Thirty Ella
THIRTY
Ella
I am so angry with Justice I can barely think straight. My pulse hammers, my hands still twitch from the kidnapping, and my chest feels like it might explode. We just walked the women back to their suite at Cinderfalls, and they’re flitting around, talking about supper.
Mags clicks her tongue. “Really, Justice. You ruined a good rescue by punching Wesley in the face. Jealousy is bad.” She hands him a bag of cookies. “But you did save our Ella, so there’s hope for you.”
Jos nods. “You’re lucky we let you leave us in that trunk.”
I barely keep from snorting.
Aura sighs. “You were a little slower about it than I’d like.” She hands him a tea sachet. “It’s my favorite blend. Have some later.”
Justice takes the tea and cookies, looking lost. “Thank you.” He glances at me. “We have to go.”
I kiss them all and leave Leo with them before following Justice out to his car as darkness falls. It has been a long day. “I can’t believe you locked them in a trunk.” I slide inside.
He does the same and starts the engine. “According to them, they let me.” He chews thoughtfully on a cookie.
The three women seem to rather like him now. How is that? He put them in a damn trunk and left the dog in the back seat. What if we hadn’t made it back?
“I can’t believe they gave you cookies,” I mumble. “Is Wesley all right?”
“Yes. I didn’t break his jaw, but Sylveria’s goons broke a couple of his ribs.” Justice glances at me. “You’re not dating him.”
I know that. In fact, I broke up with him.
Well, I guess Wesley didn’t let me say the words.
But still. I turn back to the window for the rest of the drive.
The silence is thick. Out of the corner of my eye, I glare at the side of Justice’s face, memorizing every bruise, every cut, every speck of blood that doesn’t belong to him.
The tension between us is a live wire. If either of us breathes too hard, the car might explode.
We finally reach Justice’s skyscraper that houses Malice Media and his once-destroyed penthouse.
The repairs are impressive. Money talks.
He parks outside, ushering me in the backdoor as one of his men handles the vehicle.
We’re in the elevator before I can breathe.
The hum of the motor fills the silence, a steady drone that grates on my nerves.
I can’t hold back any longer. “How could you lock them in a trunk?”
Justice’s gaze flicks toward me. “What the hell else was I supposed to do? They were loaded to fight, and they were coming in with grenades. They’d all be dead if I hadn’t put them in that trunk.”
“You could have taken them back to the nursing home,” I mutter, arms crossing tight over my chest.
“I could have,” he agrees, his voice sharp, “and they would’ve escaped again. Give me a break.”
I grind my teeth, because he’s right. “All right. You have a point.” The words taste sour, but I choke them out anyway.
“And you didn’t hurt them. You did keep them safe.
” I think about Mags, her stubborn grin and her bad habit of throwing grenades when things go sideways.
I’ve tried to get her to stop using explosives on jobs, but she doesn’t listen.
It’s probably best Justice never finds out how often they’ve blown things up.
Sure, they never kill anyone, but accidents happen.
My voice rises before I can stop it. “Why did you punch Wesley? He was trying to protect me.”
Justice glances at me. Blood smears his cheek, his neck is bruised, and his knuckles are raw, split open like he punched through glass. His expression doesn’t flicker. “I think I was pretty clear about that,” he says mildly.
“All he did was step between us. He was trying to protect me.”
Justice’s gaze sharpens. “That’s not his job. It’s mine. He’s lucky I pulled the punch.”
My skin is buzzing, my pulse pounding, and I can’t believe the gall of him. “I don’t know what you think is going on between us, but it’s not. You don’t own me.”
“The fuck I don’t.”
My head jerks so hard I’m pretty sure I put out a disc. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” There’s fire in his tone now.
Even though his voice stays calm, mild almost, every nerve in my body tries to take the heat.
It’s too late for that. Not only am I furious with him, I’m jacked up from finally exchanging energy with a decent-sized citrine.
My body is still humming, alive and raw.
We walk through the cleaned-up penthouse, which is impressive, and he pushes open the door to his room. “Get changed.”
“No,” I say flatly.
“That’s it.” He grabs me, one hand sliding into my hair, fingers threading through and his palm cupping the back of my skull.
The pull sends a sharp sting down my spine, oddly erotic but with a bite that leaves no question who’s in control.
With that grip, he propels me straight into the bathroom and flips on the light.
“Haven’t we already done this?” I mutter.
