TWO
Justice
Ella’s lighter than she should be. I lift her without effort. She stiffens in my grip, like she thinks she can intimidate me into putting her down. Cute. Not happening.
Not when this room is a live wire. When every tux hides a weapon and every smile could be the start of a war. Thorn’s wedding or not, this place is a powder keg. And she … she’s the lit match.
I set her down on her three-inch and deadly looking heels.
The orchestra starts playingClair de Lune.Of course it’sClair de Lune.The kind of song that turns rooms intimate without permission. Makes people say things they shouldn’t. Feel things they can’t afford. The moment she opened her mouth in the hallway, my skin electrified. In a good way. No pain, just pleasure.
I want to hear pleasure comefromher. More than anything else in the world right now.
My hand rests at the small of her back. I take her otherhand and draw her against me. She fits perfectly, which pisses me off. Her body is warm, tense, dangerous. My own personal landmine in lipstick and heels.
Her cheek brushes my chest, and she shifts to breathe, like I’m smothering her. I might be. I hope I am.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her smile stays fixed for the cameras, but her voice … her tone slides under my skin like silk laced with static.
Her voice soothes through me. Calms me. I’m accustomed to every voice causing a reaction inside me—from everyone. This one is new. Soft. Sweet. I’m intrigued against my will, and my dick goes rock hard. If she had any idea what her voice actually does to me, she’d have a weapon that could shred me. I definitely don’t trust her with anything, much less that. “Keeping you where I want you,” I say. “Away from trouble.”
Her sigh presses into my chest, warm and soft. I feel her frustration before I hear it. Then she tilts her head and looks up at me with those storm-lit eyes. “Listen, Justice. I’m sorry I almost killed your brother, okay? But I didn’t know things were going to turn out the way they did.”
There it is. That slight tonal shift. The true sorrow in her sweet voice. The tone flows down my throat and settles like warm cider in my gut. Her voice is a drug. Smooth. Addictive. The tenor calms the static for one damned second, and I hate that too. I hum without thinking. The note inside me starts low and soft, then darkens, thickens into something closer to a growl. I feel it move through my chest and into hers. She blinks like I short-circuited something in her. Her balance slips. My grip tightens. I keep her upright and make it look effortless for the many eyes on us.
“What was that?” she breathes.
“None of your damn business.” My voice emerges lower than I intended. Rougher. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t smile either.
She glances over her shoulder, scanning for allies. Alana. Thorn. An exit. She wants out. And I get it.
I scan too. A waiter’s pattern stutters, someone near the bar holds their drink too long, a flash of metal catches my eye near the back corridor. Threats are everywhere, and I have to track them all while she burns against me like a fever.
“You’re making a scene,” she says.
The woman is lucky I’m not, because a scene would involve my tossing her over my shoulder and escaping this glittering hell. “I’m just dancing,” I reply. “While keeping you out of trouble.”
“I wasn’t going to get in trouble.”
A chuckle escapes me, sharp and sudden. Her lips twitch. She wants to argue.
Instead, she relaxes. Just slightly. The tension in her frame shifts and softens. Her body leans into mine like she might trust me. Or like she’s tired of fighting me for one moment. Either way, it sets fire to something under my ribs. A low, slow burn that’s been building since the first time she opened her damn mouth and made me feel anything at all.
We dance one song. Then another. Her rhythm syncs to mine, and her breath evens out. Her body fits. She even starts to enjoy it.
That’s the problem.
Because if she keeps looking at me like that, if she keeps feeling like this in my arms, I might forget howdangerous she is. She tried to kill my brother, and I’m the enforcer for our entire organization. I have to make sure she can never do so again. Plus, I need her help, which is a fact I strongly dislike.
But when she speaks, her voice slides inside me, and I want to return the favor. Bury myself so deeply inside her that she forgets all about attacking her enemies.
The thought shocks me, but the woman is a mouthwatering temptation.
And she has no fucking clue how precarious her position is right now.
I shift my gaze past her shoulder, surveying the room again. Thorn stands near the edge of the ballroom with Alana tucked safely at his side. He’s tense, even when he smiles, and his hand keeps ghosting toward his inner jacket pocket. His instincts are screaming, same as mine. They’re too exposed here. Too many angles. Too many windows and too many cameras. I need them out of town by morning.
My eyes lock on Alexei Sokolov, who’s lounging near the orchestra, as still as a predator between strikes. He tips his glass in my direction when he catches me looking. Not a threat. Not now. But Alexei’s the kind of man who chooses chaos the way others choose a tie. As the owner of Hologrid Hub, a social media offering that uses holographic options, he may not be planning anything at the moment, but that doesn’t mean he won’t tomorrow.
