“I really am,” he says, and there’s something deeply unfair about how good that sounds in his voice. Smooth, confident, unshakable. My brain short-circuits just a little.
He takes my hand, whether I like it or not, and I very much don’t. I have a date, who I can’t even see right now. Where is Wesley? Then Justice starts leading me through the crowd like I’m a very fancy, very glittery flight risk. People part like the sea for Moses. Only this time, Moses is carrying a hacker hostage in heels.
At the table, he snags a flute of champagne with his free hand like this is just another night out. This man is about to toast the bride and groom, and I’m still trying to remember how to breathe. The moment no one’s looking, I wrench my hand free and vanish around the other side, heading straight for Alana. Still trying to catch my breath, I grab a fresh glass of champagne, trying to act as if I wasn’t just dragged across the ballroom by Justice Beathach like his personal property.
From the other side of Thorn, Justice gives me a look. Abehavelook. The one that says I’m a project, a file he’s keeping open, a mess he’s determined to clean up. Since when did I become Justice Beathach’s hobby?
I glare back.
My stepmother moves closer. At around six feet tall, she looks elegant and lovely in a silver-toned ball gown, her thick brown hair up and her deadly blue eyes perfectly accentuated. The hair color is fresh with new highlights. Her longtime boyfriend, Horace Whimple, is at her side. She lowers her chin, her gaze hard on me. “Hello, Ella.”
“Hey, bitch,” I whisper.
Stacia chuckles from my other side, and I jump. I didn’t see my stepsister arrive. I turn to see her in a pretty pink gown with a rather cheap-looking silver sparkle purse, amusement in her dark eyes. Corinda is next to her,a tall and stunning blonde, and she looks over my head at Justice. “He’s hot. Not your type, Ella.”
“I know.” I don’t want Justice. “But he likes them smart, Corinda. Not your type, either.”
Her blue eyes flare.
Yeah, I can hit back.
I try to appear bored and shift my attention to the speeches. Rosalie steps up first to toast Alana, and the speech is beautiful. Poised, elegant, sharp. Exactly what I’d expect from a lawyer who can out-argue a senator and seduce a judge in one breath. Alana’s eyes glisten halfway through. Mine might have, too, if I wasn’t still coming down from the contact high of dancing with a man who can snap my neck with one arm and ruin my life with the other.
Then it’s Justice’s turn. He’s speaking for Thorn, and I’m not prepared. He’s quiet. Honest. Nothing flashy. No intimidation tactics. Just simple, brutal truth. A brother who loves fiercely. A man who protects what’s his.
Proving once again exactly why he’s dangerous.
Because underneath all that cold precision is something raw and deadly.
I shake myself out of the fear and concentrate. Watching Justice and Thorn, I wish I had a sister. But I’ve got Alana and Rosalie. We’re just as tight. Maybe tighter. Blood’s not the only thing that binds.
Justice turns to clap Thorn on the back.
That’s my window.
I move fast to slide behind Alana, weave through a tangle of well-dressed guests, make it to the bathrooms, and slip out the back exit. One quick turn and I’m in the tent containing the control room.
Two guys are sitting in front of a bank of screens, surrounded by wires and gear like they’re backstage at a high-budget concert. Both wear black uniforms and have the nervous twitch of those taken away from the latestCall of Dutygame.
“Hey,” I say breezily. “Alana wants this played.” I type in a couple of commands. Hopefully we’re connected to the servers at the main house, which should be connected to the ones at Aquarius Social, their social media company.
One of the men starts to object, “Wait, what—?”
“The bride wants this,” I interrupt, dropping sharpness into my voice. “She owns this place.”
He blinks, looking confused. “Oh. Yeah.”
“It’ll just be a second.” I type fast. Command line open. Fingers flying. Music begins to play with a decoy track I loaded in advance. The guys relax.
Idiots.
While they nod along to the tune, I slip the payload into the system, opening a clean back door into the Beaumont mainframe. Just a crack, just enough. I don’t need much.
“Thanks,” I chirp, turning and breezing outside the tent before they can question a thing.
Cool air hits me like a reward. My chest swells. That was almost too easy. I pivot to head back toward the pavilion—
And there he is.
