Page 21 of Judge's Mercy

My insides churn. He’s right about all of it. Of course he is. I just don’t want to admit it because if I did, I’d also have to admit that they made me part of their family and that I owe them my loyalty, if nothing else. I have enough guilt festering inside me; I don’t need to add to it knowing that none of them would approve of what I’m about to do. It’s better to break ties now.

Tinleigh’s face pops into my head like an annoying gnat I can’t shake. She would be devastated if she heard how I was treating the Vice President of the club and Lucky’s best friend. We may not be seeing eye to eye right now, but she’s all I have in this world, so I have to turn this around for her sake.

“I’m sorry, okay?” I throw my arms to the side. “You’re right. I’ve been a royal cunt to the whole club for no reason, and I’m really sorry.”

My words hang between us as he decides whether to believe me. I need the Sons not to hover around me, but I also need to not piss them off. There has to be a middle ground somewhere, at least until I work through my demons.

“Tell me why you want the bike.” He holds up a finger before I spew another lie. “And tell the truth this time.”

I need an agile escape vehicle so I can flee the scene after murdering the creeps who get rightfully rejected from the ranch. Since I can’t say that, I go for another partial truth. “I need to feel something again, and I think having a bike might do that for me.”

Sighing, he walks back over to me. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue.”

“Hop off. Learning to ride starts with knowing about your machine.”

For the next three hours, Rigger teaches me everything I need to know about the bike. By the time I take my practice from the parking lot to the street, I attract a crowd. Cyrus, the president of the MC who also owns the Garage, and a few of his employees stand by as I start the bike up. The attention makes my nerves flare to life, but I block them out. I need to focus so I don’t tip, something I’ve almost done numerous times already. It was embarrassing enough with only Rigger around to witness it. Now that half the shop is watching, I’d never be able to show my face around here again if I went down.

“Nice and easy,” Rigger shouts, looking like the proud older brother I never had.

Blowing out a breath, I lift the bike and straighten the tire before putting up the side stand. I flip the run stop switch, which turns on my electrical system, before pulling in the clutch lever on the left side and pressing the starter button on the right. The engine roars to life, and the power vibrates between my legs, making my heart race. Squeezing the lever with my left hand, I shift down with my foot and look at the path ahead of me. All I have to do is drive to the open gate and turn right, then I’ll be on the open road. That’s easy enough, right?

Slowly letting out the clutch and rolling the throttle forward, the bike moves and I swallow hard. I mouth the words, “I can do this,” over and over until I’m up and moving. My turn from the lot isn’t the smoothest, but I’ll get the hang of it. The second I’m on the deserted road, I breathe a sigh of relief. I did it, and I didn’t humiliate myself in the process.

A bubble of laughter bursts free as I shift into higher gears, increasing my speed. I get it now. The adrenaline running through me is addictive, and I’m already looking forward to the next time I can ride. The thrill is almost enough to make me forget about everything—almost— because in the back of my mind, the most impressive thing about this bike is that it’s less recognizable than my car and a hell of a lot faster. The gear I’m wearing works in my favor too, all black leather and a bulky helmet that will hide my identity if anyone happens to see me.

Yes, riding is fun, but it’s just a means to an end.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JUDGE

Spotting Rigger at the bar next to Lucky, I tamp down my anger and make my way over to them. Despite our fight earlier this week, I went by Myla’s place this morning and noticed that a black Harley was in her assigned parking spot, with her Mini Cooper in a different spot. At first, I thought she had someone over, and even knowing what I might find, I knocked on her door with my heart in my throat.

Any negativity melted away when she opened the door with squinted, glossy eyes and a pinched expression. Recognizing it for what it was—another migraine—I helped her back inside and took care of her again. I know the only reason she allowed me in was because she was in too much agony to fight, but I still took pride in massaging her scalp and performing Reiki on her.

That’s how I found out that the bike doesn’t belong to some random fucker. It belongs to her. Knowing that didn’t lighten my mood any because why the hell does she need a bike? And why the hell did Rigger help her with it? All her actions lately tell me she’s unhinged and looking for danger. So once she was settled and resting, I left her to confront my VP.

“Hey, Judge. How’s it?” Rigger’s smile is broad, but when he sees my expression, the curves of his mouth flatten to a straight line, and he goes on alert. “What’s wrong?”

“Myla,” I deadpan.

Lucky jumps to his feet, assuming his friend is in trouble. “What happened?”

“She’s fine.” I glance at Lucky before returning my attention to Rigger. “Can you tell me why you thought it was a good idea for her to get a bike?”

His unease fades, and he claps a hand on my shoulder. His touch is too close to my secrets, so I shrug him off. With narrowed eyes, he lowers his hand. “She was gonna buy one with or without my help. Figured it was better I made sure she didn’t get ripped off.”

“You helped Myla buy a ride?” Lucky chimes in.

Rigger places both elbows on the bar, caging his bottle of beer. “I don’t know what the big fuckin’ deal is. I did her a favor.”

Lucky scoffs, stepping back and covering his face before tugging on the ends of his beard. “Fuck me, bro. Do you have any idea how pissed Tinny will be when she finds out?”

“Ain’t got nothin’ to do with her,” Rigger mumbles.

“I’m pretending I never heard this conversation.” He plugs his ears and, like the man-child he is, sings as he walks away. “La, la, la.”

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