Page 79 of One Shattered Crown
I keep my gaze on the code. “We will. Just … don’t touch anything until I’ve traced it back.”
He leans back, running a hand through his hair. His knuckles are raw, bruises dark on his skin. He still manages a wry smile. “Bossy as ever.”
The smile hits me harder than it should. Guilt flares sharp. I slept with Justice, and Wesley doesn’t know. He can’t know. This isn’t the time. This isn’t even the place. But the thought of him bleeding, trapped here with me, makes everything else taste sour.
I force my attention back to the terminal. “If I can find the entry point, I can strip it out.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then we’ll both find out how long it takes to suffocate in here.”
He lets out a breath, low and steady. “No pressure, then.”
I type faster, pushing past the guilt, past the weight of secrets. I can’t let him see the truth, not about the virus, not about Justice. For now, all that matters is the code in front of me.
And the clock is already ticking down.
TWENTY-SIX
Justice
Fury clocks through me as I jump in the back of the town car, Wynd sliding in from the other side. My driver is a guy named Bronco, and it fits. He’s large, broad, and armed. Funny thing is, it’s actually his name.
I pull up my phone and start updating a fucking app I didn’t think I’d need for a while. It’s a good half hour from doing what I need.
“I’m so sorry,” Wynd says.
I hold up a hand. “It’s Ella. I should have figured. I had all electronics removed from the penthouse.” I try not to smile, because it’s fucking brilliant. And yet, she’s out there, alone.
I press a couple buttons on my phone, instructing Kaz to find her.
We drive for nearly half an hour, almost to the penthouse, when Bronco stiffens.
“Hold on, boss,” he says. “We have trouble.”
I look up just in time to see another town car barreling toward us down the mainly quiet street.
“What do you want me to do?” Bronco’s voice stays steady as his foot sinks deeper.
I pull my gun from its holster and glance at Wynd. “We play chicken.”
“Sounds good.” Wynd’s grin is feral, even with the bruise.
Bronco lowers his head, engine screaming, and we surge forward.
Movement flashes in my peripheral—a streak of black cutting out of an alley and across the lane. Before I can process it, another car slams into us dead center, right between the driver’s door and mine.
The impact throws me across the car. I smash into Wynd, my forehead cracking against the opposite window. Glass sprays. The car spins, metal groaning, tires screeching as the world tilts sideways. We slam into the opposing alley, the car crashing into brick.
For a moment everything goes black. Then … silence. Just the sound of glass raining down across the floorboards.
“What the fuck?” My voice rasps, raw. I turn, disoriented, as my door crumples inward with a groan of tearing steel. At least nobody is shooting at us this time.
I smash out the rest of the glass with my elbow and shove Wynd’s door wide. I barely hit the ground before Alexei is there, gun jammed hard into my chest.
Blood trails down my face, sticky and hot, but I don’t wipe it away. Fury rises sharp and fast inside me. I shift aside as Wynd stumbles free of the wreck. Bronco is still hunched over the wheel, motionless.
“He better fucking be breathing,” I hiss, then square myself toward Alexei.
