Twenty-Three Justice
TWENTY-THREE
Justice
The warehouse district smells of diesel and old metal. The building we use doesn’t look like much from the street—gray siding, flat roof, bulletproof glass dulled by dust. Nobody passing by would guess what waits inside.
The moment I step through the door, the lie peels back.
Marble floors catch the low light, polished smooth from decades of use.
Maple panels line the walls, warm and rich, beautiful.
At the center sits a heavy round table, handcut, scarred by time.
Four thick leather chairs circle it. No more than four.
The old families knew better than to put power at one end and weakness at the other.
Round means equal. At least on the surface.
I’m early, but so is everyone else. Not a surprise.
Alexei sits in black, shoulders loose but ready. His seat faces the door. I walk in and take the chair across from him. His eyes meet mine, steady, and he dips his chin in a small nod. I answer in kind.
To my left sits Mathias Beaumont, broad chest stretching the seams of his vest until the buttons look ready to give up. On Alexei’s other side, Sylveria Rendale sparkles in diamonds. She wears a blue ball gown that belongs under chandeliers, not in a steel warehouse.
Her daughters are behind her. That’s new. Usually it’s guards only.
Alexei clears his throat. His voice slides calmly, the one sound in this room that doesn’t hurt me. “I didn’t much appreciate the attack, Beathach.”
“I don’t blame you.” My reply is even. “I’d guess it took you ten minutes to clean up.”
His mouth ticks up at one corner. “I figured it was a shot over the bow and assume it’s a one-time deal.” He keeps it casual, but I notice the open jacket. Easy reach for his weapon if the air shifts wrong.
“Yes,” I agree. Unless he attacks first. I don’t need to say that. He knows.
Mathias leans forward, and his voice grates when he speaks. “We didn’t send that missile into your building, and we managed your attack on our servers easy enough. Which is what I assume you intended.” The sound drives pain into my knees, sharp enough that I grind my teeth until it passes.
Yeah, I need them all to know I can get to them if I want. Message received.
“The missile wasn’t mine, either,” Alexei says. His voice leaves me steady. No pain. No heat.
“Or mine,” Sylveria drawls.
I believe them. Which means someone else is moving against us. A fifth player, still in the shadows.
Mathias clears his throat again, and my knees flare white-hot. “We found a breach in our servers.”
The ache lingers this time. I keep my face blank, fists pressed hard against my thighs until the pain dulls.
“As have we,” Sylveria says quietly. Her voice grinds into me, rough, pressing deep in my kidneys until the ache blooms. I shift my shoulders, but I don’t let the pain show on my face.
Alexei shrugs. His tone is smooth, merciful, giving me a moment of relief. “I haven’t found anything, but I’ll take a better look later.”
Sylveria arches one eyebrow. “Good. My guess is that one of the baby social media companies has a decent hacker who’s trying to get noticed.”
“I know,” I agree. “We’re actively searching. If I find any information, I’ll let you know. If we need to gather forces, which I doubt, we’ll do so.”
Alexei nods to a rough-looking Russian at the door. The man steps forward and places a folder on the table. Paper slides across polished wood, and the guards ringed around the room tense, hands close to weapons.
“Here’s all the information we’ve gathered on a possible fifth company,” Alexei says. “We’ve chased the trail around the world. It bounces everywhere, but the last trace goes back to Beijing.” His mouth tightens. “I think it’s here.”
My man moves next, stepping forward to hand out folders.
Mathias reaches into his briefcase, his thick, gnarly fingers curling around a stack of his own. “This is what we have,” he says. His voice grates, the scrape stabbing through my knees until I have to press them into the chair to keep from wincing.
Sylveria adds her folders, her voice rough, bruising across my kidneys. “I had one of my men put together what we’ve gathered. Between the four of us, we should be able to find this guy and kill him. We do not need more competition.”
I gather my copies of the documents. Between the four of us, we should find this guy soon. “How about a wager?”
“Excellent,” Alexei agrees, taking his stack. “First to find him gets sole social media coverage of the Silicon Shadows and Secrets Ball next year?”
Good bet. That will hurt the other three. “I’m in,” I say.
Mathias hesitates and then straightens his shoulders. “Me, too.”
