I Am Justice (Black Ops Confidential 1)

The driver pulled away from the building. Interior limo lights cast a faintly bluish glow on the sleek leather interior. Sandesh rolled his shoulders. Damn he was tense. There wasn’t much that could get under his skin, but being compared to a groupie pretty much did it.

Victor didn’t know the truth though. He’d never sat at dinner with a bunch of kids rescued from impossible situations and given chances for better lives. He’d never seen those kids, even in the face of a school bombing, empowered and strong. Who would they have been if not for Mukta? Who would Justice have been? Would she even be alive?

Victor didn’t know. If he did, he’d understand.

Honestly, it would be a hell of a lot better to be led around by his dick. At least he’d have single-mindedness. Right now, every doubt in his mind played Russian roulette with his determination. Was the plan good enough? Would it work? Was there another way?

He shook himself from his thoughts. Where was this guy going? He pressed the button to lower the partition. “Driver,” he said, “You missed the turn for 76. Has the venue been changed? I thought the affair was at the Parish home.”

The driver didn’t answer right away. After a minute, he said, “Sorry, sir, we have one other guest to pick up before we get there.”

The partition went back up.

Okay. Weird. Not that he cared, but he was fairly certain when you sent a car for someone it didn’t turn into a bus ride. Still, Mukta did things differently. He liked that about her. And having someone to share the ride might actually make the drive less about what was going on in his head.

The driver turned toward the Ben Franklin Bridge exit. Sandesh leaned forward. This was wrong. Courtesy be damned, there was no way Mukta would send a car that had to circle this far back in the wrong direction.

Sandesh pressed the partition button. Nothing happened. The car sped up. His heart rate increased. He shifted into the seat opposite of him, lifted his hand, knuckle knocked. “Hey, buddy.”

Nothing.

The car slowed for traffic. Sandesh reached for the handle. Locked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. No signal. Oh…kayy.

If this guy did work for Mukta, his night was about to suck royally.

Raising his foot, he drove the heel of his shoe into the side window. He hit it one, two, three times. It splintered like a web.

Security glass. Barely cracked.

Rubber-soled pieces-of-shit shoes. His leg ached. Damn. He longed for the days when leaving his home without a gun would’ve felt as comfortable as leaving the house naked during a snowstorm.

He kicked again and again.

The limo banked to the right. He slipped sideways. He braced himself. The limo veered off the exit and into a run-down area close to the docks. Place could double as a landfill.

Rusted metal fence. Trash everywhere. Large, dented storage containers. A bulky, bolt-rusted, four spread-legged crane, with a precariously dangling claw. The thing looked like one serious wind could push it over.

As they veered around equipment, Sandesh noticed a car followed close behind them. This was getting serious. What was it Gracie had told him about Walid? He thought that Sandesh was the key to everything.

The attack on the school had switched Sandesh’s focus from worrying about himself to the school. Stupid. Should’ve done both.

The limo jerked over a pothole and slammed to a hostile end alongside a steel storage container.

The crunch of tires sliding against stones, and the car pulled up behind them. Two men got out. They stalked toward the limo with a ready-to-bust-heads set to their shoulders.

Chances they were friendly? Nada. Each headed toward a different door. Wouldn’t be easy to fend off two attacks. But it was even harder to coordinate two attacks.

One of them would be first.

He looked around for a weapon. A wayward glass. A bottle from the mini-fridge. A toothpick. Nothing. Damn it. The limo-driver released the doors with a click.

Sandesh loosened and readied. Both doors flung open. But not simultaneously. The faster man came inside, led with his gun. Mistake.

Sandesh grabbed his wrist, locked his gun arm, pulled. He twisted the gun hand, aimed, fired at the second guy. The guy had already jumped back.

The first guy yanked. But Sandesh had secured his feet on the doorjamb. Using the leverage, he jerked the guy forward and head-butted him.

Crack. The guy’s nose broke like an egg. Hot blood poured out. Sandesh’s stomach gave a reflexive roll. Fuck. Gusher.

Gusher guy made a whiny, distressed sound and loosened his hold on the gun. Sandesh punted up with his pointy, worthless, POS-soled shoe. The guy grunted, released the gun, fell across his foot. Sandesh kicked him off. The guy stumbled back.

Rolling out of the limo, Sandesh crouched, kept the long car as a barrier between him and guy two.

Where was guy number two?

