Six Justice
SIX
Justice
I knock back the last of the Irish whiskey, let it burn its way down, and place the glass on the older wood. The sound it makes is sharper than I intend, but Fergus doesn’t look up from the other side of the desk. He keeps typing, fingers rattling over keys like he’s beating them into submission.
We’re in the back office of the Blood Garnet Pub.
The air is thick with old smoke, wood polish, and whatever the hell soaked into the floorboards over the years.
The radiator coughs like it’s dying in the corner, but it still pushes out heat that settles under my skin and stays there.
The walls are stained paneling, yellowed at the corners.
There’s a file cabinet with a dent the size of a fist and a ceiling fan that clicks in slow circles, doing nothing but reminding me how long it’s been since I fixed the place.
I built the pub to be a front, but it’s been too profitable to ignore.
Fergus is hunched over his laptop. He’s sixty-five, maybe older, but looks closer to ninety. His skin’s worn down to the grain, and his comb-over is offensive in a way that feels intentional. Like he’s daring someone to bring it up.
He glances at me without pausing in his work, his eyes squinty and bloodshot, the blue faded to that color plastic gets when it’s been in the sun too long. “The pubs all look good. We’re going to show a ten percent increase in profits from last year.”
I nod, but I’m not hearing him. Not really.
I’m still in the diner. Still watching Ella walk out with a cop and a lie pasted across her face.
I could’ve stopped her. Dragged her back, cleared the room, made a point no one would forget.
But the timing was wrong. Too many witnesses, too many risks. And she knew that. She played me clean.
The problem is, I don’t know if I’m pissed at her for outmaneuvering me, or at myself for letting her. I’ll deal with her before Thorn comes home.
“Justice? I’m thinking we should open at least twenty more pubs this year. I know you thought we’d just use them as fronts, but we’re making real money now.” Fergus speaks in Gaelic, and with the softer sound of the language, nothing in my body hurts from listening to his voice. That’s rare.
“Fine by me. I assume you have locations?” I invested in my first pub before I could legally drink and moved on to the next, then the next after that, each one a piece of structure, leverage, and shelter.
These pubs span across cities and countries now, and every one of them serves more than alcohol.
They provide cover, information, and access.
But apparently the alcohol is making me even wealthier. Who knew?
“I have several proposed locations, about fifty of them. But the smart play is to open twenty at the most this year.” He pushes his spectacles up his nose.
“You’d need to look at each location, and I don’t want to pull you from Malice Media if Thorn is going to take some time away from the company. ”
“He’ll be back in six weeks.” Which gives me a limited time to figure out what Ella’s virus did to me and fix it.
Malice Media runs on neural interface technology capable of transmitting emotion, memory, and raw experience across distance without delay.
It can take a thought in one city and deliver it fully formed in another.
My brother created the architecture, and it’s brilliant.
Garnets have always responded to me, and the fact that Ella has fucked with that is pissing me off again. She somehow disrupted my current with the gemstone.
A knock hits the door, hard and fast.
“What?” I call out.
Bronco, my chief driver, pushes the door open and steps inside. “Hey. We just got word that our shipments have been delayed by about a week.”
I stare at him. “Which ones?”
He doesn’t flinch. His black hair frames a rugged face with Irish blue eyes. If we need to send someone in to seduce a woman, we send him. “The garnets and alexandrites coming by sea. Bad weather and nothing else, it seems. Still, I wanted you to know.”
I stand and step away from the desk. My spine locks into place. With how I’m feeling, I need those stones sooner rather than later.
We keep garnets fresh, stocked, and accessible because they anchor every system we run.
But alexandrite is rarer, less stable. Its energy is different.
Our R&D teams are still studying the neural response patterns, but even early trials have shown results.
If we can use the alexandrite to extend garnet charge time or even amplify output, it could change the pace of interface use entirely.
The science is still early, but I’ve seen the preliminary data. Faster emotional compression. Sharper memory echoes. Extended cognitive sharing. I’m sure the other social media companies are also conducting similar research.
“All right. I want to check on our properties,” I say. We head toward the front door. One of my men is already waiting, standing to the side and ready. He hands me my Glock without needing to be asked. I take it and slide it into the holster at my side.
