Justice Mine: a Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  “Ye…yeah, no problem,” the kid stuttered. His dark brown eyes saucered at the number of queens in his hand and shuffled the currency into two stacks. “It’s way too much.”

  “It’s not enough,” he countered.

  The kid nodded.

  “Here.” Law held out his hand for Magdalena’s bag and she released it from the hand that also clamped the car. “Are you hurt anywhere other than your face, hand, and feet?”

  “My right shoulder is pretty tender,” she whispered.

  “Is that it?” he asked.

  “My right elbow too,” she added.

  Law stepped around her and looped his left arm, bag in hand, around her back, careful not to brush her elbow, then curled his other arm behind her knees. “You can let go of the car. I’ve got you.”

  He expected a fight, but she didn’t give him one. That told him how spent she was and boiled his blood into furious steam. For someone to steal her spunk, the vibrant personality that now haunted his days and nights, even for a minute, stirred something inside him so long dead it’d mummified, ground to dust, and set to the far reaches of the globe on a strong wind.

  She released her hold and eased back into his arms, fitting like a missing puzzle piece. Cold fingers wrapped around his nape. Her wild tresses tickled his neck as she relaxed and curled into him.

  “You’re freezing,” he whispered.

  She nodded ever so gently.

  His jaw clenched. The temperature rose to the high seventies in the afternoon and the air wasn’t much cooler now. An ever-present blanket of clouds maintained the sticky heat. Sweat broke along his torso and it had nothing to do with the climate.

  Whoever hurt her better hope her injuries were superficial. They better pray to every god ever worshiped by every culture past, present, and future that the muted fire in her green eyes roared to life faster than a pub crawler chuffed a smoke. Or they’d walk with a permanent limp and only see out of one eye. They could have one. They’d need it to watch for his return, peer around corners, and sweat about the possibility for the rest of their days.

  With a bowed head Law acknowledged the cabbie. The young man flicked a wave, started the car, and crunched gravel on his gentle departure.

  Law strode through the open door, and then kicked it closed with his foot. At the archway, past the entrance, he turned. The light filtered through and he navigated the steps into the rich wooden den. Rounding the lush leather wing-backs, Law continued across to the matching sofa. He plopped her bag onto the wide coffee table sturdy enough to host a small pub band.

  Kneeling, Law guided Magdalena to sit on the edge of the soft hide. He pulled the blanket from the high back and settled it carefully around her shoulders. The fireplace gaped like an empty mouth. A damn shame, since that thing could warm the frost off an eskimo. He reached past her and clicked on an ornate standing lamp.

  Blood crusted above her red lips, which weren’t adequately described as merely lips. They were soft pillows of silky skin crafted for kissing and spine-bending eroticism. Not hitting. Crimson spotted the alabaster of her chest and white of her blouse. Law’s mind reeled at the possibilities of the trauma she’d faced. She didn’t mention other injuries. Then again, if she’d been sexually assaulted she wouldn’t share that information in front of a cabbie. He breathed past the sudden twist of his heart, and then winced at another realization. She probably didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to share that sort of information. With the two-and-a half-hour drive from Cardiff to London she’d likely spent more time with the carriage kid.

  Rage stoked inside his chest. As incomprehensible as it seemed, he wanted her to trust him. Confide in him. He wanted to care for her. Avenge her. Even while another part of himself revolted, petitioning him to toss her into Baine’s arms and run as far and as fast as he could.

  “You should have told me you were in trouble last night. I’m not your family, but Baine is my adopted family and you’re his. So, I’d say that makes us at least…I don’t know what.” He scraped a hand over his scalp and exhaled. “You can trust me, Magdalena. I’ll never hurt you and I’ll make damn certain no one else does, ever again.”

