Five Ella
Five
Ella
I flush. Heat sears across my chest, climbs up my neck, then fades, leaving me cold. Then it hits again, a wave of something else that’s stronger than nerves and sharper than fear. It’s heat again. No, it’s hunger, and not for the eggs in front of me.
Justice fills the booth across from me like he was built for it—broad shoulders pressing against the vinyl, legs spread in a way that dares me to look anywhere but at his eyes.
Wesley has size. This is different. Justice owns space.
He controls it. Every inch of him is measured power, wrapped in something too dark to name.
I stab my fork into another bite of eggs, but they taste like cardboard now. Figures. “How do you know about this place?” I keep my tone casual, even though nothing inside me feels remotely calm.
One of his dark brows arches, slow and deliberate. He studies me like he’s considering where to sink in his teeth. “I know every place in this town.”
I believe him.
For years, he’s been the shadow behind Thorn. The invisible hand no one talked about because no one even knew he existed. Not most people, anyway.
I did.
I’m a hacker. One of the best. I was born into one of the four main families, and information is what we breathe. Even so, I’d only seen traces of him in digital echoes that didn’t make sense. But nothing prepared me for the man sitting across from me now.
He’s lethal in a way no code could predict.
The kind of danger you don’t see until it’s already in your bloodstream.
I cough. “As one of the most eligible bachelors alive, shouldn’t you be out and about? Getting your picture taken?”
His chin lowers. “I’m having trouble finding the miscreant who nominated me to that magazine, and more importantly, sent the picture they used for the spread. When I find that person, they’re going to bleed.” He sits back. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
I snort. “I wish. I’ve spent so much time in the shadows I wouldn’t have thought to drag you out of them.” But I’ll shake the hand of the person who did. If they’re ever found.
“Humph.” He wears black like it’s part of his skin in a simple shirt stretched across his chest beneath a battered brown leather jacket. It’s a definite departure from the tux he wore earlier, and yet, both seem at home on his muscled form.
His hands are relaxed now, but I’ve heard of his capabilities with them, and not in a good way. The man is a killer. His copper-flecked eyes don’t bother to hide that fact, but his cut features, sharp and strong, would steal any woman’s attention.
Not this one. I can’t afford to lose my edge with him. Trying to appear casual, I brush my hair away from my eyes. Blonde strands fall forward again anyway—too soft, too light for a moment like this. I lean into the seat, spine straightening. “All right, Justice. Let’s have it out.”
My voice sounds steady. Too steady. My heart’s crashing around my ribs like it’s looking for an exit.
“Gladly,” he murmurs, low and deliberate.
The word settles somewhere between my stomach and my spine.
I take a breath and know I’m going to need help getting away from him.
So I shift my weight, drop my hand, and press a button on my phone that’s programmed to do what I need.
“Are you going to try to kill me?” Wanting to read him, I meet his gaze.
Direct. Unblinking. I don’t flinch, even when I notice the odd metallic glint in his irises.
Not just reflection. Not lighting. Something real.
“That’s a direct question.” He’s human. Definitely. But human doesn’t mean ordinary.
I studied eyes once when I became obsessed with the way power interacts with biology. Why some people can draw charge from crystals, why others can’t. I mapped out pigmentation, rare mutations, and anomalies.
“So answer it. Do you want to kill me?” I can’t quit studying him. Justice’s eyes shouldn’t exist. They hold layers. Depths. Power that doesn’t just reflect but stores. Why hasn’t he put me out of commission? It has to be because of Alana, his new sister-in-law. I hope.
“Do you think I want to kill you?” His voice sounds flat. Not bored. Not curious. Just steady. He could be asking about the weather or what kind of coffee I like. No threat in his tone. No comfort either. But he watches every twitch of my expression, and I’m giving him too much. “Ella?”
I need to get my face under control. “I have no idea.” I keep my tone steady. “But if you are going to attempt my murder, could you at least have the balls to tell me?”
He doesn’t blink or shift in his seat. But something changes. I feel it. Not in him, but in the air between us, which is denser now. Tighter. Maybe it’s the word balls. That one always hits. Men either flinch or smirk.
