The Cost of Justice Read online

  The Cost of Justice

  Nova Drake

  No part of this book may be distributed or reproduced in any form without written consent from the author.

  The characters and events in this book are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  “Sometimes the only way to get justice is to take it yourself.”

  -Leigh Bardugo

  Something shifted in the shadows as Justice stalked silently past boarded-up warehouses half crumbled by time and abuse. Though long ago abandoned by legitimate business, this sinister place was far from empty. She tracked the movement in her peripheral, keeping her pace steady, even as they hunted her from a distance.

  The broken buildings were occupied by various operations and squatters, but the streets were deserted. Death lurked in the dark corners and alleyways with covetous stares that were more felt than seen. These were not streets to linger on.

  A lone young woman walking these desolate streets at night may have appeared to be easy prey. But the lack of fear in her confident stride and the solid definition in her well-trained body reminded those lurking nearby that she wasn’t an easy mark.

  The shadows shifted restlessly, the air heavy with an insatiable lust for violence. For most willing to risk these parts, a careful balance was needed. Their instincts fueled the need to move quickly but not inspire a chase, to avoid challenging aggression while not appearing weak. Some pulled it off. Some never made it through, dragged away by the castoffs that were drawn to this place by their thirst for brutality.

  Justice didn’t pander to the unspoken rules. She marched through the familiar, crumbled streets at her own pace in her well-worn combat boots. Her eyes didn’t dart nervously to the shadows like most, but she knew the lurkers were there and she tracked their movements without fear. The only thing they truly understood was survival, and most didn’t survive an encounter with her. That simple fact drove them to keep their distance more often than not.

  They weren’t monsters, just empty souls so immersed in the savagery of the world that they no longer existed without it, operating on nothing but survival instincts and wild aggression. Their humanity had been ripped away piece by piece until all that was left was a cruel drive to subsist at any cost. Violent beings created by a violent world. A sad reality, but it was only one more ugly piece of what the world had become.

  Justice approached her destination and turned down an alley toward the entrance. The lurkers closed in, sensing their opportunity slipping away, but she didn’t break her stride.

  The desperation of the nearest stalker drew her attention, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She tucked a small knife into her palm and reached for the door seconds too late. Dragged back into a bony chest, she caught the hand that darted for her throat and flipped the knife around in her hand. Anticipation thickened in the air as the others shifted closer.

  The attacker at her back went rigid, and the movements of the others took a dramatic dive into panic. Not taking the time to contemplate the change, she sliced back, aiming for his thigh, but met no resistance when the body behind her disappeared in an instant. Justice swung around with the momentum of her strike, stumbling slightly with the sudden shift. In the second it took to regain her balance, every one of them had run.

  Apprehension crawled down the back of her neck. Her well-honed instincts sensed danger, even as her eyes flicked over the deserted alley. Whatever had scattered the lurkers like cockroaches was something she didn’t want to stick around to meet. Keeping a guarded awareness of her surroundings, she reached for the door again, nearly missing the lone figure in the shadows.

  One of the lurkers remained.

  In the dark, she couldn’t see more than an eerily still outline, but he was bigger than most that ended up here. His features were consumed entirely by the shadows, yet she knew without a doubt that his eyes were locked on her with a chilling intensity, holding her frozen when she should have escaped inside.

  A shivery warning worked its way down her spine, startling her into motion. Breaking free, she tugged the heavy door open, forcing her composure back into place and striding inside with her usual attitude. Where she was going, he wouldn’t follow.

  ***

  The entrance was dark and deserted, but she knew the way well. Passing a maze of dingy halls, she strode forward unerringly, until finally tugging open a metal door. Inside the dimly lit stairwell, a large man sat perched on his rickety stool, shrinking the tiny space further. He gave her a subtle nod and crossed his massive arms over his chest as she slipped past, heading down.

  The Underground had few rules. The only criteria to get in, once you made the dangerous trip, was getting past the doormen. If they decided you didn’t belong there, a long walk home was in your future. Those with money could buy their way in, but even that wasn’t a guarantee. What was important was that they could spot a cop a mile away. Those that came looking for an extortion opportunity never made it through. They also never came back. Justice figured it was best not to think too hard on why that was, but it was enough to mostly keep their patrons in line. Once you were out, you were out, and there was more than one way to accomplish that goal.

  They didn’t care if you got yourself killed, but they definitely cared if you affected their profits. This was not a place to go hunting. It was a place to blow off steam and indulge. The Underground didn’t tolerate anyone disrupting their business.

  Slipping down one more flight of stairs and stepping out into a tiled tunnel, Justice passed the next doorman, a finely dressed man of average build who looked completely out of place surrounded by the broken tiles and crumbling cement. Somehow, despite their differences and his bland, almost forgettable looks, he was even more intimidating than the last. His cold eyes met hers briefly, conveying a threat as clearly as if he’d been heavily armed instead of overdressed.

