Original Justice (Justice Brothers Book 4)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Domineau stood so fast and with such force that her chair skidded across the floor. She grabbed the woman’s wrist to force her away from Rafe, and from the girl’s reaction, Roman was certain some bones were nearly crushed.

  He remained still, but his gaze swung to Alex. The major watched this display through narrowed eyes. Cam flinched, and he never flinches. Sawyer looked like a detective taking mental notes. Sinjin was busy trying to dissuade another hostess from an unwanted lap dance.

  Rafe did nothing. He sat perfectly still and stared at Domineau.

  With a flick of her hand, she tossed the scantily dressed working girl up against one of the Brits. The club’s watchful bouncers were on them in a flash.

  “Fuck,” Roman muttered. The possibility of a drunken bar fight breaking out hung over them.

  Alex jerked his head at the bouncer when he approached. Roman sighed and nodded then stood and quickly intervened. Speaking in rapid French, he defused the situation, offered a round of drinks to the rowdy party of three, and gestured at Sawyer to tie up the loose ends.

  When it was over and they all sat down again, nobody seemed to know what to say. Domineau’s swift reaction to some twit touching Rafe left them all a bit … ferklempt.

  Rafe, however, looked like a man who knew for certain which horse won the third race of the day.

  This wasn’t the first time Roman had suspected something was going on with those two. They tended to travel as a unit and were unusually comfortable around each other. The only reason their behavior stuck out was because Domineau relaxed around no one.

  The comfort level around the table was heading down the toilet when Domineau cracked—or attempted to crack—a joke.

  “Pass me the hand sanitizer.” She was holding up the hand that grabbed the hostess and shaking it. Roman expected to see actual shit flung from her fingertips by how demonstrative she was being.

  Domineau Rivera trying to act all smooth and nonchalant was just about the funniest goddamn thing that had happened since—well, since Brutus and Popeye put on their fight club show. He started laughing. Soon, everyone joined in.

  Sawyer, who could turn any situation into a high school theater production, approached her with a napkin draped across his forearm and a half glass of water. He told her to hold out her hand and then he upended the water into her palm. Taking the handy napkin, he dabbed at her hand until it was dry.

  All this played out amidst deep chuckles and groans.

  Parker and Alex were whispering and laughing at the end of the table. Roman bit his tongue to stop from blurting out an entirely inappropriate comment when he glimpsed Draegyn St. John watching the two old friends with a pouty frown on his ugly mug.

  Across the table from him, Cam saw where Roman was looking and let out a snorting smirk. “I should rescue the pussy before he starts crying.”

  He shot Cam a host of facial expressions because he couldn’t decide on just one. “Am I missing something?”

  Cam shrugged. “Alex goes to Sinjin with all that inner shit. He trusts the guy. Know what I mean?”

  Roman knew exactly what he meant and nodded.

  “Drae has daddy issues,” Cam murmured, so nobody else heard. “And not the usual stuff. So the major’s friendship and the way he relies on him mean something in here.” Cam thumped his chest. “Parker upsets the balance.”

  “Sullivan is an interesting fella. I’ve heard shit about him. He makes the military guys nervous.”

  They looked at the intriguing guy with the big hands and irreverent attitude. Everyone knew he and Alex were old friends. Friends who were more like brothers.

  He was around from time to time—but Roman had more contact with the government lawyer than everyone else. He was involved, quite heavily, in Roman’s area of expertise—interrogations. Enhanced and garden variety.

  Parker Sullivan was also one hell of a thorn in the sides of a lot of higher-ups. The super-smart counselor had ideas about the rule of law and shit like due process that pissed some people off. Black site interrogations—where the dark intel went down—skirted around and fucked not just with the rule of law but also what we stood for. As a people. Being a voice of reason was not easy to do when destruction fever held the decision-makers in thrall.

  Cam agreed that the guy was intriguing. “Well, we’ll need the fucker if any of the shit we do comes back to haunt us later. Always good to know a lawyer.”

