Page 33 of Judge's Mercy

“You could just not drink it,” I suggest.

“Always so pragmatic.” She gets up to grab a carton of flavored creamer from the fridge.

“Is that a bad thing?” I set both our coffees on the table and sit across from her.

“No, but it makes me feel immature or stupid that I’m led by my emotions.”

I frown. “That’s how I come across to you?”

“Sometimes.” She sips her coffee, her face pinching in disgust. “Acquired taste, my ass.”

“I’m sorry I make you feel that way.”

“It’s fine.”

“It takes all kinds of people to make the world a beautiful place, and it would be short-sighted of me not to make you feel appreciated for the person you are.”

“And that.” She points a finger at me. “That’s such a perfect thing to say. I can’t despise you when you say shit like that.”

“Why do you want to despise me?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Because right now, all I want is to be left alone in my bubble of anger, but you make it so goddamn hard.”

“By saying you want to be angry ‘right now,’ it implies you won’t want to be in the future. Am I understanding you right?”

She releases a guttural growl of frustration, her voice dripping with desperation. “Yes! Of course I want to be happy someday, but those men took a part of my soul I can’t get back. You could never understand what it feels like.” Her hands gesture wildly, and her voice drips with bitterness and anger. “Every thought leads me back to that day. When I get in the shower, I’m reminded of how difficult it was to scrub the dried-on cum off my tits. When I eat, I remember the men chucking the crusts of their sandwiches at me like I was garbage. When I’m in my car, I see the scratch marks on the dash as I fought not to be abducted. So yes, I’m on the brink of insanity, but I think I’ve earned it.” Her eyes flash with intensity as she speaks, her body trembling with unbridled emotion.

Her anger is palpable. I can’t imagine living with that much darkness. It must eat her up. Where are my perfect answers now?

“You do.” I reach across the table and take her hand. She stares at where we’re joined like it’s a shackle and not a comfort, so I pull away. “It doesn’t change the fact that I need to know what happened last night.”

Her jaw clenches and her teeth grind together as her knee bounces uncontrollably. Seeing her wound so tight has me feeling queasy, and I hastily push my coffee away. The gravity of what she’s about to say weighs heavy between us, and I sense a change in the air—one that could jeopardize my loyalty to the club, the only family I’ve ever known. Then there’s Myla, the woman who has become an integral part of my life. She deserves my loyalty just as much as the club, but how will I choose between them?

“I killed someone last night,” she whispers.

I’m not surprised by those words. I assumed as much, so my tone remains even. “Who?”

“Remember that list you found?” she asks, and I nod. I already had that puzzle piece on the board; I just hadn’t figured out how it fit. “That was a list of men the Honey Pot has rejected services to.”

“Bad men.” It’s not a question. I learned first-hand about the type of men the ranch turns away the day Myla had her freak out.

“Yeah. Bad men.” She picks at a loose strip of rattan that’s come loose on her coaster.

“The reason you asked for a job at the ranch was so you could print a list of men you know are pieces of shit, huh?”

She nods. “I had to know for a fact that they deserved to be punished, and I knew the guys wouldn’t flag them if they weren’t certain.”

“I’m guessing you bought the bike and asked Rigger to help you learn to ride because you needed a fast getaway vehicle?”

“Yes.”

“Last night must’ve been the first time you’ve taken a life. Do you want to tell me about it?” I ask, knowing her confession will make her feel a little better, even though it’ll make me feel worse. It’s another transfer of guilt from her to me, but I’ll carry that weight, just like I do for my brothers.

“His name is. . . was. . . Eric Lindquist, some big shot attorney with connections to a bunch of judges. When his computer came up during a child pornography investigation, his laptop was seized. He was arrested but never charged, and he walked away without anyone knowing what a disgusting piece of shit he is.”

My breath catches. The phantom pain of skin peeling off my back nearly suffocates me because Eric Lindquist’s sins are too closely related to what happened to me. I know all too well how damaging it is for the innocence of a child to be taken from them long before they’re ready.

“Men who hurt children are the worst of them all.”

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