  A flash of envy hit her over the effortlessly daunting stare she’d tried and failed to emulate. She’d never been capable of delivering such a warning with nothing more than a glance. But as he pulled his gaze away, she realized that the look in his eyes wasn’t something he’d mastered. It would come naturally when she finally lost what was left of her soul. It seemed a little less like something to look forward to when she thought of it that way.

  The Underground was spread out through old abandoned transit tunnels. Most of the rails ran above ground, but there were plenty of large underground areas where patrons once boarded the trains. Many of the tunnels had long since collapsed, and some had even been expanded. But what remained in this area had been transformed into every sin and indulgence you could ask for.

  Reaching the end of the final tunnel, Justice passed the last doorman, a slightly less threatening man with a dark beard that didn’t quite cover the deep scar running halfway across his throat. She pushed through a metal door into the entrance. The deep thumping beat of the music and the low buzz of voices hit her as she pressed forward into the sweaty, gyrating crowd.

  Delicate fingers trailed across her stomach as a small raven-haired beauty tucked up against one side. A smooth male voice tickled her other ear.

  “Are you looking for some company tonight, beautiful?”

  Justice turned toward the man and raised an eyebrow. He stood only a few inches taller than her, thin and delicate, but undeniably attractive. His blonde hair was long enough to just brush his shoulders and his porcelain skin looked far softer than hers.

  “Are you referring to her or yourself?” Justice asked, nodding toward the woman on her other side who’s dark eyes watched with hunger.

  He smiled, blue eyes twinkling. “Both? Either?”

  The contrast betwe
en the two was striking. His soft features and light coloring, along with his friendly demeanor, next to her black hair and intense stare. Her skin was a deep, silky caramel that Justice would love to run her hands over. Tempting, but Justice was pretty sure she’d break these two. She gently extracted herself from their grip.

  “Thanks, but I’ve got someplace I need to be. Maybe next time.”

  Moving further past the bodies, Justice slipped up to a counter, purchasing a drink and slamming it before moving on as it burned its way down. It was never a good idea to have two. Not for her anyway. The area just inside the door was pretty equivalent to a bar. Or what she pictured bars looked like since the only place they still existed outside the Underground was in the rich cities.

  There were only five of the high-tech cities remaining in what was left of America. Like most, Justice had never even been to one of the elite cities. Let alone their exclusive clubs. No one on the outside would ever be allowed to taint their pretentious haven. Hell, they’d never make it to the border. Street trash was the unofficial name they’d given to anyone outside their walls, and she was pretty sure they’d sooner dispose of them than have to look at them.

  Justice snorted at the very idea of someone like her walking into their pristine city. With a shake of her head, she pushed past the bodies and moved deeper into the belly of the Underground.

  Every section beyond the entrance held some sort of entertainment. While the Underground was exclusive, it wasn’t at all scandalous. The general population had long ago moved past judging others for their vices. As long as you could find yourself a willing partner or group, no one cared how you found your gratification. Life was hell, and people grabbed on to whatever momentary pleasures they could find.

  Gambling was big business, and there were opportunities to be parted from your money in various ways scattered throughout, as well as stages for dancers or those with exhibitionist tendencies, BDSM rooms, voyeur sections, sensation rooms with a different kind of drug for anything you wanted to feel, or not feel, and rooms where you could live out whatever fantasy you wanted with whatever willing partner or partners you could find or pay for. And then there was the part Justice was there for. The best place to blow off steam if you asked her. The fight rings.

  Justice welcomed the familiar buzz of adrenaline and scent of sweat as she pushed through the angry crowd to the back room. Sliding past a mountain of a man, she shoved her way to a locker and tucked her boots and weapons inside before taking the time to tape her knuckles.

  There weren’t many rules for the fights. No protective gear was worn other than mouth guards, and as long as you stopped pummeling once someone was out, it was pretty much all fair game. Except for weapons. That rule was earned by trial and error. In the end, they needed fighters alive to make money.

  Justice checked the fight board, and a slow grin made its way onto her face. She recognized one of the fighters and was quite eager to get him in the ring. She was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Justice handed a few bills over to the giant managing the board and pools and then scribbled her name across from Draven.

  After being directed to ring four, she wandered over to watch the match, waiting for their turn. She cast a glance at the dark-haired man that stepped up next to her as he crossed his arms over a black t-shirt.

  “I knew you couldn't stay away from me,” Draven drawled.

  Justice snorted. “I don’t know how I made it this long. You certainly made an impression.”

