Justified Steel (Steel Crew Book 4)

by Mj Fields

  “I want this fuck to come paint her some pretty fucking picture of why they left her to fend for herself, that doesn’t make her ever think, not even for one second, that it was her fault. I want her to be able to attend her mother’s funeral, if in fact there will be one. I want her father to hug her and apologize to her for abandoning her. I want to tell him to sign away this house, that she busted her ass to keep, while smiling and putting on a show for all of us, pretending everything was fine when obviously it wasn’t. I want her to believe people love her.”

  Tobias pipes in, “And I want Whitaker’s number, because I know damn well he’s behind some of the additions to the documents and the shit that went down yesterday.”

  “I have nothing to do with Seashore. And as far as Whitaker goes, I can’t control him. I don’t even know where he is.”

  Dad steps on his chest, forcing him to lay down on the driveway. “How the fuck did you get two vehicles here, then?”

  “It wasn’t my idea!” he cries as Dad grinds his heel into his chest. “He did it because I was the only one who could get in here. Smoke and mirrors. He got me documentation to get in the country, and I promised to split the money!”

  “So, this isn’t for a funeral?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He shakes his head. “No. But it is for our father. He’s broke and needs money.”

  “He doesn’t get money. He doesn’t deserve money. He abandon her.”

  “They tried, they were denied access back into the country. Whitaker, told me he knew his father was the one behind getting my father and Gabrielle’s mother’s papers revoked. He said his father did it so that his disgusting secret stayed buried. Our parents left here to come to find me. And when they found out what I knew he did to Gabrielle, and never told them… they tried.” Tears form in his eyes. “Father will never forgive me, and he’ll never put Gabrielle in the position that could possibly make it impossible for her to get back to The United States. But if I could give him something of her mother’s, and if I could help him get just a piece of the life he built here in the US, I —”

  “When did she die?” I ask.

  “Three months ago. It took me that long to get paperwork that looked legit. And if I don’t pay him for it, I’m not worried he’ll come after me, but—”

  “He comes after her because of you, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Then let me get these vans to buyers.”

  “Not good enough, JT,” Dad says. “He’s gonna help take down Whitaker.”

  “And he’s gonna plan a funeral. She’s going to see her father, and he’s going to attempt to make this right.”

  “He has nothing,” Sam says as Dad pulls him up by his collar. “He has nothing but a tiny, little rented shack on the coast. He doesn’t want her to see him; see what he’s become.”

  “He has a twenty-million-dollar house on the Atlantic.”

  He shakes his head. “No, Gabrielle does. Everything here is hers.”

  “That’s why you’re so desperate to get in that safe?”

  “They came to Colombia, chasing me, trying to convince me to face the drug charges. They couldn’t get back here … their paperwork was fucked with. No one cared that she was still in the US, because she was born here. They made sure she could finish her schooling. I owe him something. The art, the antiques, I owe him that.”

  “Then you make sure we get that fucker.”

  Took two hours to set the plan in motion and took another hour until I decided she needed the whole truth. We knew it could take three days to a week, maybe more, before Whitaker Jr. contacted Sam. Dad hired a lawyer to ensure Sam would get back to Colombia, and Nick DeAngelo, who contacted some law enforcement friends to get things going, and Tyler had a few of his buddies ‘detain’ Sam at Gabrielle’s while the rest of us went back to our house.

  She sat on the couch, staring at the TV, fighting to keep her eyes open, and didn’t even notice we walked in.

  “She eat anything?” I ask Mom.

  “We’ve been more focused on hydration. She said she thought it had been two days since she drank much of anything.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna get her to sleep. She’s gonna need it to face what she has to tomorrow.”

  I walk over in front of her and squat down. Her eyes meet mine, but she’s looking straight through me.

  “I’m gonna get you into bed.”

  “I stink.”

  “Queenie, you don’t stink.”

  “I don’t usually. But I’m sure I do right now.”

  “Then a shower first.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Good, because I crossed back to possessive.”

  Her lips twitch a bit.

  “Can I carry you, or do you want to walk?”

  “Carry her,” Mom and Truth say at the same time.

  “I want to walk,” she says, placing her hands on my shoulders and standing. “I have to pee.”

  “You have to right now, or can it wait until you get to my room?”

  “I’m seventeen, not seventy,” she says, and then immediately follows it with, “Mom was forty when she had me. Fifty-seven when she died. I wonder what kind of cancer she had. Can you ask Sam? Where is Sam? Do you think I’m going to get cancer?”

  “The only thing you’re going to get is carried to the bathroom, showered, and sleep. Then we can get every answer to every question you deserve.”

  After a shower, I slip her in a shirt of mine and tuck her into bed.

  “Will your dad hate me if you stay?”

  “Hell no.” I slide into bed and pull her back to my chest.

  “I sometimes have nightmares.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m a nightmare hunter. I’ll get them before they get you.”

  “Justice?”

  “Queenie?”

  “Thank you for coming back for me.”

  “Gonna warn you, from here on out, I’m gonna be like a fucking boomerang. You toss me aside, I’m gonna come back as quick as I left.”