He does neither. “If I decide to kill you, Ella, I promise that I’ll tell you beforehand.”
My breath catches. Just for a second. I ease it out with a slow exhale and pray my chest doesn’t give me away. “So you’ll tell me a week in advance? A day? Two seconds?” I let the sarcasm bleed through.
He almost smiles.
The hint of humor does not comfort me.
He rests his arm on the back of the booth, stretching his impressive chest. “I don’t know. What do you want? Twenty-four-hour notice?”
“I’d like a week.”
“I’ll give you two days.” He drops his arm and leans forward slightly.
“If I decide to kill you, I’m giving you that much of a warning.
” His words are a quiet promise, spoken with complete certainty.
His lips twitch again. The movement is barely noticeable but enough to confirm he finds some part of this exchange entertaining or useful. That’s good.
I’m fine amusing him if it keeps him off my back, but I do like to know where I stand. “Is this about revenge? Because I almost killed your brother?”
“No. My brother survived, and you helped save him.” Justice’s voice lacks gratitude, and his tone is final. His expression remains unreadable. “It’s a protection issue,” he says. “I can’t have you doing it again.”
“What if I promise I won’t?”
“I don’t believe you.”
Fair enough. We don’t really know each other. I chew the inside of my cheek. I don’t lie often. Not because I have any moral high ground. I just prefer control, and lies unravel control. “I don’t trust you, either.”
“Let’s see if you can be truthful. Why did you hack into the Aquarius Social mainframe after the wedding?” His gaze sharpens. “You care about Alana,” he says. “She is still connected to Aquarius, even if she married Thorn.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her.
” The last thing in the world I want Alana worrying about while she’s on her very deserved honeymoon is the oncoming threat for us all.
Somebody else has definitely infiltrated her system.
If I take care of the breach before she returns, she never needs to know about it.
Justice leans back without breaking eye contact. He’s still reading me. Still tracking every shift in my breathing.
The waitress appears beside our booth. She’s slightly out of breath and clearly overwhelmed, yet has plenty of time to run her gaze over Justice’s body. She hums. “Sorry for the wait. The five-top in the corner is keeping me busy. What can I get you?”
“Coffee,” he says. His attention never leaves me.
She reaches for my plate, her attention not leaving him. “Are you finished?”
“I am,” I say to the side of her head.
“Great.” She collects the plate and disappears again.
I don’t trust Justice. Not now. Not ever.
He’ll always act in the best interest of Malice Media.
If the other three media companies collapse, I’m sure he’ll treat the devastation as useful data.
Yes, I’m tempted to tell him the truth about a fifth player making a move against Aquarius and probably the rest of us as well.
But he might use that against my company if it serves his interest.
He taps his fingers on the worn table. “Ella? I’m not going to ask you again. Why are you hacking into Aquarius Social when your best friend is on her honeymoon?”
I love that Alana is safe and know that Thorn will destroy anybody coming for her. “I’m not going to discuss Aquarius Social or Alana with you.”
“You are,” Justice replies. His certainty moves through me with impact, and his statement sounds more like an observation than a threat.
“No, I’m not. Not right now.”
His expression doesn’t shift. His presence weighs on the space between us, and his attention drills into every breath I take. There’s no point pretending I’m unaffected.
Heat builds in my cheeks. The warmth hits before I can stop it.
He tilts his head slightly. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not. I’m warm.”
He rubs his shoulder, clearly annoyed. “Quit lying to me. I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” I admit. “But you and I aren’t on the same side.”
“We could be.”
I stay quiet. It’s the only move that doesn’t backfire immediately.
“What if I hired you to work at Malice?” he asks.
“You’re going to give me access to your servers?”
His eyes glitter. “No. I need a personal assistant.”
I rear back and then note the glimmer. I really am amusing him. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“I’m hilarious.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out—my damaged heel. The one I lost when I hit the ground and didn’t look back. “I suppose you want this back.”
I take it from him, turning it over in my hand. Sequins still cling to the strap, but the heel is bent nearly sideways. “Yeah. I think I can fix it.”
