Her instant laughter fills me like joy. Or what I figure joy feels like. “You weren’t exactly subtle, but I do want to stay. I like you, Justice.” She glances down at my neck. “You make me feel safe. I’ve never felt like this. Not really.”
Her sweetness does something to me that feels new. Good. I shift my weight and pull out a bracelet from my back pocket to clasp around her wrist. “Saw it the other day. Thought you’d like it.”
She breathes out, circling her wrist so the citrines and garnets catch the light. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
My phone buzzes again. Have I ever been this fucking popular? I might have to turn the damn thing off. I lift it to my ear. “Beathach.”
“Hey, it’s Bronco. I’m at Malice Media’s headquarters and am supposed to meet with Kaz about security. He’s not here, and he’s not answering his phone.”
“That’s unusual. Find him.” I stand, still holding Ella. “Also put extra security in the lobby. I’m on my way, and the Russian mob is coming to tea.”
Now all I have to do is convince Wesley to leave Ella alone without killing him and pissing her off, deal with the Russian mob to avoid a war, and keep the cops from arresting me for the murder of a man I didn’t like.
What could possibly go wrong?
THIRTY-FOUR
Ella
Justice and Wynd flank me as we slip through the back door into Malice Media’s main reception area in the middle of the city.
I already miss the house by the ocean, but we’ll stay there again tonight.
The hinges click shut behind us, cutting off the hallway’s shadows, and a rush of cool air greets my skin. The lobby spreads wide, polished and calm, not a single mark of the bombing left. Marble tiles shine beneath recessed lights, pale cream streaked with gray veins. The space smells faintly of pine polish and new fabric, covering any trace of smoke or ash that might have lingered.
Clusters of couches stretch across the room, angled toward sleek black tables. The arrangement feels calculated for more business than comfort. Every piece carries garnet accents and obsidian trim—thick bases on lamps, carved edges along the tables, inlays along the chair legs.Dark stone gleams against pale walls, pulling the eye and grounding the luxury.
I tug at the hem of my new dress, a soft blue that skims my knees. The fabric moves lightly with each step, brushing against my thighs. My new citrine necklace glitters warm yellow at my throat, catching flashes from the overhead lights. It matches the bracelet that fits snug against my wrist, the gems alive with fire whenever my hand shifts. Their brightness cuts through the obsidian around us, a burst of color against all the shadow.
Presents from Justice. I’ve never been pampered by a man before and am surprised by how much I like it. Love the jewels, really.
I bite back a sneeze. Am I catching something or what? Sleep would be nice.
Justice doesn’t slow. His long stride keeps us moving, the black fabric of his jacket stretching over shoulders built for command. Wynd matches his pace on my other side, every step a silent echo, his gaze sweeping corners and doorways. Their presence forms a wall, one I didn’t ask for but can’t shake off, solid enough that each breath feels steadier.
We cross half the lobby before Wesley pushes up from a couch tucked in the far corner. The movement draws every guard’s attention for a split second. He’s tall, shoulders broad despite the sling binding one arm tight to his chest. The bruises across his cheekbone and jaw stand out under the lights, purple and green cutting against tanned skin. His other hand stays loose at his side, steady and in control. Even injured, he carries himself with a confidence I admire.
I aim a look at my man that says more than words, and Justice’s mouth twitches in response, the only crack in his carved expression. The warmth in his eyes is quick, quiet, gone before anyone else notices.
“Wesley, how are you?” My voice lifts, clear enough to roll across the marble and bounce back faintly.
“I’m fine. I’d like to speak with you alone.” His words stay even, steady, though he closes the space between us with careful steps.
Justice and Wynd stiffen. Their shoulders square, weight settling in unison, both ready to shut him down before he gets close.
“No.” Justice’s tone is final.
Enough of this. “Would you stop?” Frustration threads through my voice. The men stationed at every corner stand locked in place, their gazes flicking between us, tension coiled. The whole room feels wound tight, waiting for the next move. “Give me a break, would you?”
“No.” Justice’s answer is short, sharp, the word cutting as clean as his expression.
“Come on, Justice,” I murmur. “Let me just speak to Wesley for a minute.” I have to reassure the poor guy so he doesn’t get himself killed.
Justice’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t move. The polished marble under his shoes gleams with reflections from the overhead lights, and the faint hum of the air system fills the silence. He watches me longer than I expect before the tightness in his shoulders eases just a fraction. Patience isn’t his natural state, but he’s edging toward it with me. I doubt anyone else ever sees that.
Two guys behind the wide reception counter shift,catching Justice’s eye. The counter is brushed steel with obsidian edges, and they stand behind it in matching dark suits, the kind that conceal weapons. One of them jerks his chin, a silent signal that they need Justice’s attention.
“Fine.” Justice steps closer to Wesley, a smile curving his mouth with no trace of humor. “You touch her, I’ll break both your hands. Got it?”
