SEVEN - Thorn

SEVEN

Thorn

Astonishingly, she falls asleep on the drive out to the coast, leaving the softest hint of honey on my tongue. Reaching into the front seat next to Justice, I secure a worn sweatshirt and cover her with it.

She cuddles into the material, her fingers wrapped around the collar, and shifts closer to me. What the hell? Murmuring something, she nudges my shoulder with her head. Frowning, I lift my arm and let her head fall onto my thigh, where she snuggles in with a soft sigh, turning on her side and curling her legs up on the seat. Her smooth, bare, soft-looking legs. Jesus. She might actually kill me and not know it.

Just how much alcohol did she drink? She shouldn't be asleep.

My gaze rises to meet Justice's in the mirror, and he quickly banishes the amusement he let lurk in his brown eyes for a moment.

I look back down as streetlights and then shadows take turns dancing on her smooth profile. Her mountainous hair flows across my thigh and her back, and even a saint couldn't refrain from sliding his fingers through those curly tresses.

I'm no fuckin' saint.

At the first touch, I learn that silk isn't the softest material in the world. Her hair . . . is. The playful strands wrap around my hand. This close, with the lights coming and going to torture me, I can see different colors in the thick mass. It's a deep sable with red, blonde, and even a darker tone in it. I bite back a groan, and my zipper cuts into the flesh of my cock.

Why does she feel safe with me?

Oh, there's no doubt she's sheltered and possibly innocent. Funny and truly stunning, and she obviously knows how to influence the masses. While she might not be a rocket scientist, she surely has to be smarter than this. Yet I look closer and see dark circles beneath her eyes, the ones that makeup camouflages.

When was the last time she slept? Has her impending wedding to Cal Sokolov kept her up? Her brows draw down as if she's reading my mind, and it takes every ounce of my self-control to refrain from rubbing the small wrinkle away. My hand in her hair is the only allowance I'll take with her asleep. She's safe for now.

She is a foreign creature to me. The women in my life are tough and live their own lives, expecting nothing from me but a rough night of sex that leaves us both panting. Satisfied physically. Not once have I felt this overwhelming sense of ownership. Yet knowing myself as I do, I easily recognize the edge beneath that feeling. It's darker and deadlier than anything she will ever want. She's too pure for me, but that won't last long. She's meant to be mine, and someday she'll crave the darkness.

No question.

"Are you sure about this?" Justice asks quietly.

I look up and give him my death stare—the one that makes anybody in my organization piss their pants and then offer to stab themselves in the heart.

He looks back at the road, but not before I see the genuine concern in his eyes. Maybe it's for me. Or perhaps for her. He does know me, after all. "She's too good for an asswipe like Cal," I retort. A moot point considering she's mine.

"Agreed." He snorts. "She did surprise me when she tried to jump from the car."

My lips twitch and it takes me a second to recognize the feeling of a smile. "Her elbow made a decent impact on my throat." I like that she thought through her options and decided to escape the vehicle without screaming, crying, or threatening. She calmly and quietly tried to destroy my larynx and run.

"I expected more of a hysterical shriek or two." His gaze now turns appraising.

Not me. I've watched her for over a year, in person and on social media. The woman is calm and collected under pressure. "She was startled by the night's events and apparently exhausted." In sleep, she looks even more fragile, and warning passes through me. I'm not a bull in a china shop. No. Instead, I'm the silent whisper of death right before the pain starts. I can admit to myself that if anybody deserves the sickness imposed upon me, the curse as Justice calls it, it is me. Poetic justice. "I have no doubt she'll come at me again tomorrow." Truth be told, my neck is a little sore. I grin and then quickly frown.

What is wrong with me? Thank God Justice didn't just see that. What nonsense. I take my phone and speed-dial Wynd to make sure he hasn't killed everyone.

"Wynd."

"Status." I keep my voice low so as not to awaken Alana, and yank a harsh mint out of my pocket to eat and burn my taste buds temporarily. Wynd's words taste like pine needles, which isn't necessarily bad but is sometimes annoying.

"I left several breathing." My enforcer sounds calm but slightly defensive. If he wants to succeed in our world, he needs to mask his emotions better.

I nod to Justice, whose jaw tightens. He'll take care of the matter. "Good. What did we get?" Hopefully a shit ton of pyrope garnets. I need them. Now. My phones are the most secure in the world, so he may speak safely.

"I checked with all three teams, and we secured a boatload of regular quartz data crystals and four odd pyramid-shaped crystals."

Damn it. No garnets. "Tell me about the odd ones."

"They're green if I look at them one way and kind of red in a different light."

Fuck. "Those sound like alexandrite crystals." I had expected the data crystals because Alana's daddy and thus Aquarius Social need a stronger storage device, and we've discovered that a blend of quartz crystals captures more data than any other element, but they burn out faster. So having more on hand is necessary for anybody with servers like the four competing social media companies.

The possible alexandrite crystals, so rare, are a surprise. I despise surprises. "Can you determine where the alexandrite came from?"

"No. At least, not yet."

That means he has left enough of the pickup crew alive to question. There is a good chance these are just couriers, but I will find out. I absently stroke Alana's hair and she sighs, scooting closer to me. My balls light on fire. "Pack those carefully and send them to my main headquarters along with the quartz."

