Eight Justice #2
“I didn’t think so.” I can make her talk. I’ve made worse people give up bigger secrets. But right now, she’s warm on my lap, wrapped in that blanket like a stolen thing, and I’m not in a hurry.
She shifts again and then freezes. Her eyes widen slightly as she no doubt brushes against my erection. I don’t apologize. I just watch her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.
She goes still. Utterly still. Not in fear, but calculation. She’s trying to decide what I am. Cute, though. I’ll give her that. Even when she’s glaring like she wants to bite someone. “That’s not what you said before.”
I nod. “I’ve decided you’re forgiven. But if you try to kill my brother again, we’re going to have a real big problem.” Yeah, I might have to neutralize her away from computers, but she doesn’t need to know that tonight. First, I require her help.
“I already said I was sorry,” she snaps. “I can’t believe you’re still pissed about one little virus.”
Truth be told, I’m not feeling particularly pissed at the moment.
I could be wrong because I want her. Badly.
Her words don’t cut me. Her voice heals.
I’m curious. And very aware of her weight, the way she fits against me even when she’s doing everything she can not to.
So I turn her attention elsewhere. “I want to know exactly what you did to the garnet to poison it—and then Thorn.”
Even through the blanket, I can see her cross her arms. She might not be able to get free, but she sure as hell makes the movement anyway. That defiance. Always. She winces slightly.
“What hurts?” I ask instantly, every nerve on alert.
“Just my shoulder from the fight with the asshole in my safe house.” Now she looks a little pouty.
Unable to help myself, I reach out and run a finger down her flushed face. Her skin is even silkier than her hair. Warm. Soft in a way that makes my jaw tighten and my erection harden further. I curse myself silently. Not the time. Not the place. But damn, she’s something.
Her eyes go wide.
“I said you’re safe, right?” I murmur.
She mutters a barely audible “yes,” but there’s something layered behind those eyes. Interest. Intrigue. A light blush touches her cheekbones, and I know this tension between us is mutual—and unwanted by us both.
I don’t trust myself around her. My alliance and my loyalty belong to Malice Media, to my brother, and to the organization we built. I won’t let that slip. I won’t let her make me weak. But a quick fuck? Maybe a few times? That we both need.
She glances toward the window, voice low. “Where are we going?”
“My place,” I say simply.
She huffs out a breath. “I take it your guy was the one who got hit in the head in the driveway? The one who shot the attacker for me?”
“Yep.” Wynd has a hell of a headache.
“How’d you find me?”
I settle her more comfortably in my lap and ignore the fact that my cock tries to punch through my zipper. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I really would,” she hisses. “Considering there was a jerk in my house, your Irish dude in my driveway, and then Sylveria’s stooge who kidnapped me.”
It’s irritating so many people found her safe house. “We had a tracker on your car. My guess is we’re going to find a few more.”
She sits up a little straighter, looking genuinely affronted. “You all found my car?”
“Yes. There’s CCTV everywhere, Ella. You should know that.”
We picked her up a couple times on camera—clear shots of her walking behind the car.
I don’t tell her that. Don’t tell her we’re watching closer than she knows.
Nor do I tell her that we also found four of her other vehicles scattered around town.
I’ve got a team searching now to see if anyone else has tagged them.
If not, I’m leaving my trackers in place.
I know she has more cars stashed around Silicon Valley than those. She’s clever. Paranoid. Quietly thorough. But I’ll find them.
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Why are you so interested in me?”
“That’s not why,” I say before I can stop myself.
She jolts, like she didn’t expect me to deny it. She squints at me, scrunches her nose, and I swear to God she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. And that? That’s a problem. A huge one.
I lean in and tangle my fingers into her hair. She freezes, but not with fear. She doesn’t even try to fight, doesn’t twist out of the blanket.
“Justice,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I lower my mouth to hers and take one taste. It’s a mistake. I know it instantly.
She tastes like wild berries and pure maple syrup, like late summer heat and danger and something I should never touch. But I go deeper, and she kisses me back like she’s drowning and I’m the only breath in the room.
The world goes quiet. My thoughts vanish. I growl, low in my chest, and she shudders, melting into me. I’m two seconds from ripping that blanket off when reality punches me in the throat. I pull back, breathing hard.
She looks dazed. Lips swollen. Eyes that impossible, unnamable shade of blue—like they were made just to wreck me.
I could spend the rest of my life trying to name that color.
The only word that comes to mind is mine.
That blue is for me and me alone.
Shit.