Thirteen Ella
THIRTEEN
Ella
We slip into Malice Media’s private garage, and the air changes, becoming too still and cold. Shadows stretch long against the concrete, and inside them, men wait with guns half hidden. They don’t move, but I feel their eyes tracking me.
A shiver races up my arms before I can smother it.
I clamp down on Leo’s leash, holding him close, grounding myself in his warm, solid weight.
My dog. Mine. I still don’t understand why Justice let me keep him.
He doesn’t strike me as a man who leaves anything to chance, especially not something alive, something that eats and breathes and requires attention. But here we are.
Leo pads beside me without a sound, big head swinging left and right. He doesn’t like the shadows either, though he doesn’t cower. I think he can feel the freedom that’s now his.
Earlier, we’d stopped at a vet. Leo had been scrubbed down until his coat smelled faintly like oatmeal and disinfectant.
He’s gotten shots, a checkup, the whole nine yards.
The verdict is that he’s underfed but otherwise healthy.
I didn’t even know vets gave baths, but then, Justice has a way of bending the world until it gives him what he wants.
We picked up food. The good kind, the stuff that costs more than I usually spend on groceries for myself. We also walked Leo on a thin strip of grass by the parking lot, a scrap of normal life tucked into a day that was anything but. That moment had lodged in me, stubborn and dangerous.
Dogs don’t belong in apartments. Not big ones like Leo. He needs space, dirt under his paws, and a fence to patrol. I’ll have to buy a safe house with a yard, and soon. Assuming I live long enough to go house hunting.
I kept my gratitude locked tight back at the vet’s office.
I didn’t gush. Didn’t thank Justice more than politeness required because I’m freaking the hell out.
Why would he let me keep the dog? He couldn’t be so much of an asshole that he’d use the animal against me, could he? Did I just take on a weakness?
I hope not but won’t bet on it.
Now, in the elevator, the silence is thick.
Leo tugs on the leash, and I loosen my hold. He pads over and sits on Justice’s foot, panting happily.
Justice looks down. “What are you doing?”
I swear, the dog smiles. Actually smiles and then nudges Justice’s knee with his nose. Pure adoration.
Justice just looks confused.
As am I. Dogs are supposed to have good instincts when it comes to people.
Men like Justice don’t keep things, or people.
The elevator opens, and I brace myself for cold chrome and hard edges. Power on display.
Instead, warmth spills around me.
The penthouse is wide and bright, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a glittering sprawl of Silicon Valley.
The sofa is cloth—cloth, not leather—deep brown with throw pillows that look like someone actually uses them.
The coffee table is mahogany, polished but cluttered with books.
Not business manuals. Not glossy magazines.
Books with cracked spines and bent corners.
I edge closer. Mysteries. Christie, Grafton, newer names I don’t know. Dog-eared. Read and reread. My chest tightens, because the last thing I expected here was comfort.
Justice says nothing. He just turns down a hallway with that lethal grace of his, not checking if I follow. Of course I do. My shoes whisper against the floor—wood, thick and knotted, glowing like it’s been burnished by fire. Not marble. Not slate. Not cold.
Who is this man?
He opens a set of double doors, and the suite beyond is lovely. A king bed dominates the room, the navy cover thick and inviting, accents scattered through the room in the same deep blue. But it’s the stones that catch me.
Garnets. Everywhere. Set into the chandelier, the drawer pulls, the handles of the dresser. Their deep red glows in the light, dark fire staring back at me. My pulse stutters. Of course he surrounds himself with them.
Another glimmer catches my eye. A heavy clock on the dresser, sleek black stone. “Onyx?” I ask, leaning closer.
“Obsidian,” Justice answers, voice like low velvet.
I step back quickly, and he gestures toward two side doors. Does he also have a connection to obsidian? That makes me shiver. I don’t know why.
He points to a wide double door across the room. “Closet. I’ll have clothes brought for you. Bathroom’s the other one. There’s a tub. For you. Not the dog.”
The corner of his mouth twitches in almost a smile. Almost.
“I hadn’t planned on scrubbing him again,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“I’ll have his food and dishes sent up. Keep them in the bathroom. Not my kitchen.”
“Fine,” I say, maybe too quickly. Truth is, I like Leo close. He’s pressed against my side now, brown eyes soft but wary. He keeps glancing around like he’s waiting for the world to collapse. I know the feeling.
I glance back at Justice. He hasn’t moved from the doorway. What game is he playing? “Justice. Why am I here?” Besides the explicit remark earlier. I do not look at the bed. Yeah, he’s hot. Deadly sexy. But I have to keep my brain intact.
“You’re here because you created a deadly computer virus that infected our garnets and my brother. Get the dog settled and then come out. We haven’t eaten. We’ll talk while we do.”
Leo jumps up on the bed, circles twice, and flops onto the duvet. His sigh is so heavy it ruffles the covers. I wait for Justice to order him off, but he doesn’t. Not even a glance. That rattles me more than if he’d snapped.
I pat Leo’s head and whisper, “Good boy.” My hand lingers longer than it should. Then I straighten. “I’ll be out in a minute.” I seriously doubt there are any weapons to find in here.
“Good enough.”
The mirror isn’t kind, but I brush my hair and wash my face anyway.