  The last time she’d seen him, she’d dragged him off a kid that had no business being there. Granted the kid was bigger than her, but everything about him screamed fresh meat. And he’d unwittingly jumped into a piranha tank. Too inexperienced, too stupid, and too overconfident to survive at the level he was trying to play. He never even made it into the ring.

  She hadn’t caught the words exchanged between Draven and the kid. And she knew damn well the kid threw the first punch, but Draven sure as hell ended it. If Justice hadn’t stepped in, he might have done serious damage. So she got between them, shoved him back, and knocked him down a few pegs for beating up on a kid. His icy glare had turned on her before her words filtered through his rage.

  The wild gleam in his amber eyes faded and he threw a smirk her way. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask.”

  He had stalked off before she had a chance to respond, but he’d been right. She’d wanted to get her hands on him, just not in any way he would enjoy.

  Eager to get her chance, Justice stretched her limbs, getting loose and warmed up. Draven stood next to her, unconcerned. If he thought she’d be as easy to take down as that kid, he was sorely mistaken.

  “I know you’re used to beating on children, but this isn’t gonna be an easy win,” she taunted.

  Draven shot her a nasty look. “He wasn’t a kid, just a punk.”

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  Justice grinned. “I get that a lot.”

  The fighters in the ring hit the mat with a heavy thud, blood spraying from one man’s nose. There was a brief beat of silence when he didn’t get up. Cheers and disgruntled groans filled the room as people mentally tallied their winnings and losses.

  Once the body was removed, and the blood mopped up, Justice and Draven stepped into the ring. Adrenaline and anticipation flooded her body. He was just under a foot taller than her, broader, with a longer reach and more power. But few people had the training Justice did, and she’d taken down much deadlier men.

  Crouching and setting her stance wider, Justice let the mischief in her eyes shine as she smirked at Draven. He quirked an eyebrow and casually set his feet as well. They waited as the ref approached.

  “Draven and Justice, you know the rules. No weapons, the fight ends when someone is down or taps out. Do you understand?” He barely waited for their nod before stepping back out of the ring to let them beat the hell out of each other.

  Draven reached out for a grab, and Justice ducked out of the way. He was stronger, but she was faster, and she knew how to use that to her advantage. He reached for her again. Once again she evaded. Catching his arm and spinning under it, she slammed an elbow into his ribs, following through and sliding out of reach again. She’d heard his surprised grunt as the air left his lungs. And the moment she spun to face him, it was clear he knew he’d underestimated her. And that he wouldn’t do it again.

  When he attacked again, he didn’t bother with another grab, throwing a punch instead. Justice evaded and drove a fist up into his stomach. Draven hunched forward with a grunt. Before she could follow up with another strike, he tackled her.

  The air left her lungs in a rush as his solid frame crushed her. The crowd howled their approval. The rough mat scraped at her back. She managed to force her hips up and shove him off, before rolling away to her knees. They both took a moment to get back to their feet and catch their breath.

  Justice stepped in close. Draven took the bait, drawing his arm back for a punch. Dropping to a crouch, she swung her heel into his legs, knocking him to his hands and knees. Giving him no time to rise, she drove a knee into his ribs. He recoiled but still got a hand on her ankle and pulled.

  This time when she hit the ground, he jumped on her. His punch split her lip before she got an arm up to block. Blood pooled in her mouth. The lights glared in her eyes. Draven leaned in to pin her. Justice hated being pinned, but the refs would let it go as long as she was still in the fight.

  Gritting her teeth, she slid the back of his shirt up, hooking her hand through the collar. He loosened his hold the moment she twisted, constricting his throat. He reared back. Her grip on his collar pulled her with him, tightening until she could get up and back away.

  Draven tugged his shirt off and tossed it out of the ring, shooting her a nasty look. Men often used their size to overpower those smaller than them. They never liked her tricks to ensure they couldn’
t.

  Blood dripped down her chin, dropping to her chest. She did nothing to stop it. Her lips tipped into a smile and she tilted her head as if to say, ‘What else ya got.’ Her attitude tended to throw people off balance and she used that to her advantage as often as possible.

  Draven stepped in again. She blocked his strike, landing a few strategic hits of her own. He drove the palm of his hand into her sternum. Justice stumbled back several steps once again, struggling for air. This time he didn't give her time to recover.

  Blocking his swing, she changed directions, going on the offensive. With two fast strikes, she nailed the side he favored and a sore spot on his gut. Well within the rules and she needed a second to catch her breath. Draven growled, throwing her back like she weighed nothing.

  Justice tumbled across the mat. She jumped to her feet, expecting him to attack the moment she stood. But instead, he held back, catching his breath. His eyes were down, his fists clenched. The crowd voiced their impatience.