  It doesn’t take long before she falls asleep, and I follow moments later.

  Unraveled

  Justice

  Six hours after she fell asleep, Mom was in the room, whispering, “Gabrielle, I need you to drink, and I know you just want to sleep, but we’re going to do this every six hours.”

  After the first eight ounces, she slipped out of my bed, used the bathroom, came out, and said, “This is not okay. It’s not okay to make her—”

  “I’ll set an alarm.”

  “You need sleep, too.”

  “Yeah, well, quit your yapping and get back in here so I can.”

  A faint smile ghosted her lips as she climbed in. I pulled her back against my chest and inhaled her hair as I kissed her head.

  “What do I smell like?”

  “You and me.”

  “Not the sun?” she whispered.

  “Queenie, you are the sun.”

  “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. You don’t have to—”

  “I ever go through what you are, what you have been going through for too fucking long, I want you to do exactly this. This is precedent setting shit right here, Little Queen.”

  “Mmhmm,” she sighed.

  “Get some sleep.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Every six hours, for twenty-four, she sucked down water, used the bathroom, and lay right up tight next to me. After that, it was breakfast in bed, a shower, and heading to her place where she listened to the truth, where she cried, and where she told Sam, who was also crying, that she’d forgive him when he cleaned up. Then it was back to my house, lunch, and bed.

  The next day, she sobbed in the shower, and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I climbed in, fully clothed, and held her. We spent a few hours at the house, and Dad hired another lawyer and an accountant to figure out how best to deal with her situation and finances. By the end of the week, she decided to sell her house. The decision had been made at
two in the morning when she rolled over and said, “It’s a cage, not a castle.” Dad put the word out, and she had an offer for nineteen million dollars. When she found out who the offer was from, she declined. When Dad asked her why, she simply told him, “For Tris.”

  “Care to elaborate?” He laughed.

  Her answer: “No.”

  He walked over, squatted down in front of her, looked her in the eyes, and said, “You want to keep it, we’ll figure it out.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “But you won’t sell it to someone who can cut you a check today, and tomorrow, we can take you to buy a dozen more of those thousand-dollar shoes—”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  He narrowed his eyes at her, and she turned her head and buried it in my lap.

  He arched a brow at me, and I shrugged.

  When he left the room, she looked back at me, wearing a smirk, and I dropped my blanket on her face. And when I say my blanket, I pretty much mean hers now.

  When her phone rings ten minutes later, I hold it up and show her, ‘Tris.’

  She sits up and answers it. Even with the phone to her ear, I can still hear Little Trouble saying, “Are you freaking insane! Sell it to them.”

  “It’s the principle,” Gabrielle whispers.

  “Fuck that. Tell them twenty, and we’ll use a million to hire male models; three to follow me around and fucking bark if I ask them to.”

  When Gabrielle doesn’t respond, Tris snaps, “They’re going to buy a house here, anyway. Might as well be yours.” Then she hangs up.

  Dad walks back in the room and holds his phone out for Gabrielle. “For you.”

  She puts it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Twenty. I pay all closing costs, and you get a check in three days.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’d like it to be ready in a week.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nice doing business with you, Gabrielle.”

  “You, too.”

  She hands the phone back to Dad. “I owe you some new shoes.”

  “A smile would suffice.” He winks at her as he heads back to the other side of the couch.

  That night, I wake up to her looking at houses in Colombia on her phone.

  “Something you want to tell me?”

  She nods. “I’m buying my dad and Sam this house, and I’m going to live there, too.”

  “What about finishing school?”

  “I can never go back there. Not ever.”

  “No one’s gonna fuck with you. I’ll never let them.”

  She looks back at her phone and shakes her head.

  My fucking heart breaks.

  Tyler spread the word that the thief who had broken into Tobias’s place missed the disk, and the stupid fuck showed up in his white van, full of electronic devices, all confiscated, along with enough coke to fuck up the entire shore and unregistered weapons. Roland Whitaker Jr. was arrested and is being held, pending trial. From what Dad’s connections told us, he’s looking at ten to twenty. It’s not good enough for me, and Tobias looked as if he didn’t think it was either.

  Gabrielle and Sam looked at the houses online that she liked, and he steered her clear of the ones in the less desirable locations. I didn’t trust the fucker, so I made notes of what I overheard and sent Dad texts to get his input.

  After packing up all the valuables and putting them in storage until Gabrielle bought a place for them, Sam left with close to a hundred grand, money from the sale of three of the five cars left in the garage. Apparently, she had already sold three to Tiggs to be chopped when she didn’t have enough to pay the taxes.

  When I asked her if she thought it was a good idea to give someone with a coke habit a hundred grand, she looked at me like I’d hurt her. Then I saw her get pissed for the first time since the night on the beach before we’d left for Italy.

  The next few days were spent at her house, the car rides to and from reminded me of all the ones to and from school. I found out she sold her clothes online; some to old fucks who got off on that shit. And she didn’t hide it at all. It was like she wanted me to see it. Wanted to piss me off, and pissed off I was becoming.