  A puddle of tears pooled beneath her green eyes and he’d swear someone kicked him in the nuts. One crystalline drop spilled over the lower lid, rolled down long lashes then tumbled onto her cheek. The sight laid him out. His hand moved to the freckled path spanning the bridge of her dainty nose and rounds of her cheeks. The sprinkled collection of miniature dots stood out only at close inspection. A shade darker than her porcelain skin, they could easily be missed, but the damn little circles bore holes deep in his heart and settled there. He brushed the wetness away with a knuckle, fearing if he started touching her he might never stop.

  Her eyes closed at the brush of his finger and her lips parted. Dear Lord. He was in so much trouble. Lust roared to life, disorienting his anger and furthering the confusion in his consummately ordered mind.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. Her hand rose to cover the skin he’d grazed. “I don’t know you, but I trust Baine completely and he trusts you.” She pinned him with a sparkling gaze and he reveled in her restoring moxie. “My confidence is yours.”

  Her words stirred Law’s cock to life and he cursed his body to the lava filled pits of hell. She gives you her trust and this is how you repay the gift?

  Thankfully oblivious to his internal strife, she continued. “What happened last night was between me and my flatmate. I had no idea it could devolve into this.” She gestured with her good hand at her face. “I don’t even know if it did.”

  Her shoulders straightened and her chin shot up. “I need to get in touch with my father and Baine.”

  They were the better ones to deal with Magdalena. She’d surely be more comfortable with them, but the brush-off riled him. “I can reach your dad, but you’re stuck with me until at least tomorrow. He went with Ruth to visit her sister in Aberdeen.”

  “How long are they gone?” she asked in a rush.

  “A week, since Baine’s away and I don’t make that big of a mess.”

  She sighed. “Good.”

  “Excuse me? I thought you wanted them here, with you.”

  “No, I want them away from here and I really think you and I need to leave too. I mean, not together,” she hurried to add.

  “I think it’s about time you tell me exactly what happened yesterday and today, then I need to take a look at your injuries.”

  “But I don’t even know what’s going on.” Her jaw tightened as she ground out the last of her sentence.

  “You may not understand everything, but you know what’s happened to you. So start talking.”

  11

  Law’s typical analytical skills, which made him impeccable at his job, deserted him like a clandestine informant when shit got heavy. Relief jumbled with fury as Magdalena recounted the events of the past two days. Emotions shouldn’t come into play. But they flipped him the bird while they fucked with his head.

  “Don’t worry about Baine,” he said. “He can handle himself. And I’ll have this squared by the time your dad gets back.”

  Her thin brows rose. “Oh? I spent an afternoon searching for the guy’s identity, if this mess is even tied to him, and didn’t find a thing. What makes you so sure you can do better?”

  “Determination.”

  “Oh?” Her voice rose as she dragged the word out several beats. A wrinkle formed between her brows and she sought to cut him with her gaze. “Don’t insult me and then give me that deadly smile.”

  His lips stretched wider, a tiny bit of his ire ebbing. “Deadly, huh?”

  “Shut up. I’m tenacious and have more invested in this than you do.”

  “Do you now?”

  Her hair shook as she nodded.

  “Well, we’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said. “And tomorrow, I’m going back to college for a while. Didn’t much like it the first time, but this time I thin
k I will.”

  “What are you going to do? You’re a lawyer. Right?” Her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened in challenge. “Are you going to recite ASBO laws or threaten a lawsuit?”

  “No lawsuits. I might explain the finer points of law while I beat the ability to harm you from his body. Their bodies,” he amended. Her lips thinned and every hint of mocking fled her expression. Finally, it seemed she understood the seriousness of his conviction.

  “I don’t even know who they are or why they targeted me.”

  Law held his hand out to Magdalena. “Let’s have it.”

  Her gaze flew to the hand he indicated, tucked loosely behind the knitted blanket. The angles of her face drew tight, but she didn’t refuse or whine. She uncovered it and placed her small hand in his. Her palm flattened onto his, cooling his heat with her touch. Like the night before, the contact jolted him enough to lob his ass clear cross the room, and he forced himself to breathe through the charge.

