Page 96 of Justice II

I looked down at my hand and flexed it. My knuckles ached, but Roman had it worse. He was hunched over, holding his nose while blood ran through his fingers.

Before he could get his hands off his face and swing back, I injected him with a sedative. As soon as his bitch-ass passed out, I secured his wrists and ankles with zip ties and stuffed a rag in his mouth.

This wasn’t going to take back the fucked up shit that I said to Melody. I would still have to live with having thrown Golden’s death in her face. But Roman wasn’t going to keep using my money to make her life miserable.

I planned on giving Melody the world, and it started by first making sure she had revenge and peace of mind.

“You good?” Bryce asked.

“Keep driving.”

He turned his attention back to the road.

I spent the rest of the ride watching Roman.

By the time Roman woke up, we had him tied tightly in a chair in a warehouse.

A strip of overhead lights lit the space around us. The far end of the building stayed dark, with stacked pallets along one wall and a loading door behind my brothers. The place was cold enough that I kept my jacket on.

Prime stood a few feet to my left. Quest was beside him, watching Roman lift his head.

We had talked before I went to the airport. They knew why he was here. Neither one had asked me to consider the construction schedule.

That could be somebody else’s headache tomorrow.

Roman blinked at me, then looked at my brothers. He pulled against the restraints and tried to get up. The chair scraped across the concrete.

He tried again.

I waited.

After everything he had done, I wanted him awake enough to understand who he was sitting in front of.

He made a muffled sound behind the gag.

“Take that off him,” I told Bryce.

Bryce removed it and stepped back.

Roman sucked in a breath, working his jaw before he looked at me.

“Are you out yo’ fuckin’ minds?” Roman barked.

Prime glanced at Quest.

“All three of us?”

“This shit ain’t funny.”

“I ain’t laughing,” Prime replied.

I took a step closer.

Roman looked down at his wrists, then toward the loading door. When he turned back, he had stopped pulling at the chair.

“Justice, what the fuck is this?”

“A conversation,” I responded as I flicked lint off my jacket.