  Rafe was playing with the dashboard hula girl. Roman watched his antics for a minute, nudged Cam to look, and then had a good laugh. The humongous, bald slab of beefy muscle was doing a clumsy man’s version of some hip-shaking hula.

  Alex began laughing his ass off and pounding on the table. A round of drinks magically appeared, and they got back to the business of being shitfaced and out of control.

  In fact, they were so drunk that Domineau managed to beat everyone except Rafe, of course, at arm wrestling.

  Roman made himself feel better about losing to her by insisting that he let the chick win. When the lady in question—or the questionable lady, depending on the point of view—heard his shit talking, she calmly grabbed his balls and squeezed until he tapped out with tears in his eyes. Furious but out of commission for the moment, he slumped into a chair as Sawyer waved a paper fan at his crotch and laughed like a hyena. Being too drunk to stop what was happening, Roman was helpless when Cam grabbed him by the belt and shoved a fistful of ice into his pants. Ice that slowly melted and made it look like he pissed himself.

  Parker waved a shiny silver object in his face. When his eyes focused, Roman was sure it was a camera.

  It got rowdy after that. Rafe—big, huge, hulking Rafe—hoisted the Amazon Warrior Queen on his shoulders and marched around while people clapped and bowed down to her badassness.

  The theatrical absurdity made them drink even more. And eat. Eat things he knew weren’t on any menu back home.

  He was vaguely sure Drae had vomited into a trash can at one point.

  Their drunken revelry moved into the street after Domineau declared that really loud music was what they needed. Moving as a unit wasn’t easy when they were, without question, acting like a bunch of idiots. Sawyer wandered off when a chick wearing a dress that in no way covered her pubes lured him away.

  Alex somehow managed to keep them in one small area until the swaggering, grinning shithead came back.

  “Love you long time?” Drae smirked.

  “Fuck off,” Sawyer barked.

  Somehow, they found their way to a rock-n-roll bar. It was what Domineau wanted. Loud, rowdy, crowded, and ripe for bad behavior.

  There was no way to know how much they drank. Luckily, only one fight broke out. Cam. He couldn’t help it when some yahoo tourist looking for trouble in Bangkok bumped into him and stumbled. He put him on the floor with a two-handed smackdown.

  After a right royal and triple-x raunchy lap dance from a smashed Aussie bride having a bit too much bachelorette party fun, Roman ended up with Cam and Drae at a table next to the dinky stage where a band rocked out. With a lot of dickhead fanfare, Parker and Alex shoved the drummer and lead guitarist off the riser and commandeered the spotlight. It was fucking hilarious.

  The two were stone-cold drunk but could still rock the fuck out. “Dirty Deeds” by AC/DC filled the sleazy hall. He saw Domineau and Rafe jammed onto the small dance floor where people bopped up and down and gyrated with the thumping music.

  Closing one eye when his head started spinning, Roman studied them. Domineau was as close to over the edge as he’d ever seen her. In fact, if she kept up the high-voltage antics, her hair might actually slide from the extreme helmet head she usually rocked.

  When the crowd parted briefly, he fucking swore that he saw Rafe’s hands grabbing her ass.

  Sawyer joined them and tried to say something. Nobody reacted, so he tried again.

  “Hey, dickheads! You wanna do that tattoo thing or not?”

  Cam and Drae stopped and stared at the guy.
Roman didn’t hesitate. A tattoo? Why the fuck not?

  With Rafe and Domineau doing god knows what and Sullivan and the major getting their rock-n-roll on, it seemed like as good a time as any to check out.

  A half an hour later, they were shitfaced and lounging around a tattoo parlor that Sawyer had pinned down.

  Roman had zero memory of anything after that.

  Bangkok, man.

  5

  They were drunk. Not quite skunk drunk but damn close. He knew when they got in the taxi, and he caught her checking out his package that push had finally come to shove. Rafe had no idea when or how he and Domineau had crossed the hands-off Rubicon, but they had.

  He watched her ass when she walked out of the elevator and started down the hallway to their rooms. Used to seeing a shit-kicking badass wearing a shoulder holster and sporting nut-crunching steel tips on her feet, this other side of the complicated woman was a little disconcerting.

