Page 95 of Judge's Mercy

“Oh yeah. I still have a little healing to do, but I can hold on to you just fine.”

Thinking about her pressed to my back for one last ride seems too good to be true, so I don’t waste time shoving my stuff in my saddlebags. After straddling the bike, I hold a hand out to help her on. She’s scowling at the new leather bags as if they’ve offended her, but when she sees my hand, she’s quick to shake it off and hop on.

Does she not want me to go? Would I stay if she asked me to?

After getting our helmets on, her arms go around me, one hand resting over my heart as she squeezes me tighter than needed for a ride. This is a hug. I set my hand over hers and close my eyes, taking a minute to just be here with her. Our breaths sync, my mind clears, and my soul feels at ease for the first time in a long time. I don’t know what she has planned or what will happen after that, but I push away all worry so I can simply enjoy each minute with the love of my life, no matter how this ends.

Eventually, her hold loosens, and the moment is over, but before she can move her hand, I turn it over and place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“Where to?” I ask.

“1800 Geiger Grade Road.”

I know the general area, so I start my bike, and we take off. Even though I know she’s comfortable on a bike, she keeps her front pressed against my back as much as the helmets allow. Surely, if she was just coming to say goodbye, she’d keep her distance, right? Or maybe she wants to memorize how it feels for when we’re not together. We’ve spent too much time apart for me to get a read on her.

The ride is over too quickly as I pull into a parking lot. In the twenty minutes it took us to get here, the sun has risen enough to shine morning light, and confusion sets in, because why are we here? The single-story house with a cross-gabled roof has survived the commercial change in this neighborhood that was once filled with houses just like it. Well, it mostly made it through because it’s not a house anymore; it’s a church.

A large white cross is affixed to the siding, and two more crosses are on the white, wooden, side-by-side entrance doors. Myla wants to go to church with me before I leave? There’s no way. This isn’t even the kind of church I would go to, let alone her. I prefer something more Unitarian and inclusive—if I even wanted to go church, which I don’t. Especially right now.

Once our helmets are off, Myla grabs my hand, a big smile on her face as she tugs me forward. “Come on.”

“Myla, I don’t?—”

“Trust me?” There’s not a trace of darkness in her big blue eyes, despite everything she’s been through. I admire that about her. She could’ve easily turned into someone like Riot, who exudes no light.

“Always,” I say.

“Good. Now come on.”

I catch up to her but keep her hand in mine, taking advantage of the fact that she’s allowing it simply because she wants me to follow her into this building. Maybe that’s wrong of me, but I don’t care.

We reach the front door, and I take in all the usual signage of a church: the time of their services, an All are Welcome poster, and a Jesus Loves You placard. I notice Thursday mornings at the butt crack of dawn is not one of the times they worship, confusing me even more.

Myla digs through her pocket, the tight fit of her jeans and the ridiculously small size of the pocket making it challenging. I watch, no idea what she could be searching for.

“Ah-ha!” She pulls out a silver keyring with a dull brass key attached. I open my mouth to ask her what the hell is going on, but she holds a finger to my lips, cutting me off. “Before you say anything, I need you to hear me out. Okay?” My interest in whatever this is has me nodding in agreement, which makes her smile. “Good.”

She walks in first once the door is unlocked and I follow. It’s dark inside, too dark for me to see much, as Myla pats the walls, looking for a light switch. Fluorescent lights bathe the entryway. To my left is another set of side-by-side wooden doors stained red oak. There’s a room to my right with a closed door and straight ahead is an open space with a living room feel. There are two green velvet sofas facing each other and a couple leather chairs on each end with a coffee table in the middle. On the white walls are large paintings of Jesus and various crucifixes, and tightly woven beige carpeting covers on the floor throughout.

“I don’t get it,” I say, turning to Myla, who’s watching me explore.

“When Cy came to ask me to prospect, I asked him how you were. I’d been avoiding asking anyone about you because I knew they’d tell me something that’d douse my anger, and I wanted to be angry. I wanted to stew in my misery and not care about anything or anyone. Until Cy told me you suggested I prospect.” Her fingers reverently trace over her patch. “He didn’t tell me why, but I knew it was you trying to keep me safe.”

“It’s all I ever wanted for you.”

“And just like that, my anger simmered, and I realized it wasn’t even you I was angry at. I was angry at myself for getting caught and, in turn, putting myself in a situation I couldn’t control. You were just a scapegoat. I mean, yes, I was mad that you left me at a very vulnerable moment, but that was secondary.”

“I’m sorry, Myla. You’re right. I shouldn’t have left so soon after you were hurt, and especially not right after we admitted our feelings to each other. I should’ve dropped the subject and waited until things had calmed down to discuss it again,” I say.

“And I’m sorry I shut you out.” She peers up at me through her lashes, and I can’t help it. I close the distance between us and cradle her face in my hands, stopping just inches from her lips.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and I kiss her hard and fast.

Her hands slip under my shirt and run up and down my back. I don’t even feel the need to pull away because even though the skin is marred and ugly, she touches me like I’m perfect.

Our lips meld together until I don’t know where she ends and I begin as I weave my fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and close my hands into fists. My desperation for her is showing, but I can’t hold it in. I slip my tongue through her parted lips, tasting her, and fuck, does she taste good.

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