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)
Probably didn’t want the weakness.
Neither do I.
Thorn and I were kidnapped while young and used against our father, and he didn’t really give a shit about us. I might have to make some new plans for Thorn’s protection soon, especially if he starts popping out little mafia dons. Or beauties like Alana. That idea stops me cold. Thorn now has weaknesses. At least one with Alana. Oh, he needs to carry on our line, so it makes sense, but now he’s vulnerable in a way I hadn’t anticipated. He didn’t marry for logic.
The guy actually loves her.
Weakness.
I shake my head, load the box, and jump into my baby. The only one I’ll ever have. I drive through town, enjoying the rain, and enter my parking garage. The guards are in place. Good.
Taking the box, I ride the elevator and enter the penthouse. Something’s burning.
I turn toward the kitchen and stride inside, halting in my tracks. “What the actual fuck?”
Ella looks up, flour on her face, pots and pans and disaster all around her. “I tried to make cookies.”
Burned chunks of blobs sit on several surfaces. A light smoke still fills the air. She’s wearing one of my older T-shirts over her jeans, and it’s covered with shit. Flour, maybe part of an egg, some sugar. Her hair is a wild mess around her head.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs and looks around my demolished kitchen. “I was bored. You had the ingredients. I figured, why not?”
I place the box on the counter. “All right. Let’s deal with your boredom.”
“Not like you plan.” She puts both hands on her hips and turns to face me fully, irritation in her too-blue eyes. “That’s part of the kidnapping code. We are not sleeping together.”
“Who said anything about sleep?” I move toward her. “Are you forgetting the moment in the car? I think you screamed my name.”
She lifts her chin in pure defiance. “You can’t be looking for a girlfriend.”
Amusement ticks through me. “I’m not.”
Red spins into her cheekbones. “So you just want sex.”
“Yes.” I find honesty is the best move with her. “Let’s get it out of our systems.”
Does she look disappointed? No. Pissed. She draws in a breath. “Drop dead, Justice.”
That’s it. I grasp her arms. “Fine. We’ll just shower together and see how long you last. My bet? Won’t be long until you’re begging for more.”
She pushes me, hard, but now I’m pissed. I lift her just by the arms, and her legs dangle. One of her eyebrows arches.
“Don’t kick me,” I murmur. “You won’t like the result.”
She pauses. Good. I want her to take me seriously.
Something hints in the air. I pause and look toward the wall of windows beyond the breakfast nook. Rain slashes against them. But something—
A wisp through the air echoes before a flash of light. Brightness flares before a missile pierces the glass. I drop to the floor, flattening Ella beneath me on the hard tile.
Then the world explodes all around us.
FIFTEEN
Ella
The tile is cold beneath my cheek, and Justice’s body is inferno hot and stone hard. A fire starts to roar above us. I shriek as panic slams into my chest, but I can’t move. He’s a solid force, locking me against the floor. Glass explodes somewhere behind us. Gunfire rattles through the night outside, each burst sharp and controlled.
“We have to move.” Justice rolls off me, still covering me with his body, and then pulls me forward. The pressure is gone but the urgency spikes to my nerve endings. I launch into motion on instinct, my body reacting to the rhythm of gunfire.
Was that a real missile? If so, another could be on its way. The elevators won’t be safe.
I gasp, and before I can warn him, Justice shoves me toward the living room.
His eyes snap to the wide wall of windows. He swears, grabs my hand, and yanks me forward. “Run.”
We tear down the hallway. Justice whistles sharply, and Leo darts out of the open doorway, panting, tail up, eyes alert. He barks twice toward the blown-out kitchen, teeth bared in a silent snarl, then sticks tight to Justice’s side.
“They could’ve infiltrated the elevators,” I choke out, my voice high.
Justice glances at me but says nothing, scanning every shadow.
A helicopter thumps the air outside, blades cutting deep and loud.
“Is it yours?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. My stomach knots.
Then the chopper tilts, nose down.
Gunfire erupts and shatters the living room windows, bullets ripping into the furniture. The shots punch through walls, spraying drywall dust through the air.
I scream and grab Justice’s arm.
“Not ours,” he says, low and brutal.
Leo growls deep in his throat, teeth flashing white.
Justice drags me forward. “Go!”
We sprint the rest of the way. He kicks the wide double doors open, revealing his bedroom in tones of black and red.
I have no time to take it in. He pulls me into a walk-in closet lined with suits and rows of polished shoes. At the far wall, he shoves shirts aside and presses his palm flat against the unmarked surface.