I check my watch. The data feed lights up as expected, synced with the surveillance reports. I scroll through two updates quickly. “Ella’s back at the house on Elm?” I ask as I step outside into a suddenly drilling rain.
“Yes,” Bronco says. He moves ahead of me and opens the back door of the town car. “She arrived twenty-three minutes ago. I have a man on the house.”
“Good,” I say. “Have him call if she moves.”
He nods and taps something on his phone.
I slide into the car and shut the door behind me. I don’t like how easily I tracked her. She either wants to be found or she doesn’t understand the stakes.
Neither option sits well with me.
For now, I have to act like the head of the Irish mob and hold everything together. It’d be a hell of a lot easier if I were at full strength. I need to get everything in order so I have time to heal myself … with Ella Rendale’s help, whether she likes it or not.
Ella
The click of the keys is sharp in the quiet.
I type fast, my gaze locked on the stream of code climbing across the screen.
I’m deep inside Aquarius Social’s mainframe now, chasing threads Wesley probably didn’t think I’d find.
I spot his signal ghosting mine, and for a second, I let him think he’s gaining ground.
Then I flip the switch. Reroute. Bury. Move deeper.
He’s good. One of the best.
But I’m better.
I should feel bad about this, considering we’ve been on a couple of dates and all, but I don’t. I like the challenge. It’s like playing chess with someone who actually knows how to think three moves ahead. Most people don’t. Most people only see what’s right in front of them.
My mind shifts to Justice and the anger in his eyes as I’d left earlier with the police officer. Oh, I know Justice could’ve stopped us. But he didn’t. Getting in trouble with the law the second Thorn leaves town would’ve been a bad move.
I try not to smile.
Rain starts a pattern against the windows, soft and rhythmic.
I barely register the sound. This is one of my favorite safe houses, tucked into a cul-de-sac on Elm Street.
Every house around me has that worn-down charm that says its residents don’t have neighborhood picnics.
Retired couples. A few single professionals who work from home.
No kids. No teenagers. A couple of lazy dogs. Maybe a cat or two.
I’ve been thinking about getting a cat, but I need to make sure I’m going to live long enough to take care of one. Between my stepmother and now Justice coming after me, it doesn’t feel like the right time to add responsibilities.
Plus, I’ve found life is easier without ties or love. Yeah, I have Alana and Rosalie, but we formed ties as kids. That’s different. It’s too late not to love them.
Wesley makes a move that’s both sneaky and clever.
He reroutes traffic across three fake nodes to distract me, maybe hoping I’ll get cocky and follow.
I don’t take the bait. I tap out a quick counter, slipping into a shadow relay he left open by accident or out of arrogance.
I’m not sure which. It slows him down just long enough for me to go deeper.
Past the firewalls. Past the audit logs.
Into the bones of the system most people don’t know exist. Does he have any idea he’s chasing me?
This is Aquarius Social’s mainframe, Wesley’s territory. He built a lot of this, but he didn’t build all of it, and some of what’s here doesn’t look like him. My earlier hack has finally uncovered more of this one.
I pause.
There’s a cluster of code tucked deep inside a rarely accessed corner.
It’s not his style and seems too modular, too insulated.
Tendrils of data branch off like veins, pulsing with activity.
But it’s not just timestamp manipulation or data masking.
This is something else. A high-level relay, maybe. Something designed to cross domains.
A path.
My eyes narrow. The encrypted pathway is hidden and running from Aquarius into a completely different system. TimeGem Moments. My company.
This penetration is farther along than I expected, the hacker expertly manipulating the Aquarius Social servers to infiltrate TimeGem. It’s genius, really.
Oh, my stepmother thinks she owns the infrastructure, and she guards it like a dragon hoarding gold. No one touches it without clearance, and even then, access is layered in redundancies and biometric fail safes.
I just found a way directly into TimeGem’s systems. I’ve been working on a way for years, and here it might be.
My breath catches. I lean forward, fingers hovering over the keys until I expertly create a firewall strong enough to hide this path from Wesley.
Who is this hacker? I need to decrypt the signature and confirm the path. Maybe extend it.
The air around me changes.
I pause, fingers stilling.
The feeling around me is subtle. There’s a drop in pressure or a shift in the air current. We all have instincts forged by our ancestors in order to survive, and even now, they kick in for us—if we pay attention.