  At the knuckle of her ring finger, the delicate digit skewed the uniform lines of the rest. It hooked forty-five degrees left. Law positioned two fingers of his right hand on the underside of hers where a man would—were he lucky enough—place a wedding ring. She drew a breath between her lips. He kept his touch light and caressed his way over her smooth skin to the tip of her close cropped nail.

  “It’s not broken.”

  “Sure looks broken to me.” Magdalena pursed her lips.

  “I am truly astounded at your faith in me, tart.”

  She smiled at that, and the warmth it generated was strikingly similar to sun beamed on his face. A bit of the dread leaked out of his body and a hint of another smile curved his own lips.

  “Tart?”

  “Absolutely.” Bitter and sweet.

  When he didn’t explain, she nodded. “Okay, if it’s not broken why does it look like an L?”

  “Dislocated.”

  “And that’s so much better.” Her blatant sarcasm stretched his face into a full-blown grin.

  He set her hand on her knee and reached for her feet, but she scooted them away.

  “They’re just dirty. I can take care of them.”

  Lord save him from women. Especially this one. With practiced speed, he snatched both her heels in his palms. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

  Her sweet cheeks flushed bright pink and his flagging dick soared to life. Brought that one on yourself, idiot. Law bent low, strangling his cock to get a good look at Magdalena’s scraped and bruised feet.

  “Sit tight.” For emphasis, he pinned her with a stern gaze.

  When she gave a slight nod Law stood and turned away quickly to retrieve the necessary items to clean her up and hide his tented pants. After riffling through the kitchen he returned to find her still perched on the edge of the couch, her gaze following his every move. Law wasn’t modest, but he should put on a damn shirt. Maybe then her intense study wouldn’t raise goosebumps across his chest as though her soft fingers stroked his skin. He’d been ready to fight with his mattress in hopes of eking out a couple decent hours sleep. A mission doomed to fail at the outset.

  “You really don’t have to—"

  “Try all you like, but you won’t stop me,” he said, baiting her.

  Her cheeks hollowed like she chewed the insides to keep from tearing into him. He winked to push her over the edge. Law wanted her attention on him and not the torment to come. Plus, he got hot when she cussed. Many women were so prim and proper they’d rather bite through their tongue than give a sharp piece of their mind. In the little bit he’d known Magdalena, she’d lashed him up one side, down the other, and made him angry he didn’t have more sides to offer.

  “How can someone be so nice and bloody infuriating at the same time?”

  “I thought you could tell me.”

  “Humph.” When he kneeled before her she clamped her mouth and eyes closed, but they flew open when he lifted her feet. Warm water and dissolved Epsom salt swirled around the roaster he positioned beneath two petite feet. As he lowered them, cute reddish-pink nails elongated, shrank, and then widened, distorting under the surface. When they settled on the bottom of the pan, his gaze migrated to hers. He read every emotion as it played across her beautiful features. Pain. Resolve. Acceptance. Relaxation. Pleasure. Each pummeled his flight instincts until they were in a pathetic heap.

  Magdalena’s shoulders relaxed, but the spark in her eyes remained bright. “My dad’s going to skin you, cut you into bits, and cook you in this broiler for using it on my feet.”

  “Then it’ll be our little secret.” He winked.

  “I’m not very good at keeping those.” The fire in her returned to full fury. It glistened in the green and grey flecks of her eyes as they smiled.

  “Well, I hope I taste good for you then.”

  Her blush did stupid things to his head. Both of them.

  Escaping his gaze, she looked down at her feet for a moment before returning it. “What makes you the doctor in residence anyway?”

  “I have a good bit of experience treating injuries.”

  One brow, the same color as the tawny grasses of the African savannah, rose. “All your work with MI6?”

  Slick fox. Law reached for her hand with a wide smile. “All my siblings,” he said easily. If he left her too much time to think, she’d piece things together like an old quilting maid. Slowly and steadily.

  Without allowing her time to brace or himself time to think about hurting her, he held the base of her ring finger in his left hand. His right wrapped just below the skewed knuckle and pulled. He guided the bones in line with practiced efficiency. All the while his gaze remained riveted to Magdalena’s.

