She doesn’t answer and just watches me with a slight smile.
“My father’s trust paid for my schooling.” I’m feeling ready to fight. “And just so you’re aware, you’ll be hearing from my attorney any day now.”
That gets her attention. Barely. A flicker shows in her eyes.
“So far I’ve held Rosalie off from suing for the corpus,” I continue. It was because I want access to the servers and don’t want Sylveria to see me coming. This little kidnapping negates that plan, so I might as well put my cards on the table.
Her smile curves upward, smug and unbothered. “My attorneys are prepared.”
“Mine’s better.”
“I’m not entirely sure it’ll matter.” She checks a diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist.
I hide a shiver. That doesn’t sound good.
She clears her throat. “Your clothing should be here anyminute, along with your discharge papers. How annoying that they’re late. I might have to have this doctor taken care of.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, not wanting my absent doctor to be hurt. I throw the blanket off my legs, the hospital gown shifting awkwardly around me. I don’t care. “I’ll walk out of here like this if I have to. I’m not going anywhere with you.” My voice is sharp, but beneath it is fear. Real, cold fear.
The door opens and we both pause as Corinda and Stacia walk inside, coffees in their hands. Corinda gives one to her mother.
Stacia smiles at me. “I brought you one, but it’s truly crappy.”
I shake my head.
Corinda looks lovely in a green dress with Louboutin heels, while Stacia appears comfortable in a blue sweater with stylish jeans and cool brown boots. She still has the glittery silver bag over her arm. Must be her favorite.
Sylveria sips the coffee, grimaces, and turns to put the cup on the counter. “Gross. I was just telling your, ah, sister that she needs to come home. For her own safety.”
Corinda places her cup next to her mother’s and pulls out her phone. “We should post this.”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think of posting me in this gown.”
A loud thud echoes from the other side of the door. We all freeze. Slowly, in eerie unison, we turn our heads toward the sound. Another thud. Heavier this time. Closer.
Sylveria reaches into her purse.
The door instantly explodes inward. It’s kicked openwith so much force it slams into the wall, bounces off, and nearly swings shut again from the impact.
Justice steps through.
He’s tall, muscled, and bleeding from the corner of his mouth. The deep brown of his eyes glitters with what appears to be anger. Maybe rage. His dark hair is a mess, and his gaze locks onto Sylveria like she’s the reason the world is on fire.
Corinda and Stacia both move toward the window and away from Justice.
I sneeze three times. Hard. Nerves?
Sylveria pivots, fast, pulling a silver handgun from her purse and aiming it at his chest.
He doesn’t flinch. He tilts his head slightly. “All of your men are down,” he says, voice flat. “All of mine are in their place. You sure you want to shoot me?”
EIGHT
Justice
Iam far too relieved to see Ella standing in that ridiculous little pink hospital gown, legs bare. She’s such a tiny thing. Long legs, though. Bare, bruised, scraped. Toes painted—neatly, even now. I clock the details, the fragile angles of her face, the ice-blue eyes, the ugly bruise riding her cheekbone.
Stacia and Corinda hover by the windows and out of my reach. Smart. Wait. Corinda has her phone out. “Put that away, or you won’t like where I put it.”