He frowns like that’s the most impractical thing he’s heard all week. “Why don’t you just buy a new pair?”
“Funds are tight.” I shrug. “My stepmother finally managed to cut off my trust fund. At least for now.”
“Bribed a judge?”
That seems the most likely scenario. “I think so.”
“Do you want me to take care of it?”
My mouth dries instantly. I swallow once, twice, and take a long sip of water to cover the third. “In exchange for what?”
His gaze drops—slow, deliberate. I feel it track over the hoodie and down. “I think we could come up with something.”
Was that an offer or a threat? My body can’t tell the difference. Electrical sparks zing through me. I need to get them under control.
Two of my best friends are tangled up with the most dangerous men alive. I don’t need to collect a third. Especially not when I’m still dating Wesley. I have to keep remembering that. The fact that I have to remind myself isn’t a great sign.
“What did you get from Aquarius’s servers tonight?” Justice asks.
“Nothing,” I say honestly. “Yet. I’m in, but I haven’t found what I want.”
He glances at the five-top near the far wall. “What do you want?”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“You are, sweetheart.”
The waitress sets the coffee down between us and lingers for a moment, finally turning away when he doesn’t acknowledge her.
He takes a long sip, then pulls a fifty from his pocket and slides it under the cup. “All right, Ella,” he says, voice low and even. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going with you.” I keep my tone flat, not letting him see the way my pulse kicks. Where is my backup? I pressed the code in minutes ago.
He grins, slow and lazy, then glances around the diner. “You think anyone’s going to stop me? You can walk or you can be carried. Totally up to you, princess.”
“Why?”
“I’m locking you down.” His voice is calm. Almost polite. Like this is standard procedure. He even sounds a little sorry about it, which somehow makes it worse. He’s absolutely confident.
My head snaps up. “No, you’re not. You’re not locking me anywhere.”
“You going to fight me now?” He perks up slightly, like he’d enjoy it.
The door opens, and two police officers walk in—young, fresh-faced, and too clean-cut for this neighborhood. Finally. Geez.
Justice doesn’t flinch, but his gaze flicks toward them. Measuring.
I sigh and look toward the officers. They’re not seasoned, not like the ones who left when the city started to rot from the inside. But they wear the badge. The first walks over to a waitress and whispers something.
She looks around and shrugs as if there’s no problem and she has no clue who called them.
I did. Well, I sent a coded message that there was a problem in the diner. They’d taken longer to arrive than I’d expected. “Excuse me, officer,” I call out, voice pitched just right, not with fear, but with concern.
The guy next to the waitress looks up and heads toward me. He can’t be more than twenty-two and has dark hair and blue eyes. He’s clean-cut in a textbook way. “Did you send out a distress call, ma’am?”
I don’t look at Justice, but anger swells across the table.
Ma’am? What a cutie patootie. “No, I haven’t called anybody.” True statement. “But since you’re here, I’m hoping you can assist me?” I open my eyes wider.
His hand on his holstered weapon, he turns and scans the entire diner before focusing back on me. “It looks like our call was a false alarm. What can I do for you?”
I shrug as helplessly as I can. “Well, I heard there were a couple of robberies around here. I was hoping one of you would walk me to my vehicle. I mean, since you’re already here.”
His gaze shifts toward Justice. “Of course.” He squares his shoulders.
“Thank you. My friend isn’t finished with his coffee.” I look at Justice.
His eyes glitter. I know how dangerous he is and can even see the math in his potential movements. He could take out everyone in the room if he decided to make a statement. Yet that would cause all sorts of problems for him.
“Nice move,” he mutters under his breath.
“Thank you.” I stand, slipping the damaged heel into my pocket.
He doesn’t move. “I’m going to see you real soon, Ella. I promise.”
My smile wavers. “Looking forward to it.” I turn before I can hesitate, stepping toward the cop. “I really appreciate this, officer.”
“You can call me John.” He gives Justice one more look and then gestures toward the door. “I’ll walk you out, miss.”
“Thank you.” I keep my steps quick but steady. I have a healthy fear that Justice will be behind me the second that door swings closed. I’m not ready for what will happen when he catches me.