“You are such a brat.”
The smack to my ass actually hurts, the sharp crack echoing in the tiled room. “Hey—”
“Do it, or I’ll do it for you.” He rips at his bloody clothes, peeling them off with rough, sure movements.
“Fine.” My voice scrapes. I’m covered in dust and blood and particles from the explosion. Every inch of me feels coated in grime. I yank off the ruined clothes and step under the warm spray. The water pours down my shoulders, sluicing away dirt and tension almost instantly. God, it feels good.
He follows me in without hesitation and nudges me aside so he can wash the blood off his face and hands. The water runs red for a moment before circling down the drain. I angle my head, studying him from the corner of my eye.
His body is spectacular—pure muscle, hard steel, unyielding. His shoulders look like they could hold up the weight of the building.
My gaze catches on the cut above his forehead. “You probably need stitches.”
“I don’t need stitches. Just a Band-Aid.”
He’s probably correct. If he’s been exchanging energy with garnets, and obviously he has, since Thorn’s out of town, his healing properties will be elevated. Yet another side effect of the gifts we’ve learned to enhance through the years.
He looks at me, eyes sharp through the steam. “Now’s about a good time for you to say thank you.”
No way. “For what?” I snap.
“Saving your damn life.”
“My godmother would’ve handled it.” I tap a finger on my lip, letting the water bead and drip off my chin.
He snorts.
I chuckle, my body relaxing. “We need to talk. Sylveria is infected in a different way than you are, and not from my virus.”
His eyes darken. “Are you sure it isn’t the same one that’s in me?”
“Yes. I was in the TimeGem servers for a while and memorized the code. I can send it to Kaz and he can check. I think there’s a slight variation, to be honest.”
He nods. “Yeah, that makes sense with the attacks against us all.” He reaches out, grabs the shampoo, and starts lathering my hair.
His fingers work strong and slow, and I fight the urge to lean into him.
I really don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good this feels.
Tingles spark across my scalp and wander down my body, loosening muscles that have been tight for hours.
I close my eyes, surrendering despite myself.
“Just because this feels good doesn’t mean I like you,” I mumble as warm water glides over me.
“I don’t like you either. Yet.”
His hands are gentle now, working through my hair with a patience I didn’t know he had.
When he’s done, he rinses me clean, then scrubs his own hair and face while the spray slides down both of our bodies.
Heat from the water mixes with the warmth between us until I can’t tell the difference.
My chest tightens as I step into him, drawn against every ounce of better judgment I have left.
He grabs my hair rougher this time, yanking my head back to take my mouth in a kiss. The contact is brutal, devouring. Heat surrounds me, fills me, consumes me. God, the man can kiss. His mouth takes control, and his body presses powerful and sure, all around me, demanding I yield.
“Hey, Justice,” a voice calls out, muffled through the door.
Justice freezes. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” The voice—Irish sounding, I think—rushes out the words. “We have police detectives here. They’re threatening to call in the SWAT team if they don’t speak with Ella Rendale.”
My eyelids fly open.
Justice growls low in his throat. “Fine,” he calls out. “We’ll be out in a minute. Keep them in the living room.”
“Gotcha.”
I step back, skin still humming. “Detectives?”
“Who knows. I can’t imagine Sylveria called anybody, but she has to be scared of what I’ll do to her for kidnapping you.
She’s not stupid.” He shuts off the water, ushers me out, and grabs a towel.
Then he attacks me with the fabric, drying me thoroughly, every swipe more possessive than the last. By the time he’s finished, I’m panting, my legs shaky under me.
His smile is wicked, dangerous, and he bends low, sliding the towel down to my feet.
He dries them, slow and deliberate, before pressing a kiss high between my thighs, on my clit, on his way back up.
“Hey,” I gasp, shoving at his shoulders.
“Hey, yourself.” His grin softens into something almost playful, and for a second, I want to jump him all over again.
Something in my gaze catches him, because he tackles me onto the soft bathroom mat, cushioning my fall with his strong arms.
I gasp. “What are you doing?”
“You.” He presses against me, slowly penetrating me.
I gulp, trying to concentrate. “The police are here.”
He keeps powering inside me, so big and strong above me. “So?”
So? Seriously? “It’s the police.” I try to push him away but instead widen my thighs to take more of him. He feels so good against me.
“I figure I should tell you that I’m keeping you.” With one final thrust, he shoves all the way inside me, balls deep.