broke him free once more. Every kiss, the feeling of her palm gliding down his back just before her nails dug in, the way she moved to feel his hands with every thing he could ever desire, had set him free. Outside of his own prison the sensation of unconditional love, the promise no matter what fucked shit life dealt them made him grieve. He missed them when they were still right there, perfect.
He’d beg her any day to make this promise. Right then, as she silently stared up at him and he felt her body pulling him deeper, clenching around him, her answer was his only lifeline.
“That’s a given, Rawlings,” she said just before her arms pulled him against her, holding on for dear life as they both let go.
Nothing was held back, they were hard, they were soft, and they were silly. They were everything they had not been since she left before. Justice was sure they were more than they ever had been. The boy and girl were left in the past. The scared man and woman were strong and able, ready to stare life in the eye and dare it to break them.
Hours later, when she woke on his chest where they both laid naked across the floor, Declan was swaying his fingertips across her back. When she sleepily looked up at him he didn’t smile. His lips met her forehead as his arms held her against him. “You are my everything...God knew what he was doing when he put you in my path.”
Declan could’ve told her he loved her a million times and it would not have meant as much as those words. It was truth she had known since she was girl...a truth she thought he’d never see at times.
Twenty
Declan and Justice were right as rain. The rest of their problems were still there. Declan was still deploying, and Nolan was still missing. Right before Declan left all hell broke loose. She was positive their famili
es could not have sent him off on a worse note.
Over the years, Declan had drifted from his family. He talked to them weekly but his tone was clipped and the conversation always about Nolan. Three weeks before Declan was to deploy, his dad showed up at their front door.
“We need closure, and you do, too,” Chasen said bluntly, right as Declan opened his front door, wearing nothing but his tags and jogging pants. Sleepily Justice emerged behind him wearing his shirt shocked and a bit embarrassed. Since she had been with Declan, she had begun to play things his way, kept to him and herself. When she was home it was different. The Rawlings were her family, they made up the walls of her life.
“Your brother’s funeral is in forty-eight hours. Be there.”
They were home in six and Declan was anything but grief stricken, he was enraged.
This year, they had pushed the Rally deep into September. The Rawlings planned to use the Rally for the whole family near and far to say goodbye to Nolan. It was a plan Declan had shot down in the past. From what Justice heard from Boon, Declan had a knock down drag out fight with Chasen about the plan last time Declan was home.
If Justice had known, she could’ve done something about it. She knew a side of Declan no one knew. It would’ve taken her time, but she could’ve gotten Chasen and Declan on better terms. She could’ve prepared Declan and her for this. To her, it felt like someone had called the game with bases loaded and no outs. Every week, Providence had some kind of lead. Not all were promising. It was hard to believe a dead man would spur so many false leads, though. There had to be a truth out there that no one was looking for. At least if they were, they were not cluing Justice in on the gig.
The whole way home Justice had felt sick with dread and exhausted. Tested.
The Rawling’s wanted closure for everyone, including Declan. To them, him deploying and thinking Nolan was out there needing him was a distraction. A funeral would not erase the craving for revenge. However, Declan’s revenge and answers could be found when he came back.
Justice had a hard time agreeing with them. Every time she argued with them, they’d tell her something she didn’t know before. It was humiliating.
