by LaQuette
After a quick swig of water, Justice looked at his watch and figured the house should be free and clear of Bryan Smyth, so he decided to return home. Less than ten minutes in his car and he was parking in front of his father’s house, preparing himself to hide in his bedroom for the rest of the day.
Justice heard voices the moment he opened the door. He looked around him trying to find the direction from which they were coming. This far away he couldn’t tell if they were male or female, but he could tell there was more than one.
Logic told him there was a pretty good chance one of those voices belonged to Bryan. If he didn’t want to see Bryan taking himself up those stairs was his best bet. Without warning his feet began to move in the direction of the basement door, apparently being smart wasn’t on his agenda today.
He walked down the steps and into the basement. The closer he got to the voices the more certain he was one of them was definitely Bryan. The other he couldn’t make out. Curiosity peppered with a little bit of concern propelled Justice forward until he was standing at the doorway of the gym watching a tall muscular man rub his fucking hands all over Bryan’s back. The last logical thought he had was ‘There’s probably a very reasonable explanation for this’. But once the blood began boiling in his head, it short-circuited his ability to think in a straight line.
“The hell is going on here?”
Both men looked toward the door in surprise, but neither in a hurry to move from the positions they were holding.
“Oh, you're back?” Bryan’s questioning voice sounding a tad bit too blasé for Justice’s taste. “True was sure you weren’t going to be back for another few hours. This is Martin Herrera, he’s gonna be helping me with my training until he goes back to LA with True.”
Justice found himself filling the doorway tightening all of his muscles to make certain his chest was broad and big and visible to the fit man currently touching his husband.
“You work with my sister?”
The man nodded, “Yeah, we’ve worked together a few times over the years. She’s taking me on at her rehab center in California. Told me this was sort of an audition for that job.”
“Well we won’t keep you, Justice,” Bryan’s interruption pissing Justice off just as much as the idea of Herrera putting his hands back on Bryan’s body. “I was just starting to get a little tight so Martin suggested a little bit of a rubdown to loosen me up before my next set. I guess we’ll get back to it and catch-up with you later.”
Did he just dismiss me?
The answer to Justice’s internal thought was evident when Bryan turned away from the direction of the door, closed his eyes, and continued to let the stranger grope him. He made a quick turn back toward the stairs. Climbing them two at a time, he was past the first floor landing and on his way to the upstairs apartment.
The need to physically mangle something sat in the middle of his chest. He slammed his father’s apartment door behind him, only getting minor relief from the action and the resulting crack of noise through the air.
“You break it, you buy it,” a firm voice called from the living room.
“Pops, you’re back?” The sound of his father’s voice gave Justice’s mood a slight lift, until he realized he was going to have to explain why his mood was so foul.
“Well, since my name is on the deed, it shouldn’t be all that surprising to find me in my house. What’s got you so worked up, little man?”
Even in his anger, no annoyance, no—whatever the hell he was feeling right now—his father’s insistence on calling him that nick name made Justice laugh. Considering he had his father by at least two inches in height and thirty pounds in muscle, it was comical his father still referred to him as little anything.
“True is using Bryan as a test-case for her new hire. I mean, she knows how serious it is for Bryan to be up to snuff when he goes back to work. Why the hell would she put a newbie on the job? If he fucks up this last leg of Bryan’s rehab I’m coming straight for her.”
“You know I’m a problem solver, brother. So if you’ve got one, bring it,” True said from behind him.
“That supposed to be a threat, True?” Justice kept his eyes on his father as his senses clocked his sister’s movements into the room from behind him. “You might walk around big and bad with the rest of the world, but ain’t nobody in here shook by you.”
She was standing beside Justice now, a smile curving slowly on her lips. She walked past him, not really acknowledging his presence—other than her smile—as she stretched to place a sweet kiss on their father’s cheek.
“Glad you’re home, Pops.” She moved beyond the middle of the living room floor and sat down casually on the couch facing both men. She crossed her legs with ease, then removed a combat blade from her boot. As soon as her fingers surrounded the hilt, she casually ran the blade across the fingernails of her opposite hand, as if it were no more than an enlarged nail file.
She looked up, her gaze locking with Justice’s. “Fear is the mind’s way of telling you when something can harm you. If you’re too stupid to figure that out, then I pity you. I’m here anytime you want to do anything more than talk little-big brother.”
Justice pressed a half-step forward before he felt his father’s palm against his chest. “You, stand down,” he commanded Justice in his General Hunter Amare voice. When he heard True snicker, he pointed his finger at her, “And you, stop baiting your brother.”
She rolled her eyes, and shrugged her shoulders. She always was the most disrespectful of all of his siblings, but even she knew to chill the fuck out when their father used his commanding officer voice.
“True,” their father continued. “What’s this I hear about you hiring some newbie to work with Bryan?”
“Pops, Jussy is just being dramatic. There’s nothing new about Herrera. He’s worked in combat rehab for nearly twenty years. It’s been his job to get Marines and sailors back to their combat-ready condition and back on the field. He just retired, and I snatched him up for Trinity. Since he’s in town, I asked him to come work with Bryan.”
