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)
I stand, forcing a smile as I cross the room. “All right. I’ll take care of the dog. Keep the cameras off, and blank anything between me and that animal. I know you can’t get everything, but do your best.”
At the closet, I tug out a wide cowboy hat and a green bedazzled jacket, light enough to move in but lacking actual glitter, so I’m safe from an allergy attack. I pull them on, catching my reflection in the mirror. Best disguise I’ve got for now.
“How much danger are you in?” Aura asks quietly.
I pause, the words pressing at my throat. Three groups have already tried to grab me, right out of what was supposed to be a hidden safe house. The truth is, it doesn’t look good. Instead, I turn back to her and lie with a smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” I definitely need to give them a task. “While I go rescue this dog, will you do another deep dive on Sylveria and her daughters? We haven’t checked in a while, and I want everything.”
Mags pushes her glasses onto her head, eyes bright. “Really? It’s time?”
“Oh, it’s time,” I say. “I want to take everything.”
Their squeals of delight fill the suite. It should sound dangerous. It doesn’t. But I’ll work with what I’ve got. Now all I have to do is rescue a dog named Killer, figure out who all wants me dead, and avoid Justice Beathach, who is most certainly on the hunt for me right now.
Yeah, he’s the biggest threat.
I shiver before kissing the cheerful women goodbye, hoping it’s not for the last time.
TWELVE
Justice
Thirty minutes. That’s all it’s been since I caught Ella on the feed. One grainy camera out of Silicon Valley that whoever scrubbed the others missed. And there she was—Ella—in a cowboy hat and a damn glittering green jacket, striding through a storm like she belonged onstage.
I’d been behind the wheel before the clip even finished playing. Drove hard, cut through traffic, didn’t care about the red lights or the cops who looked twice and thought better. Every second felt like an edge digging under my ribs.
Yeah, they know my car.
Now her beat-up van sits crooked in a dirt yard, headlights dark, rain sluicing off the windshield in heavy sheets. The same van from the footage. She doesn’t cover her tracks half as well as she thinks.
I roll my shoulders.
What the hell is Ella Rendale doing in this dump?
She’s a hacker, and this is no place for her. Nobody is going to end her life until I’ve fucked her out of my system.
I roll my eyes at myself. Yeah, my plan is solid, but even then, I won’t let anybody kill her. Even when I’m done with her.
So I stride out of my Bentley Mulliner Bacalar and check the road. Vacant and sad. There’s an empty lot to one side and an abandoned, boarded-up home to the other.
The place stinks before I’m even inside. It has a sagging porch, wood black with rot, and beer cans lined up on the railing like trophies. A broken swing creaks in the wind. Rain pours through the holes in the eaves, drumming against the muddy ground. Somewhere close, a dog barks rough and desperate, the chain rattling with every pull.
Energy careens down my arms, and the garnets set into my watch start to glow blood red.
I take the steps fast, each one groaning under my weight. My hand flexes at my side. Ella’s voice, raised inside, nearly stops me.
What the hell?
A man yells back, his voice slurred.
My jaw tightens. I don’t knock.
I lift my leg and nail the door with my boot. The worn wood shudders and bursts wide, wood cracking against the wall. The stink of booze and grease spills out, hot and thick.
Crossing a filthy living room with a ripped sofa and stacks of what looks like kiddie porn on a chair, I barrel into the kitchen to see grease stains, rotting food, and a stack of bottles on the counter. And in the middle of it—Ella. Bedazzled jacket plastered to her from the rain, cowboy hat tipped low, her arm twisted back in the fat hand of a red-faced slob. His gut strains against a stained undershirt, his knuckles white where he grips her.
Her eyes snap to me. Defiance, always, but there’s strain under it, too. She’s fighting.
“Get your hands off her.” My voice comes low, steady.
The man stares, sways, and doesn’t let go. His eyes are bloodshot and his pupils dilated.
I take another step in, rain dripping from my coat, boots hitting the linoleum with a solid crack. The dog outside keeps barking, chain rattling, the sound mixing with the storm.
The man mutters something ugly and tries to drag Ella closer. His voice, dark and evil, ripples across my skin and bruises my fucking elbows. My vision narrows until all I see is her in his grip.