  Maybe it was the heeled boots and tight jeans that rattled his cage. Or maybe it was the fucking alcohol.

  She looked sideways at him when he had a moment of trouble unlocking the door to his room. There wasn’t any use in pretending that the substantial bulge in the front of his jeans was a one-off. He knew it, and from the look in her eyes, she knew it too.

  Rafe pushed open his door and stepped into the room. If she opened the door between their rooms, it was go-time.

  He unlocked the door on his side and pushed it wide. An invitation. Then he dropped the gift bags from Sawyer, his room key, and wallet on the nightstand and shucked off his jacket. On impulse, he lifted the ice bucket’s lid and nodded when he found some ice. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s and four bottles of Coke sat next to the bucket. He didn’t hesitate to pour a drink.

  Behind him, he heard a noise. The sound of Domineau opening her side of the door. The tempo of his heartbeats picked up.

  Reaching for a second glass, he fished some ice from the bucket’s frigid water and dropped the cubes into a glass. He added a glug of Coke and a healthy couple of glugs of Jack. Swirling the glass to blend, he carried it to the coffee table and put it down. In his other hand, he held the second glass with two fingers of whiskey and nothing else. Rafe liked the burn.

  The rapid beating of his heart stuttered to a stop when Smoke stepped into his room. She was taking her hair down. He’d never seen her hair except as a slicked back skull cover. He gulped—for real—and stared.

  She eyed the drink on the coffee table. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not drunk.”

  He recovered his senses and laughed. “Just so we’re clear, I’m hoping to change that.” Leering at her—or what he thought was a leer—Rafe checked to see if they were on the same page. “Which is not to say I’m trying to get you drunk.”

  Domineau chuckled. He wasn’t making any sense, was he?

  A hair tie went sailing through the air. He followed it with his eyes until it landed on the floor near the bathroom. When he looked back at her, she combed her fingers through a long, thick waterfall of sandy brown that spread around her shoulders.

  Yep, he thought. Definitely the same page.

  She shook her head as she walked to the coffee table. Her hair shifted and swayed. He noticed the heeled boots were gone, and she was barefoot.

  “Aw, you remembered.” She snickered. “Give me a drink with no ice, and you can go fuck yourself.”

  They clinked glasses and drank. The slow, hot sear as the Jack slid down his throat fired up Rafe’s senses.

  “Speaking of fucking,” she sneered. “That’s happening.”

  He thought it wildly funny that she imagined for one second that was how this was gonna go. He let her run with it, though, because when Domineau thought she had the upper hand, it was an interesting sideshow.

  “Are you asking? Or telling?” He kept a bland expression despite guessing that his eyes were full of amusement.

  She smirked. Domineau thought a good smirk could get her out of any situation.

  “My choice. My decision.”

  He couldn’t help his explosion of laughter. “Where’d you pick that up? Some feminist bumper sticker?”

  “Fuck you.” She chuckled.

  “Wait. I’m confused.” He enjoyed their verbal game. They were good at it. “Did you threaten me with a fuck, or not?”

  “Huh?”

  “You need another drink,” he quipped. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.”

  Their words made no sense. The absurdity made them howl with laughter.

  She jumped him without warning. One second, they were teasing each other and drinking—the next, she was all over him like gift wrap. He was a big guy and hadn’t experienced many women taking such a decisive and impactful upper hand.

  Domineau shimmied against his front while wrapping him in one hell of an embrace. The turbulence of her stark passion blew him away. Her hands touched him everywhere, and he quivered when she dug her nails into his back. Instinctively, his body arched into hers. He was nearly shocked out of his skull when Domineau gave a little jump and wrapped her legs around his hips. He didn’t need a further invitation.

  Grabbing her thighs, he whirled them around and walked to the nearest wall where he slammed her against the hard surface and took control. She started off greedy and demanding, but he wasn’t having it. He’d waited too long for this to end up a quick and embarrassing fuck.

  Using his superior size and strength, he held her against the wall with his body and framed her face with both hands. A slight shudder passed through her, and he was stunned to see a dull pink stain her cheeks. Her soft breath fanned his face.

