Page 44 of Judge's Mercy

My legs drop, and his cock slips out of me, leaving a cold emptiness behind. The desire to cling to him dissolves into pure disgust, and I want nothing more than for him to go. It doesn’t make sense, even to me. How is it a bad thing that I’m learning to feel happiness again? But in my broken mind, it’s as though if I’m not consumed by anger, then I’m somehow absolving those monsters of what they did to me. As if my fleeting moment of joy could ever justify their heinous actions.

It scares me to be happy.

“Tell me, beautiful, please.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. It’s such a sweet gesture that the tears I’d been holding back burst free.

“I don’t even know,” I say in all honesty.

“There has to be a reason. You were happy, you were laughing, and then something changed. What was it?”

My lower lip quivers with the realization. “I laughed.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I haven’t laughed since it happened, not in any real way. I forced myself to laugh when it was socially expected, mostly for my sister’s sake, but it was fake.”

“You’re gonna have to break it down for me because I don’t see the issue.”

I shove him off me. “I need you to go now.”

“Myla,” he says, pushing off me with confusion written all over him. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand. You just have to go.” I’m not ready to let go of this anger and if I spend any more time with Judge, that’s exactly what’ll happen. If I don’t even the score before I heal, I’ll end up resenting him.

“I won’t leave you, but I’ll give you space.” He moves to tuck his shirt in and do up his pants but quickly realizes they’re wet with a whole cocktail of body fluids and leaves the fly undone. “I’ll be in the living room when you want to talk. And Myla, we will talk.”

“Just go.” I sniffle and draw my knees up to my chest, not caring about the mess between my legs.

His expression is worse than wounded. He looks shattered, like I’ve crushed his heart into a million pieces. A surge of self-loathing washes over me, but I push it aside and harden my jaw. The hate consumes me, unleashing all the demons that reside in the dark corners of my mind. They are my constant companions, always there to torment and haunt me—the devils I know so well, whispering their poisonous words and reminding me of my darkest moment.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JUDGE

Iwake with a start, confused about where I am. Rubbing my blurry eyes, it all comes back to me. I’m at Myla’s apartment after a night of sex that ended with her becoming emotional. Not the result I was hoping for but I know the tears had nothing to do with me. Not really.

Yawning, I glance at my phone and groan, cursing my damn internal clock. I didn’t get to sleep until nearly four in the morning, which means I only got two hours of sleep. My mind goes right to coffee, and I toss off the only blanket I could find last night, which was some furry decorative thing hanging on the back of the couch. It’s six inches too short to cover me, and the backing is plastic, so it did little to keep me warm.

I don’t have to search to find what I’m looking for this time, and it’s not long before the machine is sputtering. Inhaling the rich aroma, my attention is pulled away by the creak of Myla’s bedroom door opening. I hold my breath, not knowing what to expect; the sexy, open, and free woman I fucked, or the confused, despondent one I was sent away from.

Wanting to feel her out before speaking, I keep my back to the kitchen, pretending to find the brew coming from the machine fascinating. Her bare feet barely make a sound, but I feel her approach, stopping short, clearly not expecting me to still be here.

She gasps. “Oh my god, Judge. Your back.”

All the blood drains from my face, hell, from my entire body. Or at least that’s what it feels like. I took my clothes off and threw them in the wash after I left Myla’s room. I managed to stay awake long enough to get them in the dryer, but I must’ve fallen asleep before I could redress, and the two fucking hours of sleep did nothing to keep my mind sharp.

Fuck me, how did I not realize I was standing in her kitchen in only my underwear?

Frozen in place, I close my eyes as the scars from each lashing come to life and burn under her scrutiny. My mouth goes dry and my stomach turns, not knowing how to explain this away. I can’t tell her they’re all from when I was a kid because some are still scabbed over.

She’ll never understand. No one can. Oh, god. What if she tells someone? What if she tells Cy or Rigger? There’s no way they’d trust me after that. Who wants to confide in someone whose demons are bigger than yours?

I can barely feel her cold hands through the scar tissue as they tentatively rest on my shoulder blades. Though it’s been some time since I’ve allowed myself to look at them in a mirror, I have a good idea of what she sees. Long, thick stripes of fibrous tissue, some white and flat against my skin, others red and raised. There are too many to count, and it no doubt looks grotesque.

“Don’t,” I say, shrugging off her touch.

“What happened to you?”

Too ashamed to face her, I swallow hard, wondering how to explain it. If they were all old injuries, it would be easy; I could tell her about the abuse I suffered throughout my childhood and teenage years, but she’s not stupid. It’s obvious some of the scars are fresh.

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