Tony dodged like water—like water sliding across ice. Her toes skimmed his skin.
He danced back, lean, flexible, and a bundle of muscle. He rubbed at his rib, in the general vicinity of his All for One tattoo. “Old moves, J. Rib still pings from last time.”
Huh? She was that predictable. “Holding on to a grudge, Tone?” She charged in close, grasped his neck, trying for a neck lock.
He blocked, got control of her arm, trapped it. Fuck. That hurt. She sent an elbow at his head. He dodged, loosed his grip. She broke away, backed off, shook out her arm.
He flashed pearly, straight teeth. She was pretty sure she could get her entire fist in that mouth. While he ate an apple.
Other than that great smile, he was all deadly charm and South Philly. “Did ya know female ducks got a hidden uterus?”
“What?” He was trying to distract her. But… “Like a covert uterus?”
He sent a front kick at her. She grabbed his heel easy enough. Guy had big feet. He one-leg jumped toward her, shoved a hand up under her chin, forced her head back, ripped his leg free, looped it around hers, tripped her to the floor. She rolled, bounced up.
They were breathing heavy now and starting to sweat. “Know how some animals go all-out, plumes and whatnot, even dance to impress the females?”
He kept an arm’s length away, but she watched the spread of his hands, the shift of his hip, and the slide of his feet against the cushioned mat.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, male ducks ain’t goin’ for that shit. They just up and rape the females. Fact, they do it all the time. So the female’s anatomy adapted. Not only are their duck vaginas ridged like a screw—going the opposite way of the male penis ridges—”
“Ouch. You’re makin’ shit up.”
He threw a right. She blocked with one hand, struck with the other, hooked his leg, flipped him to the mat, and dropped on top of him.
They grappled for a moment. “God’s honest,” he said, nearly in her ear. He had no shirt and was slippery with sweat, but she managed a leg lock. She put pressure on it. He tapped with his other hand. Enough. She rolled off and bounced back up.
He got to his feet, smiled, danced back. “And their vaginas are like a labyrinth. Fake little offshoots for the sperm the female don’t want.”
A labyrinth? She blocked his kick with her shin. They exchanged a series of strikes and counterstrikes, and he came in close, got control, forced her head down. She made a move toward his balls, and he dodged. They broke off the exchange.
She wiped sweat from her face. “So what you’re saying is a species has developed, through the violence of their own kind, physical ways to prevent rapists from procreating with their rape victims. Wasn’t there a weird senator who claimed a human female’s body did the same thing?”
“Yeah. Dick. Like women are raped as much as ducks and evolve that kind of shit.”
“What? No. I meant he was compa—”
He hit her with a series of fast, hard strikes. Too fast. Not just fast, angry in a way she hadn’t expected, that wasn’t even close to the playful way they’d been sparring.
She jerked away. He kept coming. She lost her footing, staggered. He swept her legs out from under her. Her head bounced against the mat.
Cushioned or not, that shit hurt.
She stayed down, stretched her legs out in front of her. Tony came over and offered her a hand.
Huh. Accept his hand, or use it to retaliate?
Why had he changed the tone of their sparring? Ah hell. She knew to expect the unexpected. She reached for his hand.
When he pulled her to her feet, she slammed into him, then plopped back on her heels.
“Charming story, Tone.”
“It’s easy with you, Justice. You bring out the charm in people.”
Whatever. She preferred blunt to charming. “So some kind of lesson in that story?”
He walked over and grabbed the floor cleaner. When he returned, she noticed something dark and heavy seemed to weigh down the usual lightness in his hazel eyes. “The lesson is that even the cold gaze of evolution knows when something is wrong. And so do you. You need to be honest with that guy.”
“What’s it to you?”
“It ain’t right. Admit the truth. Admit what we both know. Momma’s using his organization. And you’re flirting. You don’t do boyfriends. And you won’t shit on the League’s greatest strength, our closed ranks, for a guy.”
“Not so closed. He’s in. Or didn’t you get the memo?”
“Really? So you’re going to keep using this guy’s humanitarian missions to do global ops?” He held out the floor cleaner. Loser had to clean the mat.
She glared at him.
“So that’s a no,” he answered for her. “And are you going to quit the League? Help him with his humanitarian work?”
“I’m not quitting the League. Ever.”
“No shit.” He gave her a smile so crooked it looked like he’d tasted something sour. “That’s what I’m saying. Bad enough you fucked with this guy’s business. Don’t fuck with his heart.”
Justice’s shoulder blades drew together. Her neck tensed. Tony. What did he know? She swiped angrily at the mat as Tony’s next session was announced. “I can walk and chew gum, Tone. I can have him and the League. Fuck your advice.”
He looked at her as if she’d slapped him. “J.” His voice was tight with hurt and more than a little angry. “Fine. Go the way of Dada. Make that colossal mistake.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Dada has spent more time mooning over her informant than doing the job. Ask Jules.”
Another set of toes had appeared. Neat and trimmed. And painted black. Justice looked up. Juliette, a.k.a. Jules.
Justice creased her brow. “Don’t you usually train with Dada?”
Juliette looked down at Justice. Her hands fisted at her sides. “She says she’s sick, but I just saw her pigging out in the break room.” Juliette pointed at Tony. “So I get to train with Monkey Man. Again.”
Tony put a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Monkey Man’s gonna kick your ass, Jules.”
Break room? Dada had to know Tony already had his hands full w
ith Jules’s twin, the other half of the dynamic duo, Romeo.
God, those names. Some parents were so fucked up.
The twins, Romeo and Juliette, had been adopted eight years ago. The second male adopted into the Parish fold. Tony loved the kid.
A quick visual sweep, and she spotted Romeo. Rome. He worked the heavy bag. He was a big kid. Muscular. And though Jules’s twin, he shared little in common with her. She was blond and golden-skinned. He was dark-haired and pale-skinned.
“I’ll talk to her,” Justice said.
Jules turned her head slightly, as if to avoid a bad smell. Yeah. Lame. What else could she say? Justice finished wiping and stood up.
“Monkey Man has a next victim,” Tony said and let his arms drag to his sides. He began making monkey noises. Jules looked terrified. And pissed. “Tell Dada she sucks.”
Will do. One, “you suck, Dada” coming up. Sub-headlined with, “What’s this I hear about you and your Brothers Grim informant?”
* * *
Still a sweaty mess, Justice heel-toed her way to the break room. What the hell was up with Dada? You didn’t just abandon your little sister like that. And what was it with her and her informant?
After waving her wrist over the door panel, there was a series of high to low beeps, then the overly feminine-sounding computer program said, “Authorization for forty minutes in lounge B. No weapons allowed. Do not abuse this privilege. Thank you.”
Sometimes security was too damn much. Like all the slackers would be tempted to hang out in a boring break room watching CNN. Can’t get enough steel cubbies and plastic seats pushed up against round, white-laminate tables.
She walked inside. The whole room smelled of marinated steak and freshly baked bread. The red spikes of Dada’s size-nine Jimmy Choos were propped up on the smooth, white table, near a balled-up wrapper of white, crinkly paper and a bottle of imported water.
Her indigo skirt had slid up, revealing long, glossy, black legs.
Dada waved at one of three flat-screen TVs on the wall. “Look, Justice, Fahid scored. Isn’t he beautiful?”
Justice slid into the seat opposite from her sister. Dada developed crushes on soccer players the way teenage girls developed crushes on characters in books.