Page 4 of Judge's Mercy

His brow quirks. “You want your job back at the ranch?”

“No. Something else.”

“You’re really making me work for it, huh?”

I shrug. “Sorry. I just know how the club will react when they find out, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“Thought you knew me well enough to know I form my own opinions.” He unscrews the water bottle and takes a couple of big gulps that have his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. What even is an Adam’s apple anyway, and why is his sexy?

“If I tell you, you have to keep it to yourself. I haven’t even told Tinleigh yet.”

He traces an X over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“I want to work in security. Not physical security, for obvious reasons. I want to be the one who runs the background checks and watches for problems.”

He studies me in a way that makes me squirm uncomfortably. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he could read my mind. I work hard to convince everyone around me that I’m fine, and I think I pull it off. . . except when I’m with Judge, and I hate him for it.

“Seems like a fun job.”

“I guess. It’s more that I need something to keep me busy. I’m not good at the whole life of leisure thing.” I gaze out the front window that has a view of the parking lot; it’s better than looking into his crystal blue eyes.

He rests his ankle on his opposite knee, sighing. “As a man of leisure, I suggest giving it another shot. Sometimes, the best way to heal your soul is by giving yourself time to breathe.”

From what little information Tinleigh has given me about Judge, he doesn’t have a job. His position with the club is more need-based, something of a spiritual leader. While I doubt it’s easy helping someone struggling with the lifestyle the club leads, I don’t think he’s called on daily or maybe even weekly, which means he also has a lot of time on his hands.

“Is that what you’re doing? Healing your soul?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re really making me work for it, huh?” I repeat his earlier words back to him.

He chuckles, and it’s throaty and deep, the kind of sound that used to make me melt. “My soul is plenty healed, but if I want to keep it that way, I need time to recharge. That way, when shit hits the fan, I’m ready. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I guess. But that’s not me. I don’t do well when I’m not busy.”

“Fair enough. So you get this job, then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to spend your life running social security numbers and staring at a computer screen?”

I shrug. “It’s good enough for Lucky and Rigger.”

“You don’t really think working security is what feeds their souls, do you?”

“What do you mean?” I rub at my temples, feeling a headache coming on.

“Owning the Honey Pot, the Garage, and Dope is important but only because it gives them what they’re really after—freedom, a life where they don’t have to answer to anyone. The businesses are just a means to an end.”

“I don’t know. Bones seems to really love his weed shop.”

He laughs. “I guess you got me there.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I want. I just need to move forward, and I can’t do that standing still.” I blink, the headache intensifying by the minute.

“You okay?”

“Just a headache.”

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