Page 92 of Judge's Mercy

I hold out my cut. “If me joining means he leaves, I don’t want it.”

“He chose that before this was considered. Actually, he’s the one who put the idea in my head.”

“He recommended me to join the club? Why would he do that?” Then it becomes so crystal clear, and isn’t it just like him to pull a stunt like this? “He wants me to have backup when I finish my list, huh?”

“That was the stipulation I mentioned earlier. You can’t finish that list alone. You’re just a prospect, but you’re a Son unless you prove you can’t hack it, and one of the rules we won’t be changing is that you never go into a fight alone.”

“That infuriating, controlling, smothering, genius, beautiful man,” I whisper, holding the leather to my chest and breathing in the scent. It’s not the same as how Judge’s smells, like the life it’s lived—fresh air, blood, sweat, tears, and that artificial pine from his soap. This one smells new, unsullied, just like this fresh start he’s giving me.

“Sounds like you have some stuff to work out that I don’t need to be here for.”

I roll my eyes before thinking better of it because he’s now in charge of me. “Sorry.”

“I hope I don’t regret this.”

“Can I ask one more thing? Do you know where Judge is right now?”

“I imagine he’s packing.”

“Packing for what?” My heart, which had just been skipping a beat, now stutters.

“He’s taking a solo ride. Letting the road take him where it wants him to go for a while.”

“Oh.” I give him a sad smile.

“All right, I guess we’re doing this,” Cy says to himself, sitting back down. Wrinkles form mountains on his forehead as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Judge, well, I think he’s feeling a bit lost right now. I’m not real good with words or emotions, but I think that’s the best way to describe it. He’s hurtin’, and when a man who’s supposed to be the person who helps others with their hurt is now the one sufferin’, his pride takes a hit, you know? Then, whatever happened between you two. . .” His face contorts awkwardly as he searches for the right word. “Well, whatever happened, happened, and I think that fucked with his head too. So, yeah. He’s lost.”

My chest squeezes painfully, and my throat constricts. Despite trying to hold my emotions in, my voice hitches when I ask, “Will he be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. He knows he always has a home here with us.” He clears his throat. as if he’s struggling too. “On a more personal note, I’ve always thought of Judge like a little brother?—”

“He said you felt like his dad,” I say with a small smile.

“I’m not that fuckin’ old,” he scoffs. “I’ve always thought of Judge like a little brother. The day I met him in that church, hand to God, I thought he was sent to me. I was kind of in the same place as Judge is now: lost. . . and confused.” His forehead smooths, and his eyes nearly twinkle. “Then he came and sat by me, listened to me even when he had no fuckin’ clue what the hell I was talkin’ about. The advice he gave me was from some book he’d read. He told me I need to do what’s right, not what’s easy.”

“That sounds like him.”

“That quote has helped me get to where I am right now. It’s helped get the club to where it’s at too. Judge”—it’s quiet as he searches for the right word—“doesn’t understand his gift, doesn’t understand his power. He’s like a sponge, soaking up information from everywhere and everyone he can. Then, when dumbasses like me need help figuring their shit out, he finds exactly what you need to hear from that wealth of knowledge, helping us in ways he’ll never understand. I don’t know if that made any fuckin’ sense.”

“It did. I know what you mean. It’s one of the things I love about him.”

He peers at me through his periphery. “He loves you too, darlin’. You know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Slapping his hands on his thighs and pushing to stand, he says, “Well, that’s enough mushy shit to last me a month. Char’ll be pissed I used it all up on Judge.”

“Thanks, Prez.” I test it out, chucking him on the shoulder. He glares down at where my fist landed, and I wince. “Yeah, it didn’t feel right for me either.”

“I’ll send Tigger back in,” he says, walking out the door.

Once he’s gone, I hold my cut—MY CUT—back up and smile, though the honor has been tainted with the news about Judge. My anger faded with each word Cy spoke, and now I’m just really sad. Really fucking sad. I don’t want him to leave, not even for a day, let alone indefinitely. I just wish he could find his place. It’s like Cy said, he has so much to offer.

There’s no doubt being the club’s priest wasn’t good for him. Their sins were too big, too hard on his soft soul. He needs to be in a place where the worst people do to each other is cheat or steal. Judge is so used to murder and violence that those offenses won’t even be a blip on his radar.

“Oh my god. I know what he needs to do,” I say out loud.

“What?” Tigger asks, walking inside at just the right minute to hear me talking to myself.

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