When I walk down the hall, I hear it first—oil spitting in a hot pan, metal scraping against metal. Then the smell rolls through, warm and sharp. Garlic. Butter. Lemon. My stomach knots hard enough I have to slow down.
I stroll inside and stop.
Justice is at the stove. Sleeves rolled up, forearms shifting as he tilts the pan. Chicken sizzles in a sauce that sends up curls of steam. The briny hit of capers cuts through the air, and asparagus glistens on the counter, waiting.
“Sit,” he says, not looking up.
I move to the marble island and drop onto a stool. The surface is cool under my hands.
“Red or white?” he asks. “Chicken piccata. Asparagus.”
“White.”
He already has the bottle in hand. Rombauer Chardonnay, chilled. He pours with precision and places the glass in front of me. His fingers brush mine.
Heat fills me. My heart kicks up. Darn it. This is bad. I can’t fall for this guy. Is that his plan? He’s smart, I know. He also probably really knows women.
I pull back too fast and take a sip to cover it. The wine is crisp and buttery and unfairly good.
Justice plates the food without comment. The chicken is golden, the sauce glossy, and the asparagus bright green. He slides it across to me. My stomach growls, loud and humiliating. His mouth curves, faint amusement flickering and gone.
I cut a bite and chew slowly. The taste is lemon sharp, garlic warm, with the butter melting into everything. It’s perfect. I should be planning a way out of here. Instead I’m sitting in his penthouse, eating dinner he cooked, every nerve wired tight.
Maybe he isn’t so bad?
He eats standing across from me at the counter, fork in one hand, eyes flicking between his plate and me.
Halfway through, he reaches for an unlabeled glass bottle filled with something dark.
Without asking, he shakes a dusting of spice over his chicken, then leans across the counter and adds more to mine. “Try that.”
I hesitate but take another bite. The flavors sharpen—heat, smoke, a bite of something I can’t name.
It’s better, although it was already good.
My head reels, not just from the food but from the sheer wrongness of sitting here, eating dinner with Justice as if this is anything close to normal.
No wonder he’s the most eligible bachelor around. The magazine got that one right.
He glances at his watch.
“Justice,” I say quietly, laying my fork down.
His gaze lifts, pinning me in place. Dark, unblinking. “Here’s the deal, Ella. I don’t like that you created that virus, and I want to know everything about it. Show me how it works.”
I grimace. “I thought we all agreed that the knowledge should be buried? That nobody should be able to do that.”
“If you can, somebody else will be able to do the same thing, so we need to work on countermeasures,” he says calmly.
My gaze narrows. He’s not telling me everything. “What else?”
One dark eyebrow rises. “With the computers? Nothing.”
I gulp. “Is there something outside of the computers?”
“Yeah. You and me. Forty-eight hours. I plan to be inside you most of the time.”
My clit jumps. Seriously. “That wasn’t the deal.” So much for the couple of romantic thoughts I had about him. He only wants sex and my computer skills. Asshole.
“Sure, it was.”
I hadn’t been specific, now had I? “Whatever.” I can be such a pain in the ass he changes his mind.
Maybe. “For now, let me at your computers, and I’ll try to re-create the code.
” It’s a bad idea, but the countermeasures do make sense.
I’d like to be able to protect Alana, since she charges the aquamarines that run Aquarius Social.
“Okay. I mean—I have the code. I can look at it. But I’ll need access to your system. ”
“I’m well aware.” He checks his watch again, this time with impatience.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” I ask.
“I really do,” he says. “A couple of men need to be tortured. Probably killed.”
My fork clatters against the plate. I gulp, the wine sour on my tongue now. “Your honesty is not refreshing.”
His mouth curves faintly.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll just get to work while you’re gone.”
“No.”
The single word is sharp enough to cut. Then something flickers in his eyes—amusement. The realization makes me blink. He’s enjoying this. Us. The whole kitchen scene. Why? Is he lonely, or does he just like to play with his prey?
“You’re not going anywhere near my computers unless I’m in the room,” he says. “I’ll be back later tonight. Then we’ll discuss the second part of our arrangement.”
Heat coils through me at the phrasing, spiraling low in my belly. I hate the response, hate that my body betrays me. “I don’t believe I agreed to that.”
“I believe you did.” His voice drops an inch lower, steady, certain. “You’re blushing again.”
I press my palm flat against the counter to ground myself. He’s dangerous in too many ways. Still, the fact that he wants me might be leverage. He gave me twenty-four hours to run after I help him, which is a decent window. He has no idea how good I am at disappearing.
I’ll need to check in with the ladies before I vanish. But first … curiosity edges out fear. If there’s a back door from Aquarius Social into TimeGem Moments, there might be one buried inside Malice Media, too. I want into his servers. Bad.
I look up at him. “Have you hacked Aquarius lately?”
“No.” His tone hardens. “We haven’t touched their servers since Thorn and Alana—” He stops, jaw flexing.
“Combusted the world together?” I finish for him.
His mouth pulls tight. “Something like that. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” I say, though my pulse spikes. “Trying to see where everyone stands. Things are shifting.”
“Yeah.” His eyes darken further. “I feel it too.”
The elevator dings, echoing across the penthouse. Justice pushes his half-eaten plate toward the sink
He levels one last look at me. “I’ll be back, Ella. Be ready.”