  “Open,” he growled.

  He didn’t know what she’d do, but Rafe was sure of one thing. Tender words and gentlemanly behavior weren't going to cut it with her. Not this time. Demons chased her. That hadn’t stopped just because she was giving in to the burning attraction they tried so hard to ignore. She needed direct and blunt.

  Her mouth opened slowly. He looked in her eyes, careful not to smirk, and murmured, “Kiss me.”

  She claimed his lips, and he crushed her body with his. A soft moan rushed from her mouth and then her kiss became punishing and angry. Their tongues dueled, and the kiss got frantic. Excitement flooded his body as she tried to dominate him.

  He ground his hardened sex into her, pinning her body to the wall while she grasped his face and head as the kiss hurtled them closer and closer to the heat of the sun.

  Rafe put an arm beneath her ass and swung Domineau away from the wall. She stopped the kiss but started mauling his neck with her greedy mouth. He carried her to the bed and then pulled her off him and flung her body onto the mattress.

  Quickly shoving her black top over her head, he threw it aside and then got his first good look at Domineau’s breasts. She wore one of those unforgiving sports bras that disguised her assets.

  “Nope,” he grunted. “Take that shit off.”

  She kicked him with her foot. He grabbed her ankle and laughed. “Take that shit off, woman!”

  “You take it off,” she challenged.

  Rafe grinned. “If I take it off, it’s getting ripped to shreds.”

  He saw her eyes flare with interest. He was surprised she responded to a firm hand.

  She flung her arms wide as a clear challenge and dared him with her eyes.

  He sniggered. Cotton and elastic were no match for his hands. With three quick tugs, the excuse for lingerie came apart, and he jostled her with annoyance while tearing the thing off.

  She covered her boobs with both hands, but he just laughed. “Nice try.”

  He swatted her hands away, and when she resisted, he pressed her wrists into the mattress and loomed over her for a good look.

  Perfect breasts, not too much but more than a little sent his pulse racing. Her skin appeared to glow in the dim bedroom light. Pale, rounded mounds topped with dusky halos and hard nubs tempted his sanity.

  A crosshatch of scars marred the skin aro
und her heart. Jesus. He swallowed hard. Now didn’t seem like the time to ask for a review of her medical records, so he pushed his questions to a corner in his mind.

  She pretended to struggle, so he kept a firm grip on her hands and leaned down to lick a nipple. He heard her growl a harsh sounding swear word right before she moaned.

  He subdued her with his lips, tongue, and teeth. She was a quivering mess by the time he released his restrictive grip. With her hands free, Domineau grabbed his head and held him to her breasts. He was more than happy to oblige.

  They rolled around and alternated blazing hot kisses with oral titillation. He ravaged her tits, and she marked his neck and shoulders with her teeth.

  His fingers tingled when he touched her. The warmth of her skin fucked with his head as his hand moved down her stomach to the waistband of her jeans. He tried sliding his hand into her pants, but the tight denim blocked his way.

  Growling his frustration, Rafe reared back and attacked the button and zipper. She rolled and was trying to crawl away when he yanked the fabric down her thighs.

  Grabbing both cheeks of the most magnificent ass he’d ever seen, he helped himself to the tender skin hidden by her clothes. Because he had to, Rafe kissed one cheek but then sank his teeth into the other. She yowled but didn’t pull away.

  After a minute, she wiggled away and turned onto her back. She was flipping him off and smirking. “Don’t even think about it, Dallas.”

  He liked when she called him Dallas. It was her version of D’Alessandro, and nobody but Domineau had ever called him by that name.

  He returned her grin. “So what are you saying here? No to the backdoor man?”

  She smacked his arm, said, “Shut the hell up,” and then wiggled like a mermaid on land until her jeans came off. That was when he saw the teeny tiny pink thong.

  “Time-out, time-out,” he roared with tongue-in-cheek laughter. Making a T with both hands, he wagged his tongue and panted. “Jesus, Domineau. Have you been rocking butt floss this whole time?”