Page 5 of Judge's Mercy

“You get those often?” he asks, taking my water from me and setting it on the coffee table.

“No.” It’s a lie. I’ve had one nearly every day since the incident. Bones, who is also a doctor, warned me this might happen given the extent of my concussion. The light streaming in from the windows feels like it’s burning my eyes, so I get up to close them before staggering back to the sofa, resting my head in my hands and massaging my temples.

“Where do you keep your washcloths?”

“What?” The question is so random, and the pain is so severe that I can’t quite think straight.

“Never mind.”

My stomach turns sour as the pain spreads down my neck, making my shoulders tense. Fuck, this one came on fast. Usually I have time to take one of the pain pills Bones prescribed, but the orange bottle is in my room, and I don’t think I can walk that far.

“Sit up and open your mouth, sweetheart,” Judge whispers, and I feel the sofa dip down next to me.

I don’t have the wherewithal to question him, so I do as he says. The bitter taste of a pill hits my tastebuds before I feel a plastic bottle rest on my lower lip. He tips it back, dribbling a small amount of water into my mouth, and I swallow, not caring what he gave me. He could feed me arsenic right now and I’d gladly accept it in the hopes of dying, because surely that would be better than this.

Warm hands rest on my shoulders and guide me backward until I’m lying down, and my hands are gently pulled away from my head, replaced by something cold and damp. God, the cool relief feels good. It feels even better when Judge snakes his fingers into my hair and gently massages my scalp, simultaneously threading my hair between his fingers. I groan at the reprieve. How did he know?

After fifteen minutes, I realize he must’ve given me one of Bones’ pills because the pain begins to subside and drowsiness kicks in, a side effect I’m familiar with. I should tell Judge he can leave before I doze off, but that would mean stopping this massage. That seems like a terrible idea, so I don’t.

I’ll kick him out when I wake up.

CHAPTER TWO

JUDGE

Myla’s breaths slow, and her body relaxes further into me. Good, she’s asleep. I’ve never seen someone become overtaken by pain so quickly. Thankfully, after being around Bones for so many years, I had a decent idea about what she needed, and I was grateful she didn’t fight me through any of it, not even when I lowered her head onto my lap. I should’ve offered her a pillow, but the need to keep touching her was too great.

Reluctantly, I stop massaging to flip the washcloth to the cold side, and she stirs, whimpering softly. My chest tightens at the pathetic sound, and I quickly return to massaging her scalp. Her brows are pinched, even in sleep, and I wonder if it’s from pain or her haunting memories.

I try my best to conceal my fascination with her whenever we’re together, stealing only quick glances in her direction. But now that she’s asleep, I can’t help but take in every detail of her stunning face. Without her usual scowl, she looks even more youthful, which only amplifies my guilt. I’m old enough to be her father, yet I can barely contain my desire to kiss her slightly parted lips. She’d be disgusted if she learned of my attraction to her.

My pocket vibrates, giving me a much-needed distraction, and I slowly work my phone free. Tinleigh’s name flashes across the screen, and I hover my thumb over the green button. I don’t want to wake Myla, but I know better than to ignore her sister, so I accept the call and wedge the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can keep massaging.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“How’s it going?” Tinleigh asks, also in a hushed voice.

“Good. I’m with Myla.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“I’m whispering because Myla had one of those post-concussive headaches. I gave her a pain pill that knocked her out and don’t want to wake her. I have no idea why you’re whispering.”

“Oh, right,” she says at a normal volume. “A headache, huh? Is it bad?”

“I guess. We were just talking, and next thing I knew, she was barely lucid.”

“Shit.”

“I think she’s okay now, but I don’t want to leave until she wakes up and I know she’s okay.”

“Want me to come take over?”

“No.” My words come out sharp, almost aggressive, surprising even myself. I refuse to leave this apartment until I know Myla is okay. The thought of leaving her in someone else’s hands when she’s in such a fragile state fills me with dread. I don’t even trust her sister to take care of her properly.

“Okay,” Tinleigh draws out, clearly confused. “Did she say anything before all this happened?”

“I’m not your spy.” I’m quick to remind her, because I set clear boundaries before I agreed to watch over her sister. If Myla opens up to me, it’ll be in strict confidence, and I won’t break her trust; that’s not the kind of man I am.

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