Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Justice fills the booth across from me like he was built for it—broad shoulders pressing against the vinyl, legs spread in a way that dares me to look anywhere but at his eyes. Wesley has size. This is different. Justice owns space. He controls it. Every inch of him is measured power, wrapped in something too dark to name.
I stab my fork into another bite of eggs, but they taste like cardboard now. Figures. “How do you know about this place?” I keep my tone casual, even though nothing inside me feels remotely calm.
One of his dark brows arches, slow and deliberate. He studies me like he’s considering where to sink in his teeth. “I know every place in this town.”
I believe him.
For years, he’s been the shadow behind Thorn. The invisible hand no one talked about because no one even knew he existed. Not most people, anyway.
I did.
I’m a hacker. One of the best. I was born into one of the four main families, and information is what we breathe. Even so, I’d only seen traces of him in digital echoes that didn’t make sense. But nothing prepared me for the man sitting across from me now.
He’s lethal in a way no code could predict.
The kind of danger you don’t see until it’s already in your bloodstream.
I cough. “As one of the most eligible bachelors alive, shouldn’t you be out and about? Getting your picture taken?”
His chin lowers. “I’m having trouble finding the miscreant who nominated me to that magazine, and more importantly, sent the picture they used for the spread. When I find that person, they’re going to bleed.” He sits back. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
I snort. “I wish. I’ve spent so much time in the shadows I wouldn’t have thought to drag you out of them.” But I’ll shake the hand of the person who did. If they’re ever found.
“Humph.” He wears black like it’s part of his skin in a simple shirt stretched across his chest beneath a battered brown leather jacket. It’s a definite departure from the tux he wore earlier, and yet, both seem at home on his muscled form.
His hands are relaxed now, but I’ve heard of his capabilities with them, and not in a good way. The man is a killer. His copper-flecked eyes don’t bother to hide that fact, but his cut features, sharp and strong, would steal any woman’s attention.
Not this one. I can’t afford to lose my edge with him. Trying to appear casual, I brush my hair away from my eyes. Blonde strands fall forward again anyway—too soft, too light for a moment like this. I lean into the seat, spine straightening. “All right, Justice. Let’s have it out.”
My voice sounds steady. Too steady. My heart’s crashing around my ribs like it’s looking for an exit.
“Gladly,” he murmurs, low and deliberate.
The word settles somewhere between my stomach and my spine. I take a breath and know I’m going to need help getting away from him. So I shift my weight, drop my hand, and press a button on my phone that’s programmed to do what I need. “Are you going to try to kill me?” Wanting to read him, I meet his gaze. Direct. Unblinking. I don’t flinch, even when I notice the odd metallic glint in his irises. Not just reflection. Not lighting. Something real.
“That’s a direct question.” He’s human. Definitely. But human doesn’t mean ordinary.
I studied eyes once when I became obsessed with the way power interacts with biology. Why some people can draw charge from crystals, why others can’t. I mapped out pigmentation, rare mutations, and anomalies.
“So answer it. Do you want to kill me?” I can’t quit studying him. Justice’s eyes shouldn’t exist. They hold layers. Depths. Power that doesn’t just reflect but stores. Why hasn’t he put me out of commission? It has to be because of Alana, his new sister-in-law. I hope.
“Do you think I want to kill you?” His voice sounds flat. Not bored. Not curious. Just steady. He could be asking about the weather or what kind of coffee I like. No threat in his tone. No comfort either. But he watches every twitch of my expression, and I’m giving him too much. “Ella?”
I need to get my face under control. “I have no idea.” I keep my tone steady. “But if you are going to attempt my murder, could you at least have the balls to tell me?”
He doesn’t blink or shift in his seat. But something changes. I feel it. Not in him, but in the air between us, which is denser now. Tighter. Maybe it’s the word balls. That one always hits. Men either flinch or smirk.
He does neither. “If I decide to kill you, Ella, I promise that I’ll tell you beforehand.”
My breath catches. Just for a second. I ease it out with a slow exhale and pray my chest doesn’t give me away. “So you’ll tell me a week in advance? A day? Two seconds?” I let the sarcasm bleed through.