Sylveria looks at all three of us. “You’re morons, but I’m in. Why not?” She pivots and lowers her chin. “With your recent statement against all of us, I think you hit me harder than the other two, Justice. You attacked my facility.”
“I was making my point about Ella,” I answer, keeping my voice calm. “Stop coming after her.”
Her eyes widen just a fraction.
“What about Ella?” Alexei asks. His voice doesn’t hurt, steady as stone, and I meet his gaze.
“Why? Is your woman worried about her?”
“Yes,” he replies smoothly. “She’s quite concerned.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. I like that he’s honest, and it’s obvious he cares. If I ever decide Ella has to disappear, I know who’ll fight me for her.
“I wouldn’t harm Ella,” Alexei says as if reading my mind.
Ah. So he is in love. Good to know. When the mighty fall, and all of that.
My eyes catch the panther tattoo sprawled across his neck, inked in black.
The amethyst eyes shimmer as if they’re alive, staring right back at me.
It’s good work, sharp and clean. He would’ve needed it in prison—to ground him, to keep him standing when everything else tried to break him.
“I’m not going to hurt her,” I tell Sylveria directly, ignoring her daughters behind her. Corinda and Stacia perch on folding metal chairs hastily set up, nothing like the carved leather ones at the table.
Every one of us has guards scattered through the room. My own stand against the walls, hands near weapons, watching. Their guards mirror them. The air hums with tension, and the faint scrape of a boot against marble sounds like a gun cocking.
Since Sylveria hasn’t answered, I hit the point home. “I meant what I said. Nobody harms Ella.”
Mathias shifts beside me. His silvery-gray hair is thick, his eyes narrowing as they cut between me and Sylveria. His voice grates when he speaks, and pain shoots through my knees like knives digging under the joint. “Why would you care about her stepdaughter?”
“She’s under my protection,” I say, staring him down.
I’m fairly certain he knows about the virus since he was present when we cured Thorn, although I doubt he understands it.
He won’t ask me about it in mixed company since the others don’t know about it.
“Ella’s mine.” It doesn’t hurt to be explicit with these people.
Alexei barks out a laugh. The evenness in his tone keeps me steady, though his words land sharp. “Are you serious? You’re falling for the little sprite?”
“She’s under my protection. That’s all you need to know.”
He chuckles, the sound colored with his Russian accent. “That’s hilarious. I kidnapped her once. She got loose within hours.”
I nod. “That’s the difference between us. I left her with no electronics.”
He winces. “She’s not going to like that.”
“No kidding,” I mutter dryly. My gaze cuts to Sylveria. “Do we have any questions?”
“Oh no. I quite understand,” Sylveria says. Her rough voice grinds into me, a bruising ache across my kidneys. I hold still. “I would like to meet with my stepdaughter at some point.”
“That’s right. You’re having a server problem, aren’t you?” I lean back, fingers against the table’s carved edge. “I take it you need her.”
The air shifts. She pats her hair into place. “We have business about the trust but can discuss it later.” She smiles at Mathias. “The wedding was lovely, Mathias. Have you heard from Alana and Thorn?”
There had better not be a threat there. “They’ve touched base,” I answer. “They’re on their honeymoon and are not to be disturbed.”
“Agreed,” Mathias says. His gnarly hands shift restlessly on the table.
“They deserve a little time off.” He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there.
He wants his daughter far from whatever storm is coming.
I can respect that. He clears his throat.
The sound rips through my knees. “Sylveria, why do you need your stepdaughter’s help? ”
He’s fishing for weakness, but she won’t give it.
“Like I said,” she answers coolly, “it’s family business. We have some issues from the trust and will to settle.”
Probably true, though I’ll bet she’s already drained the trust dry.
“I want my attorneys involved,” I say, “to make sure Ella’s protected.”
“Oh my,” Sylveria murmurs, and the roughness bruises deeper. “You really are enamored.”
Enamored. A word I barely understand. “You’d better hope not.”
“Is she working for you, Justice?” she presses, eyes sharp.
“None of your business,” I answer.
Her smile is sly. “Well, if she works for you, she can work for me.”
“I don’t think she wants to work for you,” I say evenly. “But I’ll pose the question.”