"Of course," Wynd says.

The alexandrite, with its ability to change colors, has the propensity to speed up transfer and then store more data much faster than currently imaginable—and possibly a way to save my damn life. Apparently I'm not the only one with an eye on the tech. To think that Mathias Beaumont had almost gotten his blood-soaked hands on alexandrite is infuriating. I need to find out who else is this far ahead with the technology. If it isn't one of the three other social media companies, then we have a new player on the board who sold the alexandrite to him.

Wynd clears his throat. "Do you want to meet at the boathouse?"

I look down at the sleeping woman as darkness flows through my blood. The boathouse near the ocean is where I interrogate and play. "Yes. I want answers. There were supposed to be red garnets in those containers."

Wynd chuckles. "Yes, sir. Man, Beaumont is going to be pissed he's lost some of his shipments."

That isn't all he lost tonight. "Don't call again until you have relevant information." I click off.

Justice makes another turn. "No red garnets?"

"No." Like the other three families, one member has always been tied to certain crystals. In the stone ages, the ability looked like magic because the connection led to such great health and charisma, which helped gain power. In the computer ages, the bond put our families ahead of all other technological users. And now, in the social media era? We've become gods.

Unfortunately, an enemy figured out how to infect my main garnet, the one that runs all of our servers, with a freezing type of deadly virus that also transferred to me. I need healthy garnets to keep Malice Media running . . . and hopefully save my life. If I can just transfer my connection from the diseased main garnet to a healthy one, a large fucking one that I've been unable to find, hopefully I'll also be saved.

"We'll find a large garnet," I say, dialing my chief operating officer, the smartest computer programmer in the world.

"Kazstone," he answers as the sound of a keyboard clacking comes across the line.

"Search social media for Alana Beaumont." When I say her name, she shifts slightly, her nose scrunching. I tangle my fingers in her hair and knead her nape. The soft sound of pleasure she purrs nearly has me waking her up to better use that sweet mouth.

"Alana last posted before dinnertime tonight." More keys. "There's nothing more about her."

Good. Then he won't have to scrub the web this evening. "What about a shooting at Martini Money?"

Kaz is quiet for a moment. "Did you just say Martini Money?"

I let my silence speak for itself.

Keys clack again. "Nothing from the news outlets, but there are a few social media posts from private citizens. Scratch that. Nothing from Aquarius Social . . . or Hologrid Hub."

So Mathias is handling it from his end, as is Cal Sokolov. Or rather, his older brother is taking down any videos or statements regarding the night, and one of them got to the legacy news outlets, at least.

"Scrub anything from Malice Media, and full hack on TimeGem Moments if you can do it." That takes care of all four of the big social media companies, where most of the world now gets their news. "I want no record of the shooting or of Alana after she posted."

"Not a problem." He sounds assured, just like I require him to be. "Anything else?"

I try to shift my weight but I'm still throbbing and fighting the urge to wake her up to force that sound of pleasure from her when she's conscious. Justice drives onto my property and the vehicle jostles us as he maneuvers over the bridge. "Yes. What is Mathias Beaumont up to right now?"

Kaz finds the info faster than I expect. "He's at home but his men are fanning out over the city looking for . . . Alana." The tempo speeds up. "Do you need me to find her?"

"No. Just keep an eye on Mathias as well as the Sokolov brothers. Check in hourly. If you have time on your hands, search the world to find anybody researching uses for alexandrite. Look for somebody new." I end the call. Now that we're on my property, my body finally relaxes. I look up to see the turrets glowing, maybe not with a welcome light but a familiar one. "Call Mrs. Pendrake and have her send clothes for Alana," I say to Justice.

"Got it." Justice stops the vehicle at the front door.

I open my door and slide out, carrying the woman with me. She feels light and defenseless in my arms, and beast that I am, I want her even more. Two days ago, I would have bet my entire fortune that such a thing was not possible. I was wrong. I curve my body to protect her from the rain and stalk inside, nodding at the guards and striding up the curved staircase to what I suppose is the guest bedroom. It has never been used.

Flicking on the light, I take in the king-sized bed with ivory bedspread. The room is decidedly feminine. Apparently my decorator expected a woman or two to visit. I pull back the heavy coverlet and gently lay her down, waiting for her to awaken.

She does not.

Instead, she mumbles and curls onto her side, facing me. Her skirt rides up and her blood-soaked halter rides down. The tops of her breasts are full and flawless. I blink and then catch sight of her ridiculous heels.

It's a miracle she was able to get to the storage room.

I don't want to leave her in those, and I need to touch her. Silently, I drop to my haunches and reach for one strap, releasing it and sliding the shoe away. My fingers brush the smooth skin of her ankle, and we both groan.

Jerking, I look up to see her eyes still shut and her mouth partly open.

I'm quicker with the second shoe, and then I stand, pulling the bedcovers tight to her neck. I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle. Is it her perfume or shampoo? Or is it just her? Whatever it is, the scent is made for me. Just for me.

So I turn and walk out of the room, glancing at my watch with its garnet crystals. It's time to go draw blood to gain answers. The woman may sleep peacefully tonight.

Tomorrow will come soon enough.