Their father turned his questioning glare at Justice. “Why aren’t you training Bryan?”
“Finally, someone in this room is asking the right question,” True offered.
“Shut up, True,” Justice countered.
A quick clap to the side of his head brought Justice’s focus back to his father. “What are you, thirteen?” The gruff sound of his father’s voice felt like a tug on a leash around Justice’s neck. “Don’t talk to your sister like that. Answer me. Why the hell aren’t you training your husband? Especially since you’ve been given leave from the Corps to do so?”
Justice imagined most sons would agree there was nothing like being dressed down by your father. But when your father was a career military man, there was an extra special twist to a father’s ability to verbally chastise his son.
Some of his bluster seeped into the air on a long sigh as Justice felt his chest deflate. “I decided to proceed with the divorce. Considering that, I didn’t think it best for me to work with Bryan.”
“True, give your brother and me some privacy.”
Without question or comment, True stood and exited the room. She, like Justice, understood their father’s verbal cues. General Amare was not happy.
“Pops—”
“I don’t want to hear any excuses, Justice. Reasons, that’s all I want.”
Justice nodded his head and took True’s vacated seat on the couch. His father grabbed the high-backed chair sitting in the corner and placed it directly in front of where Justice sat.
“Pops, I know how much you love Bryan, how much you all love Bryan. But I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what, honor your promise before God and man to love and cherish him?”
“Pops, it’s not as simple as that. I’m just giving Bryan what he’s been asking for all these years. I’m setting him free.”
“Justice…don’t do this,” the
warm concern that wrapped around his father’s words did more to rub the tender spot inside of his heart raw than provide comfort. His father, his siblings, they all spoke to him as if he didn’t know what he was doing, as if he couldn’t recognize what he was losing by walking away from the man he loved.
It hurt. It hurt worse than any wound he’d ever received in the middle of battle. Unfortunately life had proven to him that just because something hurt, didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do.
“Well then, if you’re determined to follow this course, understand this,” his father cautioned, “if you throw something away, you have no say in what happens to it once it hits the bottom of the trash can. It is no longer yours. Since you’ve decided to end your marriage, you’ve decided that means you can’t help in Bryan’s recovery. All of that is fine. But that also means you don’t get a say in any of the decisions surrounding his recovery, including who his trainer happens to be or what methods he chooses to employ to help Bryan heal. Stay out of your sister’s way.”
“Pops—”
“That was an order, Colonel Amare.” The General’s voice was strong and certain, enforcing the message that he meant what he said.
Justice stood, his back ramrod straight, his fingers pointed in salute at his head, his eyes locked on a target behind his father against the wall. “Yes sir, General Amare.”
“Dismissed.”
Justice swallowed the hard ball of anger in his throat. If there weren’t twenty-one years of military discipline in his past he might have let the frustration singeing his tongue slip out. Too entrenched in military life, Justice nodded and made a quick exit from the living room. His father had laid down the law, and Justice had no choice but to listen. Then why was his anger swelling inside of him? His father hadn’t fought him on the divorce, not as much as Justice anticipated he would have. Then why was Justice so bothered by his father’s edict, to keep his nose out of Bryan’s rehab…his life?
The answer was there, but Justice refused to sweep away the emotional debris cluttering his mind as he walked out of the apartment, down the stairs and out of his family home. Searching for that answer might keep him from doing what he’d already set his mind to do, the right thing. He was Justice, and Justice always did what was right, even when it felt so wrong.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, True.” Hunter Amare spoke into the air as he watched his son exit their home.
“Don’t I always?” True’s voice crept from the shadows as she re-entered the room.
Hunter knew she was right; her instinct to handle most tactical situations was innate. But this wasn’t some faceless enemy on the battlefield. This wasn’t a demonized villain one could feel vindicated in conquering. This was his youngest son, her brother, and Bryan. If she got this wrong, Hunter wasn’t certain if their family would endure the fall out.
“If we’re to survive this, like never before you’d better be correct, True,” the weariness and concern he felt filling his heart bled into his voice.
“I know what’s at stake, Pops.” True moved closer until she was standing directly in front of Hunter. “I know what it feels like to lose the one you love. I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep Justice from knowing that pain too.”
Hunter acknowledged her decree with the slightest nod of his head. He didn’t know the specifics, but he’d recognized the weight of loss on her shoulders a long time ago. True was his youngest, but she believed it was her duty to protect her brothers. He had every confidence his daughter would wage war to guard Justice’s happiness. Because that’s what family did.
The Amares were each other’s greatest strength, the sum always stronger than the individual parts. Their enemies cowered throughout the world at their might and prowess. The secret to their strategic success was simple; their bond was their fiercest weapon, their love, their greatest asset.
He was their leader, both in war and in blood. His responsibility as such wasn’t just to win, but to recognize when the win wasn’t worth the threat to his team, his family. Putting his trust in True wasn’t just an act of faith where her abilities were concerned, it was equally a test in how much he trusted his own judgment as well.
