Judge Santos was found deceased in his home late last night. Reports aren’t saying how he died, but if the photographs I have of him in my safe at Clarks are anything to go by, I’m going to assume he was asphyxiated during sex. He liked things kinky, and considering his flavor of the month was usually an unsuspecting male teen willing to do anything to stay out of jail, he’s lucky to have lasted as long as he did.
If he even suggested that type of plea bargain with me when we met shortly before my eighteenth birthday, I would have killed him where he stood. Alas, not all teens are as ruthless as me. They’re also not as smart. They have no clue the judicial system here is so overcrowded, the chances of them spending a night in jail for a misdemeanor are extremely low—almost as low as my mood drops when a handful of photos slip out of Officer Prentice’s file. He doesn’t just bully women. His quirks extend to kids too.
“How old is she?”
Roman’s worldly eyes lift from the photo of a badly battered girl I’d guess to be early teens to me. “Fifteen. These images were obtained during her arrest for soliciting.” He opens a second folder that has just as many pictures as the first one, although more grainy. “These are the ones Hunter forwarded from a surveillance camera in the alleyway an hour before she was arrested.”
My jaw ticks when he hands me the photographs. The girl barely had a scratch on her before Officer Prentice approached her. Her cheeks only get busted up after he moves her into a shadow in the corner of the frame.
The timeline of images is already enough to get my blood boiling, but what Roman says next utterly annihilates any sense of normality. “I had Hunter run his plates through our surveillance system. Excluding the occasional piss in the alleyway, Prentice hasn’t left his vehicle which is parked on the corner of Malor and West Lucy.”
“West Lucy?” When Roman dips his chin, my blood pressure skyrockets. “He’s here? Staking out Justine’s apartment?”
“That’s the thing,” Roman says, his tone low. “He’s not on the roster for any drive-bys or surveillance in this region. No one is. Judge Ryder didn’t request surveillance as part of your home arrest, which means he’s only here for one reason.”
“He’s toying with me.” I drag my hand along my jaw, tracking the tick there when an even more perverse thought enters my mind. “Or he wants to toy with Justine.”
I’ve never heard my voice as hot and violent as it is right now. It truly seems as if it was delivered straight from hell. Its change in temperament is understandable. Officer Prentice didn’t just beat the teen he arrested, he did it while forcing her to perform a sex act on him.
If he thinks he’ll achieve the same outcome here, he’s shit out of luck.
I’ll slit his throat before he gets within an inch of Justine.
When Roman spots the grave expression on my face, he slides the file back to his side of the table before standing from his chair. “I’ll call in the crew; get this taken care of it.”
By ‘this’ he means Officer Prentice.
I slap my hand down on the file, stopping his hasty retreat. “No. I’ll handle it. This is personal, which means it’s my responsibility.”
Roman glares at me funny, but before he can voice a single smidge of the confusion I see in his eyes, a commotion at the side gains our attention. Justine has been thrust into the kitchen by Viktor. Her eyes are wide and frightened—until they lock on me. Even scared, she’s already aware I’ll never let anyone hurt her.
“I found her snooping outside.”
Justine shakes her head, denying Viktor’s claims. “I wasn’t snooping.”
My back molars become friendly when Roman says, “Nikolai is busy, Justine. Go wait in his room until he is ready for you.”
The confusion in his eyes doubles when I cut him off by slicing my hand through the air. Usually, women are forbidden from any Popov meetings, even ones as simple as today. But Justine isn’t like the women at the Popov compound. For one, she’s not a whore, and I’ll kill anyone who dares to say differently, and two, this is her realm as much as it is mine.
Roman’s throat works through a hard swallow when I say, “She’s fine, Roman. Let her be.”
When I stand from my chair to head Justine’s way, a tiny vein in her neck works overtime. She dressed differently than she was this morning. She’s switched out her business attire for a fun, flirty look. The teasing length of her shorts has me dying to see more of her long legs, and her shirt is modest but fitted, meaning I have no issues taking in the way her nipples bud more the closer I get to her.
When I finish bridging the gap between us, I notice a slight alteration to her scent. It’s still seductive as fuck, but it has matured, like our grapple in the bathroom fortified a steel rod in her back. She’s aware she doesn’t belong in the dark and dangerous world I’m endeavoring to pull her into, but she also knows she doesn’t belong outside of it either.
No wonder why I’m so conflicted. Justine’s emotions are as contradicting as my sudden urge to be her knight in shining armor. I want to say my protectiveness stems from knowing she’s damaged like me, but it’s more than that. She has more depth than her outer shell portrays. I just need to get her alone to work out what it is.
Justine is tall for a girl, bringing her only a few inches under my six foot two height, but I feel like a giant when I stand in front of her. It isn’t because I’m wearing boots and her feet are bare. It’s from the way she peers up at me with innocent yet seductive eyes. They’re as soft as the clouds angels dance on, but capable of provoking the deadly fury of a devil.
I’m tempted as fuck to see if her skin will sizzle under my touch as much as the gleam in her eyes fires whenever I’m in her presence, but I can feel the eyes of my men on me, so instead of touching her like I really want to, I keep my hands balled at my side.
Let me tell you, it’s a fucking hard feat.
My struggles are heard in my words when I ask, “What do you need,Ahren?”
“Umm...” She scans the room, as overwhelmed by the tension crackling between us as me. With how roasting it is, she says the last thing I’m anticipating. “I was just wondering if you needed anything at the store?” She jerks her chin to a door I’m assuming is a pantry on our left. “There is barely enough in there to scrape together a meal, let alone three days’ worth, so I thought I should go gather some supplies.”
“You’re running to the store?” Hesitation thickens my tone, but Justine seems oblivious to it. As she nods, her eyes flare with excitement, pleased I’m falling for her ruse. I’m not, but I’m happy to play along. “To gather supplies?”