  I pushed my parents to get legal guardianship. It wasn’t like she didn’t need that shit to get things like her passport renewed, her license that had expired reinstated, and hell, she’d been driving without insurance for six months. I could tell she didn’t want to agree to it, but she didn’t have a choice.

  Yesterday, I asked her if it was the situation or if she was punishing me for what I put her through for all those months. That pissed her off, too.

  Now, standing by the pool, I feel that burn, the one I carried in my chest for weeks after I saw her with him, and I dive in, hoping it eases the pain.

  When I come up on the other side, Gabrielle is standing there, looking at me, not saying a word.

  “You want to go for a swim?”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “The pool stays open twenty-four hours from mid-May to about October here.”

  “Nice to know.”

  I push myself up out of the pool and grab my towel. “You okay? You hungry? Thirsty?”

  “I really need you to do something for me.”

  “Name it, Queenie.”

  “I need you to stop acting like this. Stop pitying me. Stop being available all the time. Stop pretending to like me when even the people I thought loved me don’t.”

  “Look, I know you’ve got a lot going on—”

  “Just stop! Jesus, Justice, don’t you see you were right?”

  “I’m not sure what this is about, but you need to quiet down or you’re going to wake my parents.”

  “Good! Maybe they’ll stop pretending, too!”

  “Okay”—I take her hand— “let’s get you back into bed and—”

  “Everything you said to me, about me, all those months was true! I’m a bitch. Unlovable. All I care about is how others see me. No one stays, Justice, so just stop acting like you want me around. Like you—”

  “Like what? Like I’ve loved you since I was a kid? Because I have. Like I am trying to atone for all those horrible things I said to you because I was jealous? Hurt? Like you telling me you’re not sticking around next year doesn’t fuck with me? Because that was the fucking plan, Queenie. I’m feeling like shit because I don’t want you to go. I want senior year with you. Fuck, I think I may want forever with you, but saying that puts me in a shit spot, and saying that makes me a dick, because this isn’t about my feelings right now. Your healing, from all this shit you’ve been through does. And I’m just praying that you forgive me for how I acted, and for not noticing everything was fucked up in your life.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Jesus, that ball gag would come in real handy right now, Queenie,” I grumble as I pick her up to take her ass inside and put her to bed.

  “You two all right?” Dad calls from the balcony above us.

  “No, Cyrus, we’re not all right! I’m his fucking project now!”

  “Are you really doing this shit again with my parents?” I ask, tossing her over my shoulder, grabbing a beach towel, and turning around.

  “House is this way, son,” Dad calls down.

  “Yeah, well, this way, I can toss her ass in the ocean if she won’t shut up and none of you will hear her screaming!”

  “Okay, then. Just be safe.”

  “Are you kidding me right now, Dad!” Truth yells at him.

  “Good night, Truth. Love you, girl.”

  “Such hypocrisy!” Truth snaps at Dad.

  “And now you’ve made Truth hate me again!” Gabrielle screams as she pounds on my back.

  “Nobody fucking hates you but you, right now. So get over your shit and cry or something. The raging is so months ago. We’re past that. Keep up.”

  “I hate you!”

  “You fucking love me.” I laugh as I step onto the sand and almost drop her.
<
br />   “I don’t even know what that means anymore!”

  “You need a reminder?” I ask as I set her on her feet.

  In the moonlight, I see tears in her eyes, and her bottom lip pouts out as she shakes her head.

  “Fuck, you drive me nuts.” I toss the towel on the sand and grab her face. “You better save some of that twenty mil for the goddamn therapy this moment right here is gonna cause me to need.” I crash my lips against hers, and she crashes hers against mine.

  I run my hand down her shoulder, across her back, and pull her tightly against me. She digs her fingers into my abs as I skate one of my hands up her side, cupping her tit. Picking her up by her ass with my other hand. I turn her and lay her down in the towel, fingers quickly finding that spot inside her that I know will make her come like I have a hundred times before. She grips my cock, and my hips thrust on first contact.

  Kissing down her neck, I push her shirt—my shirt—up, exposing her perfect little tits and take one in my mouth. With my other hand, I push her panties down as she jacks my dick.

  I roll to the side, still sucking her rock-hard, little pebbled nipple as she pulls her leg out of her panties then rolls back over, pushing her leg farther apart. When she drags my cock across her pussy, I bite down on her nipple again and push in just enough to fucking feel how wet she is for me.

  “I want you,” she whimpers.

  “Condom’s in the fucking house, Queenie.”

  “I want you now,” she nearly begs.

  “Fuckin’ want you, too, but—”

  “Please.”

  I push in a little more, and she bites down on my shoulder.

  “One more inch, and I’m not gonna give a fuck if I get you knocked up. As a matter of fact, I hope I do so you’ll stop talking shit about moving to fucking Colombia.”

  “Justice.”

  I look up.

  “I want you to love me.”

  “That’s already a given, Queenie.”

  “Please,” she whispers.

  “You sure about this?” I push her hair out of her face.

  “The only thing I am sure of right now.”

  “I fuck you, you stop talking stupid, and you stop trying to push me away.”