The limo took off. Raising the semiautomatic, Sandesh shot at the back window. The glass barely splintered.

Guy two still nowhere to be seen. Guy one on the other hand?

Hands covered in blood, Gusher charged. Sandesh was painfully aware of the amount of pressure he put on the trigger—next to nothing—the snap of the shot—loud—the recoil that rode up his arm—forever.

Gusher went down.

The driver spun the limo around with a squeal of tires and burnt rubber.

Sandesh darted left. The limo swung in the same direction.

It followed him the way a dog follows a sheep. Slow. Leading. They obviously wanted him alive.

At the last moment, the limo veered past him, doubled back. It came straight at him this time. Still slow.

There was a ladder on the storage container. Taking a running leap, Sandesh vaulted up. He slammed into the steel container. His fingers latched on to the ladder. The rusted metal sliced his knuckles.

At the top, he got a knee up, pulled himself onto the container. Both of his hands bled. Barely noticed. He crawled to the center edge, took out his cell.

The limo had backed up and now headed straight for the container. He was going to smash it?

Sandesh spread out like an X, held on.

The limo hit with a slam that rocked his body. And a vibration that shook his skull. Stupid fuck. What good did that do? He rolled. Just in time to see the guy suspended by a crane fire the Taser.

Chapter 60

The thin spikes of Justice’s Louboutin pumps tap, tap, tapped against the marble floor. The sound echoed in the wide hall as she made her way to the gym.

With each step through the main corridor of the Mantua Home, the energy increased. Electric anticipation warmed by the promise of rich food, rich conversation, bubbly drinks, and the anything-can-happen vibe.

Though it was early, barely eight, the house was a hive of activity. Caterers buzzed in from the kitchen, through the dining room, into the hall and gym. The gym was set up with lights and music like a high school dance to delight the kids. The main celebration would be out back on the lavish patio.

The serving staff, dressed in black-and-white uniforms, familiarized themselves with the home’s layout. Six bartenders were already set up, some inside the house, most outside on the patio.

Her sisters flitted around here and there, many in flowing ball gowns, but some in shorter dresses. Three in tuxedos. Well, Tony, Romeo, and the youngest girl in Vampire Academy wore tuxedos.

Everyone had their marching orders. Dance. Mingle. Strike up conversations. Ask questions. Meet eyes. Shake hands. Be polite. Don’t leave the party without permission. That was typical. Momma was big on courtesy to guests. No wallflowers here.

Music played softly through the entire house, even in the gym. The music made the room seem even more high school prom. Momma had let the Troublemakers pick the playlist. Kind of surprising they lik

ed the acoustic stuff.

The overall effect as her feet clicked against the wood gym flooring was theatrical. Bright and warm and full of opulent promise. Sort of perfect. If you were into that kind of thing.

Tonight, she was. But only because of whom she waited for. She was aware of her every movement in her gown. Silk swept her legs. The same blue silk that plunged at the back hugged her breasts and butt. Long slits up both sides made it easy for her to move. Never knew when a girl might need to run. Or leave herself open for groping.

Sandesh was going to love this dress. That thought made even her jaded nerves tingle.

Speaking of Sandesh. She peeked out one of the long windows as guests arrived in droves of sleek, black limos. It was like watching the Academy Awards. Drivers escorted ladies and gentlemen from polished limos. The people gathered out front chatted, commented on the home, laughed, flirted, looked hot and wealthy and successful for the hired photographers.

The warm night was growing cooler. Many of the guests milled about in small groups before making their way into the house. Leland and Momma stood outside the large front doors, at the top of the stone stairs, welcoming everyone. Leland looked sharp and handsome and confident in his tuxedo. Momma looked elegant in her silver-and-turquoise gown with matching niqab.

The little Ruskie, Bella, had grabbed a fistful of Momma’s ten-thousand-dollar gown and clung to it like a lifeline. Momma didn’t protest or try to drag the girl away. Her hand merely directed her guests around the little girl as she greeted them. From where she stood, Justice never saw her once ask Bella to engage anyone who came inside.

Unusual. Momma had a thing for making sure each of her daughters interacted with the outside world in a forthright and open manner.

The fact that Bella got special treatment meant that her story, more than any other Momma had ever heard, prompted a great deal of sympathy. Sometimes new adoptees were quick to tell their stories. Sometimes not. Justice wasn’t sure she wanted to know Bella’s story.