Mathias glares. “Justice, have you kidnapped Ella?” His voice rasps, stabbing pain back into my knees.
“Yes.”
Mathias fidgets with his thick, gnarly hands. “She’s dating Wesley Whisper from my company. If you kidnapped her, we should discuss it.”
“Wesley can get in contact with her if he wishes,” I say flatly. “They’re no longer dating.”
“Does he know that?” Alexei asks. His voice stays smooth, expression unreadable, the mask firmly in place. Controlled.
Is he amused? “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I focus back on him. “We’ve already had one high-society wedding. When is yours, Alexei?”
He doesn’t pale, but he doesn’t answer.
“Alexei,” Sylveria says, her tone rough and bruising, “are you marrying Rosalie?”
Mathias leans forward, his brows rising.
For two of the most dangerous people on the planet, they sure like to gossip.
“If I do,” Alexei says, glancing at his watch, “you’ll be the first invited.” He stands, graceful and calm, his chair sliding back on marble. His voice is steady, clean, giving me a brief reprieve. “It’s been a pleasure.” He strides out with his two men falling in behind him, precise and sharp.
Mathias rises next, patting his belly. “I really like Wesley. He does a good job for us. At least let him call Ella.”
“Absolutely,” I say. I couldn’t care less what Wesley Whisper wants.
Mathias nods once, then strides out with his guards.
That leaves me with Sylveria and her daughters.
“Sit,” Sylveria orders. Her rough tone presses into me, heavy in my kidneys.
Stacia takes Mathias’s vacated chair, the scrape of metal against marble loud in the echoing space. Corinda joins her, folding her hands neatly on the table. Both young women are poised, calm, and watching me.
Corinda smiles, looking so much like her mother it’s unsettling.
Younger, beautiful, a sharper version of the same face.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, lovely bone structure.
She’s the face of TimeGem Moments, and she seems to do a good job hitting parties and events.
I think she has a few million followers and is an expert in makeup, movie lines, and the best cocktails. “Mother says you need a bride.”
“Do I?” I ask.
Stacia flips her dark hair back, eyes sparkling. “Yes. Mother would like to auction us off as cattle. I’m not on board.”
I like her. She’s spunky. “I understand,” I say. “But I’m not in the market.”
Corinda leans forward, perfume light. “I’ve never looked for happily-ever-after. I’ve always thought a good business arrangement works for marriage. If you think about it, most arranged marriages last, whereas the silly love ones don’t.”
She’s flawless in a white suit, makeup pristine. Pink lips, thick lashes, perfect nose. She’d be appealing to most. But right now, a little brat half my size holds my attention, and I don’t see that changing.
“Would you stop trying to become the match of the century?” Stacia cuts in, her voice becoming irritating but not painful. “Alana already took that spot.”
“Not if I can help it,” Corinda says, her soft tone calming the room. She fixes her gaze on me. “What do you say?”
If I wanted a spouse who threw the best parties and knew the best people, she’d be perfect. Unfortunately, I don’t care about either of those things. “I’m going to have to decline.” I look at Sylveria. “Now that we’re alone, I might as well tell you. Ella is coming for her company.”
Sylveria’s voice bruises me deeper when she rises. “You’ll reconsider that since the company is mine. Not Ella’s. My husband left it to me, and that’s the end of it. Our servers run on diamonds.”
But they were created to run on citrines.
How easy is that to change? It’s rare, that’s for sure.
I push back from the table, turning to Stacia.
“You’re delightful, and I hope you marry for love.
” My gaze shifts to Corinda. “I understand your motivation and agree that most arranged marriages do work. I hope you find the person you’re looking for, but it’s not me. ”
“We’ll see,” Corinda answers, her smile sweet and sharp.
I glance at Sylveria. She adjusts her ball gown, glittering even here amid the steel and marble.
Somehow, she still manages to look regal.
I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if necessary, so I give her one more warning.
“Leave Ella alone. I don’t want a war, but I’m ready.
” I stand and head outside, shutting the door behind me.
My men move with me, two stationed close, watching my back.
One of my black town cars speeds toward us, and I tense.
Wynd jumps out, his blue eyes wild and his tone low. “Ella and the dog are gone.”