I Am Justice (Black Ops Confidential 1)

He stumbled left and fell over.

Justice screamed. She ran to him. “What did you do?” Skirting the dead guard, she fell to Tony’s side. She grabbed his shoulders. “What did you do? You stupid idiot!”

Sandesh reached across Tony, pulled her hands away. “Careful. Don’t touch.”

“He’s got your back.” Tony tucked his hands into his armpits. He gasped for breath. He’d landed oddly. His right leg bent back, caught under his ass. His body began to convulse. His teeth to chatter.

How did she fix this? How did she stop it?

Tony looked up at her. “I did good too? Right, J? Not all bad.” His hazel eyes, the haunted eyes that had once looked out from the face of a starving twelve-year-old boy, pinned her. Begged her. Her heart broke into a thousand irreparable pieces. It hurt to breathe.

“Yeah, Tone.” She spoke over sobs. “You did a lot of good. You were my best friend. I love you. I will always love you.”

He closed his eyes. “Don’t cry, J.” He smiled. A smile that twitched at the edges, then went flat.

Chapter 76

The energy in Sandesh’s apartment had changed. Not subtly either. Though he couldn’t think of the perfect word for it—this shift in atmosphere since Justice had begun staying there.

There was probably a French word for the buzz of warmth, the charged peace, the surge of contentment, the electric joy of waking up every morning beside the person he loved.

All he could think of was…blessed.

That sort of fit. But it still didn’t describe the thrill of falling asleep with her in his arms. Or the jolt of awareness he felt, like right now, with her warm and asleep against him.

Or the way his heart lifted every morning when she rolled over and kissed him. Then fucked him until he fell back to sleep in a satiated heap.

Or the pleasant way it hurt when she disentangled herself from him and the sheets and left the bed in the morning.

Or the way his heart jumped, hip-hip-hoorayed in his chest when she returned, carrying a cup of coffee as hot and dark as her eyes.

Blessed just didn’t cover it.

He hated the idea of her going back to her house. Not that they’d talked about them shacking up together. But she’d been spending every night for a month, every night since Mexico. She’d told him she couldn’t face her house yet, knowing Tony wouldn’t be there.

So the move in had just kind of happened. Of course, they’d returned to the Mantua Home many times, for dinner, to work out, to hang out with her siblings. She seemed to be getting more comfortable back there, less consumed with bad memories. He was beyond grateful for the easing of that pain.

But that didn’t mean he wanted her to go back there. She’d turned his apartment into a place he now considered a home, not just the place he paid rent on. He didn’t want that to end.

Sandesh shifted with that sweet touch of regret as Justice, buck naked, climbed out of bed and sashayed out of the bedroom with a promise to return, “With coffee.”

God, he loved her. He waited for her to get far enough away that she could no longer see into the room before he jumped out of bed.

He yanked the sheets and blankets straight. Made the bed in record time, military tight. Then he got the box he’d stashed under the bed. Rose petals, a hand drawn sign that read Our Home Sweet Home, and a black bow tie.

Couldn’t say he wasn’t classy.

Not enough? Should he have…

Fuck. He’d thought of this a thousand different ways. He’d decided to make it simple, offer to share himself, his life, with her.

He sprinkled the rose petals across the bed, hung the sign across the headboard, put on the tie, and laid his naked self strategically across the bed just as he heard her making her way back.

Shit. Almost forgot. He sat up, reached into his nightstand, pulled out the hand-carved wooden box, and settled back into position.

She walked in, fingers looped around the handles of two coffee cups, the other hand holding an iPad. She was staring at the tablet and didn’t look up. “Cats can pretty much escape anything.”

Cats? “What are you looking at?”

“This video…” She shook her head, laughed. “It’s…”

She looked up, a beautiful, seductive grin spread across her face. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in my entire life.” Good. It was already working.

He was actually sweating. Though he’d decided she wouldn’t want anything too traditional, should he have gone for a ring?

No. Dada had told him—nothing she’d have to take off for missions. It would bother Justice, doing that. And nothing too expensive. To her, it would mean less. Dada had given him another idea. He opened the box, revealing two smooth garnets and a series of light and dark leather cords.

Justice came closer, placed the coffee cups and iPad on his nightstand. She peered into the box. “Arts and crafts? Kinky. I can definitely use the leather cords.”

He tried to bite back his eager smile. Tried and failed. He cleared his throat. “These stones are from Syria. From a jeweler I met in Zaatari. They represent hope and strength and perseverance. And they’re red because Choctaw brides traditionally wear red.”

He stopped, tried to judge how she was taking this. She pumped her eyebrows at him.

He swallowed. “And the leather, light and dark, for good times and bad, for us to braid together, to braid the gems into. I wanted something that represented us, symbolized us. Something you could wear on your wrist. Something.…” God, stop babbling. “That’s if…” Don’t be a fucking coward. “Justice, will you marry me?”

She launched herself onto the bed without warning, causing him, the flower petals, and the box to bounce. She took the box and moved it gently onto the nightstand, straddled him, kissed him.

Heat shot through his body. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Fuck, yes.”

She kissed him, long and deep. She pulled back, stared at him. Stared at him with eyes like a cool, starless night, so endless not even the gods could imagine the edges.

“I want to meet your mother.”

Not exactly where he’d thought that was going. “Okay. It’s just—”

She shook her head. “I get it. But you’ve met my family. I’ve met your dad—”

“Most awkward lunch ever.”

She laughed. “Yeah. But I’m serious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nodded. For her, anything.

“I love you, Sandesh.”

“I love you, Justice.”

She grinned, squirmed on top of him. “Oh, I can feel that.”

“Cocky.” He rolled and she cried out. He maneuvered himself so she was under him and he was pressed hard against her. “Pun intended.”

She laughed, lifted her head, and kissed him until his head spun and his body raged.

Fucking blessed.

* * *

It’d been a good day. A great day. Any day spent entirely in bed with Justice, eating, having sex, talking, laughing, making jewelry—while she cursed like she’d stubbed her toe on a cement block; woman was not crafty—was a great one.

His hand tightened around hers as they walked up the stone stairs to the private nursing home where his mother lived. His heart picked up its pace. He wanted the two women he loved most in this world to meet. But he couldn’t be sure Justice would get to meet Mom. She might be someone else today. Scratch that. She might be somewhere else today.

“Don’t do that, Sandesh.”

He looked over at Justice. Her eyes serious. Clothes casual, black jeans and a button-down top. Hair pulled into a long ponytail. “What?”

“Worry.”

“Just don’t expect much. I can never be sure how she’ll be with a stranger. Sometimes, it can be hurtful. But sh

e’s…she’s a good person.”

She squeezed his hand. “I know enough of you, the man she raised, to know that however she appears now, she is a good person. She provided the shoulder you rested on, the heart that comforted yours, the soul that taught you to love. The disease might keep her from us, but it can’t diminish who she is in my eyes. Ever.”

A sudden, weighty presence lodged in his throat. Made it hard to swallow. They pushed through the front doors and entered the brightly lit corridor. Didn’t matter what time of year it was; this place always smelled of pinecones and cinnamon.

After they stopped at the front desk and checked in with security, Justice pointed to the hall lined with amateur paintings. “It’s rather elegant. Are these done by the people living here?”

He’d stopped seeing the paintings long ago. This hall had become a place filled with worry and sometimes dread. “Yeah. I brought Mom here after I met the head of the community. A kind woman who knew I was concerned about Mom’s quality of life. On the day I met her, she said to me, ‘Talent, joy, love of life, and creativity don’t have an expiration date. That’s a limit placed by smaller minds.’”