“What are you doing?” Sylveria takes a step toward me, her voice sharp, but Justice pivots. Just enough to shift his weight, just enough to remind her he’s there. She freezes.
“I’m taking this,” I say, smiling without humor. I pause near Wesley, crouched in pain but still upright. While I want to soothe him, I don’t want to see him get hurt worse.
“I pulled the punch,” Justice cuts in flatly. “He’s fine. Get up.”
Wesley pushes to his feet. His face is gray, but he doesn’t buckle.
Justice doesn’t even look at him—he turns that molten glare on Wynd. “Borrow a car and take him to a doctor. He’s bleeding and it’s not from me.” He turns back to Wesley. “Find an excuse. If you call the cops, Wynd will shred your skin from your body.”
My stomach lurches. I want to help Wesley, but I want him alive more. How badly had Sylveria hurt him? I hadn’t even asked. So I force myself to move, hurrying toward Justice, fury burning bright in my chest.
He stares at Sylveria. “You might want to run. I haven’t decided what to do with you yet. A tropical vacation is a good idea.” He points to the exit, so I move and step over broken panels, twisted metal, and what looks like a set of old keys half-buried in dust. None of it makes sense, not here, not now, but I don’t stop.
“We are going to talk about this,” I snap at Justice. Then I notice the weapon in Wynd’s hand. My stomachflips. Recognition slams me cold. “Wait a minute. I know that gun. Where’s Aura?”
Justice herds us toward a revealed stairwell beside the mangled elevator doors. “That’s another reason you need to hurry. Your godmother is stuck in the trunk of an old Buick.”
The words knock the air out of me. Aura. My godmother. In a trunk.
I stumble into the stairwell without protest, still clutching the crown in one hand. Wynd eases the citrine away from me, his face unreadable, his grip careful but firm as he keeps a gun on Wesley, who limps along beside him.
“She’s in a trunk?” My voice cracks on the word.
“Yeah,” Justice says grimly as we start the climb. “And she’s going to be pissed.”
THIRTY
Ella
Iam so angry with Justice I can barely think straight. My pulse hammers, my hands still twitch from the kidnapping, and my chest feels like it might explode. We just walked the women back to their suite at Cinderfalls, and they’re flitting around, talking about supper.
Mags clicks her tongue. “Really, Justice. You ruined a good rescue by punching Wesley in the face. Jealousy is bad.” She hands him a bag of cookies. “But you did save our Ella, so there’s hope for you.”
Jos nods. “You’re lucky we let you leave us in that trunk.”
I barely keep from snorting.
Aura sighs. “You were a little slower about it than I’d like.” She hands him a tea sachet. “It’s my favorite blend. Have some later.”
Justice takes the tea and cookies, looking lost. “Thank you.” He glances at me. “We have to go.”
I kiss them all and leave Leo with them before following Justice out to his car as darkness falls. It has been along day. “I can’t believe you locked them in a trunk.” I slide inside.
He does the same and starts the engine. “According to them, they let me.” He chews thoughtfully on a cookie.
The three women seem to rather like him now. How is that? He put them in a damn trunk and left the dog in the back seat. What if we hadn’t made it back?
“I can’t believe they gave you cookies,” I mumble. “Is Wesley all right?”
“Yes. I didn’t break his jaw, but Sylveria’s goons broke a couple of his ribs.” Justice glances at me. “You’re not dating him.”
I know that. In fact, I broke up with him. Well, I guess Wesley didn’t let me say the words. But still. I turn back to the window for the rest of the drive. The silence is thick. Out of the corner of my eye, I glare at the side of Justice’s face, memorizing every bruise, every cut, every speck of blood that doesn’t belong to him.
The tension between us is a live wire. If either of us breathes too hard, the car might explode.
We finally reach Justice’s skyscraper that houses Malice Media and his once-destroyed penthouse. The repairs are impressive. Money talks. He parks outside, ushering me in the backdoor as one of his men handles the vehicle. We’re in the elevator before I can breathe. The hum of the motor fills the silence, a steady drone that grates on my nerves.
I can’t hold back any longer. “How could you lock them in a trunk?”