Chapter 8
Justice ran alongside his newest set of poolees. These poor kids, newly signed to the Marine Corps, but not yet sworn in, were getting a lesson in abuse as Justice ran them through several paces. Yeah, this was about conditioning them for basic training, but it was more about Justice needing to burn his jealousy out of his system so he could think of something other than another man’s hands on his husband.
When he was finished torturing them, he left the track and headed back to his house for a shower and hopefully an attitude adjustment.
The absence of his father’s big caddy sitting in front of the house was a relief. He didn’t see any of his siblings’ vehicles either.
“Good, not up for anyone’s bullshit.”
He ran up the stairs, pulling his drenched sweatshirt over his head as he walked into the apartment.
A quick unanswered, ‘Pops, you home?’ let him know his bad mood wasn’t going to be interrupted. Leaving a trail of dirty workout clothes on the floor, he headed for the bathroom, where he adjusted the shower spray to as hot as he could bear it.
The moment water met skin, relief began to bleed through him and his anger loosened its grip on him. He was beginning to relax until his mind brought forth the image of Bryan laying down shirtless on the massage table, skin brown and buttery, muscles tight and sculpted and the brief relief he’d been working on left him.
Somehow in his muddled mind, Herrera’s hands became his own and the familiar sensation of his fingertips meeting Bryan’s skin overtook his senses. He pressed his palms against the cool tile of the shower, hoping to disrupt the sense memory his mind was replaying. No such luck. He could still feel hot, supple skin beneath his fingers.
Familiar tingling in his balls brought his cock’s attention to the imaginary party going on in his head. Being the traitorous bastard that it was, his dick didn’t seem to care that none of the images playing behind Justice’s eyes hadn’t actually happened. Apparently it was down for the ride anyway.
In his vision, Bryan turned over, looking at Justice with a sexy smile. Bryan cupped a handful of Justice’s bulge, giving it a hearty squeeze.
“Fuck,” Justice muttered, as the sensation of actual touch brought him slightly out of his daydream to realize it was his own hand on his leaking cock. He looked down at his straining flesh pulsing in his hand. The single eye seemingly staring up at him, winking, begging him to finish what his imagination had started.
“Fuck it,” he relented, grabbing the bottle of shower gel and squeezing way too much in his palm. He spread his legs, placed an anchoring palm against the wall, and wrapped firm fingers around his cock. That first stroke was so fucking sweet his knees almost gave out beneath him. Taking a moment to recover his stance, he stroked himself again.
He lost himself in the sensitive slide of his palm against aching flesh. Flashes of tender brown skin permeated his mind, urging his movements, pressing him toward completion. A few more quick and hard strokes and Justice felt fire traveling quickly from his heavy sack, rushing down the length of his pulsing cock. That first spurt of cum brought sincere bliss as it ripped through him and landed in a loud splat against the wall. His fist kept pumping, oblivious to the demands of his sensitive head to stop, until his balls were drained and he was plastered against the wall, breathless, boneless, and in need of support.
Slowly his brain cells began to work again, rerouting his blood flow to its normal and needed pattern. Only one thought pushed past the post-orgasm fog in his head. If the thought of Bryan’s touch could render Justice so completely ruined, how the fuck was he going to last the remainder of his life without ever experiencing it again?
“Almost there, Bryan.” The boom of Martin’s voice filled the room with excitement. “Come on. You can do it, man. Give i
t to me.”
Every muscle in Bryan’s body was taut and burning with fatigue. Every ounce of his strength being depleted as he fought to keep up this grueling pace. The residual ache was so sweet, both a deterrent and an enticement to keep pushing, to meet that just-out-of-reach prize.
“Fuck, Martin…come on,” Bryan bit out through clenched teeth.
“Almost there, Bryan! I promise…so close.”
Bryan kept pushing, the motion instinctual, thinking about it would yield an inevitable conclusion. He wanted to last…for Martin, for himself.
“Yes,” Martin howled. “That’s it, right there; you’ve got it, Bryan. It’s all you, this is yours.”
Bryan gave one final push of the barbell above his chest upward until he felt the weight in his palms dissipating as Martin pulled it back onto the rack.
“Damn man,” Martin smiled as he cheered, celebrating Bryan’s completion of the new workout regimen he’d created for him. This was their third program in as many months and every time Martin set new goals for Bryan, he did his best to smash through them. “You are killing it lately. Bench pressing all that weight and we’ve only been at this new routine for a couple of weeks? If you’re doing that after an injury, I can’t even imagine what you were like before you were hurt.”
Bryan shook out the prickling nerves in his shaky arms. Before the shooting he was able to press more than his own body weight. With Martin’s help, it appeared he’d be back to his norm sooner than he’d believed possible.
“Thanks man, you’ve been a life saver.” It was true, Bryan needed to be in the best shape possible to return to the NYPD. Heart was already giving him hell about when he was returning. Yeah, there were others that filled in as her second during his absence, but according to his captain, ‘Ain’t none of them motherfuckers you. Hurry up and get your ass back. ’
She wasn’t harassing him, wasn’t threatening his job, just trying to express how much she needed him at her side. It was as good of a ‘miss you’ as he was going to get from that one.
