Page 47 of Judge's Mercy

“You lived at a shelter?”

I nod. “For three years, until I was twenty-one. One day, I was working on rebuilding a pew when this man walked in. He was this big, scary lookin’ motherfucker with the most badass beard I’d ever seen. I kept an eye on him, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Just sat in the pew across from where I was working and started praying.”

“Cyrus?”

“Yep, though he wasn’t the president back then. I could tell he was upset, so I sat next to him and talked with him. By the time he left, he was asking me to come hang around the club.” Only now are the memories flashing through my mind pleasant ones. “The first time I went to the clubhouse was quite the experience. There was a party going on, and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.”

“I’ve heard stories about these parties, but I’ve never been. The club kept things low-key while I was there.”

“Yeah, well, you and Tinleigh were both recovering. I think the guys wanted to be respectful. The first night I was there, things were not respectful. I was intrigued and horrified at the same time, but Cy grouped me in on some conversations about shit the club was going through, and they must’ve liked what I had to say because two weeks later, I was prospecting.”

“They deserve to know.”

She may be correct, but it’s a possibility that will never come to fruition. My burden of guilt and remorse is mine to bear alone, and I’m not inclined to share it with anyone, except now with Myla. I’ve been hiding in plain sight for so long, it’s almost cathartic to open up to her. For the first time, someone truly knows me and understands the darkness within me. It brings a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of my existence that I wonder if I also bring to her.

Now that we’re in this together, I say the one thing that’ll stop her in her tracks. “Fine. I’ll tell them about me if you tell them about you.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MYLA

This guy thinks he’s real slick, and I guess he is because it works, and I back off. I can’t and won’t tell anyone about my nighttime activities. At least not until I’m done.

Dropping his hands, I walk away. “You’re an asshole.”

As I strip the sheets in my room, I hear the dryer door open and shut from the hallway. When I first walked into the kitchen and saw he hadn’t left, I didn’t notice the scars. All I saw was a drop-dead gorgeous man in his underwear. His shoulders are broad, and his hips are narrow, but he’s not bulky like Lucky. I’m a small person, both in stature and size, and I have no desire to appear even tinier by standing next to a giant man. I don’t know how Tinleigh isn’t crushed by Lucky each time they have sex.

Judge’s muscles are long and lean, from his calves to his forearms. He’s not overly hairy, just a smattering of chest hair between his pecs and a small patch of hair under his belly button that leads down to what I know is the best cock I’ve ever had, and his ass is perfectly round. If he put on a pair of dorky glasses, he’d be exactly my type.

Once I finished taking in the whole package, I started to notice the details, like the small rat’s nest on the back of his head from sleeping and the scars. Fuck me, the scars. The only thing I can compare it to is something like what a burn victim looks like. Every inch of his back has some degree of mutilation, leaving the skin lumpy and grotesque.

The anguish I initially felt soon turned to rage as Judge told me his truth. You have to be a sick and twisted son-of-a-bitch to do what that priest did, and knowing that the repercussions of the abuse have continued long after the bastard’s death is heartbreaking. Had he still been alive, his name would’ve gone to the top of my list.

“You know, the reason I stayed the night was to talk about what happened with you.”

My eyes shoot to the doorway where a now fully dressed Judge stands with his arms stretched above his head, gripping the top of the doorframe. Fuck me. Why does he have to be so goddamn sexy? He’s like catnip for my pussy. The second I see him, she gets all jumpy and excited, ready to play.

Thank God the alarm on my phone sounds, forcing my attention elsewhere and reminding me I have places to be. “You only have yourself to thank for that distraction, and I don’t have time to continue this conversation.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” I grab a pair of socks from a dresser drawer and shove my feet inside them.

“Okay. I can come back later.”

“Just drop it, Judge. I had a bad night. Women get emotional sometimes after sex, especially when you give them multiple, spine-curling orgasms.” I pat his chest as I walk past him. “Good job, by the way. Stellar performance.”

“That’s not what that was,” he says, though if I’m not mistaken, his chest is a little puffed up from the compliment as he follows me to the living room, his boots in hand.

“I had a moment, but I’m fine now.” I push my feet into my leather boots and lace them up.

“Seriously, where are you going?”

“The clubhouse. I have a brunch date with my sister.”

“That’s good. She misses you.”

“It was made under duress. She threatened to come here if I didn’t meet her, and it’s easier for me to leave there than getting her out of my apartment.”

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