I lift my head to listen. The house is a single level with one bedroom, a small kitchen, and an open living room with creaky floorboards and a vintage couch I picked up for eighty bucks.
The bathroom is my favorite part. It has a massive clawfoot tub, deep enough to drown in.
I spend a lot of nights in that tub when the world feels too heavy.
But something’s off now. I stand slowly and reach for the knife block next to me on the counter. My fingers wrap around the steel handle, second from the right. The weapon is balanced, sharp, and easy to throw.
Standing as quietly as possible, I take careful steps toward the bedroom.
The rain gets louder.
A window is open. I know I shut it. I always shut it.
“Shit,” I whisper, pivoting to run.
A man lunges from behind the door with brutal speed and weight, his movement sudden and overwhelming. He’s tall and broad, wrapped head to toe in tactical gear. A black balaclava covers his face. His eyes shine violet through what I assume are tinted contacts, and he smells faintly of mint.
No warning. No words. I want to scream but don’t waste the air.
His arms wrap around me, and I react on instinct. My knife slices up, aiming for his shoulder. He jerks away just enough to avoid a fatal hit, but the blade sinks into muscle. Warmth splashes across my hand. He grunts, low and surprised.
I twist, elbow him in the throat, but his arm comes around fast, his closed fist hitting my shoulder. I fly into the wall. Pain flashes through my ribs. My shoulder knocks a ceramic dragon off its hook, and it crashes to the floor. I barely register the damage.
He charges again.
Panic rips through me and I kick. My foot connects with his shin, and he stumbles, giving me just enough time to rip the knife free of his arm and stab again. This time I duck and go lower, catching his thigh and tearing out the knife. He hisses and backhands me across the face.
My vision explodes into stars. Pain blooms in my temple. I smash into an end table, knocking off the contents, and then hit the floor, breath whooshing out of me. My jaw throbs. He’s fast. Strong. Professional. There isn’t time to talk and see if there’s a way out of this mess.
I roll as he lunges again, and my hand connects with the base of the now-broken lamp. It’s heavy. I grab it and swing upward with everything I’ve got. The base cracks against his head with a dull, wet thud. He stumbles and staggers back.
My entire body hurts, but I move fast. Panicking. I push off the floor, my legs barely cooperating. I’m dizzy, bleeding. My cheek’s swelling, but I don’t care. I limp through the house, knife still in one hand, the other clutching my side. I can’t afford to slow down.
The rain pummels me as I burst outside, grunting and sobbing.
It’s cold and relentless, soaking me to the skin in seconds.
I half run, half stumble down the driveway, past the hedges I trimmed myself last week.
I have to get to one of the hidden cars.
My feet hit the edge of the concrete, and my knees give out.
I drop. Holy ouch, damn it.
The pavement is hard beneath me. Rain splashes against my back and soaks my hair. My palms scrape the asphalt, and my breath comes in ragged bursts. I try to get up. I can’t. Fear tastes sharp and metallic on the back of my tongue. Everything tilts.
My body pitches forward, and I fall hard, cheek planting against the wet ground.
Pulling in breath, I push to my hands and knees to crawl around the side of the hedges.
Crashes come from inside the house. I might’ve slowed the attacker down, but he isn’t out. Tears slide down my face, blurring my vision even more. I have to get out of here.
The front door hits the wall.
Gasping, I lunge away from the small shrubs and scramble toward the street, where I smash into a hard body out of the darkness.
Crying out, I fall onto my back, my head clunking against the torn driveway. I’m going to die.
The body moves, and a shadow crosses over me. A heavy hand touches my shoulder. “Sorry about that. Are you all right?” a voice asks, dark and calm.
I blink. There’s water in my eyes. Rain and tears. My vision swims. I look up just enough to catch a face—dark hair, blue eyes. The voice has an edge to it. Not American. “He’s coming,” I croak.
The man looks up, draws a weapon from his side, and fires three times.
Small pops. Barely loud enough to cut through the rain.
Did he just save me? The question barely goes through my brain when a broad hand brings down the butt of a gun onto my savior’s head.
His eyes widen and blood slides down his face. He falls to the side.
How many attackers are out here in the stormy night?
I struggle, fighting the darkness, but with the rain slamming against me, I close my eyes again and then actually feel my body go limp. Unconscious.