Page 17 of Judge's Mercy

“You always have a choice.” I bypass Golden, and with careful, slow steps, I walk into the room.

“Get out.” The words are a rumble, coming from a place low in Myla’s chest. She’s sitting on the floor next to a simple teacher-type desk. Her short black hair forms a curtain around her face and she’s rocking back and forth. The red satin dress she has on is pulled up over her hips, and her knees are drawn to her chest. From where I’m standing, I can’t be sure she has on panties, but I do see her shapely legs and a bare hip. My notice isn’t sexual; I’m simply memorizing how this man made my girl feel so I can kick his motherfucking teeth in.

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” I swallow my anger, knowing she needs me calm—until I notice a pool of blood on the floor next to her. “You bleedin’?”

“It’s not mine,” she chokes out through sobs.

“That’s real good.” Well, shit. Maybe she can take care of herself after all. “Keep talkin’ to me.”

“He deserved it. They all deserve it.”

I take two more steps, bringing me to within arm’s length of her. Crouching, I scan her body more closely, looking for any outward signs of injury. Not that it matters; wounds on the outside heal much quicker than ones on the inside.

“What’d he do?”

“I told him no marks. We agreed.”

“Where’re the marks?” I ask. “Can you show me?”

Her head turns, and through the fluorescent lighting that matches what might be in a real classroom environment, the pink and purple bruise on her cheek glows.

“Fuck.” I glance over my shoulder, meeting Golden’s gaze. “What happened to him?”

“I wanted to beat the shit out of him, but when Myla. . . well, when she flipped, there was too much going on all at once. Mary thought it best to just kick his ass out. Not that she had to try hard to get him to leave.” He nods toward Myla. “She broke his nose.”

“He wanted his money back, but I refused. I sent Dutch to follow him and make sure he got gone,” Mary says.

That explains why Golden is here alone. Rigger is insistent on having multiple brothers here at all times. A lot of good it did in this situation, though.

Turning back to Myla, I inch a little closer, hoping I can convince her to get the hell out of here. I don’t care if this is bad business. I’m more worried about getting her somewhere she can relax and feel safe.

“Listen, Myla. I’m ready to get out of here. You wanna come with me?” I ask.

“I can’t.”

“You can, and I’ll help.”

She rests her forehead on her knees, still rocking. I give her a minute to think, but after watching the hands of the clock on the wall make a full rotation, I’m convinced she’s not going to answer and that I need to come up with a new game plan.

“I fucked up, Judge. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I thought if I became Fiona, Myla’s problems wouldn’t matter,” she says, her tone pitching high. “The old me would’ve been able to handle it. I would’ve seen he was going too far and reeled him back in. But then it happened, and I just lost it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re as weak as your deepest wound, and your wounds are as deep as they come, sweetheart.”

“You probably feel pretty vindicated right now, huh?”

I cock my head. “How do you figure?”

“You’ve been following me around, just waiting for this to happen.” She sniffles. “Now it has.”

“You’ve got me all wrong.” I lower my head. “Well, I guess you’re right in that I knew you would break, though I’m not so sure that’s what this is. But there’s no feeling of vindication. I just wanted to be there to help so you didn’t have to go through it alone.”

As if just realizing she’s nearly naked sitting on the floor in a brothel, everything in her comes to attention. Her posture straightens, her legs extend, and her eyes go wide. “I gotta get out of here.”

“Can I help with that? I don’t think you’re in any state to drive.”

“I’m fine, Judge.” She falters as she stands. I go to place a hand on her elbow and steady her, but she jerks away. I wouldn’t expect anything less, but when her wobbly legs threaten to give out on her, I’m done playing her tough girl games.

“It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help. It’s a show of strength that you’re brave enough to be vulnerable.” I remove my cut and set it down on the desk before lifting her into my arms.

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