  Her silent tears slew him, and her strength and unflappable grace drew him deeper. “Can you bend it?”

  She watched the elegant fingers stretch and retract several times before she smiled at him. “It’s sore, but it doesn’t hurt like fuc… It doesn’t hurt like it did. You’re amazing.”

  Law ignored her compliment, too caught up tracing the slopes and lines of her face. Both his hands rose to accompany his gaze. His palms cupped her chin while he padded his thumbs across her cheekbones and under her eyes. Her tears collected on them and he drew his right hand back. When he sucked the moisture from his thumb, tasting the salty evidence of her sadness, Magdalena’s lips parted. Unable to stop himself, Law rubbed his left thumb over her bottom lip, careful not to bump the small cut on her upper one.

  Magdalena’s tongue nudged his pad and slicked it from base to tip. Thunder roared in his ears. Virile instincts joined in the chorus, demanding he capture her mouth and make it his own. Before the tiny part of himself still hidden in darkness had a chance to war against the notion, Law plunged his fingers into her soft locks, wrapping them around her nape, and coaxed her forward. He gave her every opportunity to bail, silently hoping she would and equally desperate for her surrender.

  She gave herself to him, going lax in his hold. Her gaze flickered to his mouth before returning to his eyes in a half-lidded search of his own. He inhaled her sweat. The heady aroma made his body scream for sex. He tamped down the urge to take her. As he drew nearer a hint of flowers melded with her corporeal scent. Law inclined his head, maneuvering around the cutest pixie nose he’d ever seen, and ushered her the last breadth between them.

  Her lips whispered on his, warm and heartbreakingly soft. They gave a hint of the pleasure to come, robbing him of the oxygen in his lungs. His chest constricted against the thrill raging through the roller coaster of his nervous system.

  A crack of glass ended their contact. Law snapped his body around to confront the enemy.

  12

  Magdalena had heard the expression “all hell breaking loose.” She’d even used it before. Incorrectly. Because nothing in her past prepared her for the kind of hell that rained down on them. Without a moment to process the kiss—almost kiss—she’d just shared, a garden brick crashed through the den window. The high pi
tch of shattering glass accompanied the small shower of shards onto the dark wooden floor. Surprisingly, the rest of the massive pane didn’t give way and allow the intruder entrance.

  Law crouched in front of her like a prowling beast, then sprinted for the window. Every cord of sinewy muscle rippled with the effort, making a false fantasy come to life. But she couldn’t really see every muscle, only the ones on the back of his arms, shoulders, and the dimples above his flannel pants. The center of his back, along his spine, stretching outward, was a palate of inked artwork. She caught a glimpse of a woman’s hair flowing wildly across his shoulder blade, but he moved too quickly for her to discern anything else.

  A tiny pang pricked her heart, knowing he had a woman’s image tattooed on his body. Must have been some love to carry her forever on his back. Magdalena didn’t have time to worry about inky art. A liquor bottle with a flaming tail sailed through the torso-sized hole in the glass while a crash echoed through kitchen. Stunned, unable to move, like she’d been in the corridor in the media building earlier, she watched the flames lick toward the lacquered floor.

  Fear exploded in her chest as Law dove for the bottle. He slid amongst the piercing diamonds and caught the vessel in his outstretched arm. Before she could blink, he shot from the floor, leaped around the bulk of the glass, and landed a few feet from the window. He hurled the flaming liquor back through the hole. Outside the window, glass shattered. The night carried a mind-warping shriek through the billowing curtain that chilled her blood.

  But she didn’t have time to dwell on the damage the burning alcohol inflicted on the instigator outside. Davis, the man who’d attacked her earlier, rounded the archway at the kitchen. Magdalena’s scream melded with the other shrill pitch.

  “That’s right, bitch. Scream. You’re gonna scream until you can’t scream any more, then when I’m done with you, Mike and Aaron are gonna have their turn,” Davis said. Eyes wide, he looked hopped up on something and ready to carry out his mission.