Page 38 of Judge's Mercy

I’m consumed by a sick obsession, a twisted pull toward the woman I can’t seem to escape. Her mere presence renders me weak and exposed, two traits most would run away from, but I’ve learned to embrace painful vulnerability. There’s always something to gain from discomfort.

Minutes or maybe hours pass before I hear the unmistakable rumble of a Harley pulling in. I’ve long since given up meditating and instead turned my hyper-fixation on the woman I’m here to see. If I’m right about where she really was tonight, she might be in a bad place like she was last time. So does that mean I’m only here because I’m hoping to get laid or because I want to make sure she’s okay? Can both of them be true at the same time?

The sharp click-clack of Myla’s heels echoes through the stairwell, signaling her impending arrival. As she fiddles with the lock and enters the code, my heart races in my chest, a nervous lump forming in my throat. Myla’s always accusing me of being emotionless. But inwardly, I’m a tornado of feelings, constantly battling against the façade I must maintain for everyone else’s sake. I may not show it, but I feel everything deeply. It’s what drives me to continue absolving others of their sins, even as those same sins weigh on my soul and threaten to consume me.

The door opens, and Myla walks through with purpose, slamming it shut and locking it behind her. She makes it four more steps before freezing, sensing something’s off. I’m not sure why, but I don’t move or speak. Slowly, her hand lowers to her purse. I can see the vague outline of her with only the light above her oven lit, but since I’m on the opposite side of the space, I’m hidden in the dark.

“You should know I’m armed.” Her voice remains steady, making me proud.

I catch a glint from something metal and realize she has a knife. That’s good. She should be prepared for anything, but I don’t want a repeat of last time. I might not get as lucky. Her heels click on the linoleum that the kitchen and entryway share as she steps toward the living room. She must not like that the sound gives her away because she pauses to remove the shoes. They must’ve been very tall heels because she shrinks quite a few inches. Without seeing her profile or features, she could be mistaken for a child with how small she is.

“I have no problem killing a motherfucker, so I suggest leaving now.”

I stand, sending her back a step. “It’s just me, killer.”

“Judge? Jesus Christ, I almost stabbed you.” She walks over to the wall and flips a switch, bathing us in light. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She ducks her head, puts away the knife, then turns to the side before lifting her chin. It feels intentional, like there’s something on the other side of her face that she doesn’t want me to see. What the fuck? I charge toward her, tipping her chin up to take in the bruising around her eye and her split lip.

Knowing what I’ll find, I unzip her leather coat and push it down her arms, then tug off her long-sleeve Henley. Underneath is a sparkly blue dress that’s bunched around her waist. I pull that up and off, leaving her in a black strapless bra. Her arms are covered in streaks of dried blood, and there are red splatters on her chest. I’m equally disappointed and pissed.

She has on a pair of black leggings that I lower to the floor and have her step out of. She doesn’t fight me, though she looks extremely uncomfortable, but I don’t think it’s because she’s nearly naked in front of me. I think it’s more about me knowing another of her secrets. I set the Henley and leggings on the linoleum to be disposed of later and drape the leather coat over the couch.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You know what happened.”

“Who did this to you?” I pinch her chin and turn her head to the side, inspecting the injuries from all angles.

“A man.”

“Why?”

“We had a disagreement. He thought he should stay alive, and I thought he should die. He got a couple swings in, but ultimately, I won the argument.”

“That was so stupid, Myla. Your DNA is probably all over his hand.”

“I doubt it because he backhanded me, but I wiped him down just in case.” She sniffles and blots her nose with a knuckle. It makes no sense why she’s doing this to herself. It’s clear it upsets her to end a life, but for some reason, she’s forcing herself to keep going.

“You sure he’s dead?”

“I cut his carotid.” It’s barely a whisper as she wraps her arms around herself.

“Go take a shower, and I’ll get an ice pack.”

She nods and heads to her room. I sigh and walk in the opposite direction to her kitchen. As I search for a plastic bag, it strikes me how odd this life of mine is. The woman I’m falling in love with is almost to serial-killer status, and that’s the least interesting thing about her. Meanwhile, I’m treating it like an inconvenience. I’m more worried about her getting wounded or caught than I am about the victims. In the Torah, it says, “Do to him as he had conspired to do to his brother,” and everyone knows the Bible quote about “An eye for an eye,” so in my opinion, these men made their beds.

Once the ice packs have been procured, I wait for her on her bed. The bedroom lights are still out, but she didn’t close the bathroom door, making it easy to look around her room. There have been changes since the last time I was here. The light, airy vibe is gone, replaced by something much moodier. Any shade of purple or white has been taken over by deep jewel shades of green and blue. It perfectly fits the version of Myla I know.

The water turns off, and seconds later, she’s standing in front of the mirror, her hair wrapped in some sort of turban. She avoids her reflection as she rubs body oil over her arms and legs before allowing the towel to fall so she can access the rest of her. I take a moment to appreciate the view because when you see a body like hers, it’s impossible not to notice. My cock thickens as she rubs the oil over her breasts and ass, making them shine like beacons in the night.

The last time she killed, I used sex and a night in my arms to bring her back from the brink. Is that what she needs tonight? I want to believe that I have the strength to resist her, to protect us both from sinking deeper into this destructive cycle, but I’m powerless against her. We are the epitome of a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Yet even as my own self-preservation instincts scream at me to run, I can’t stand by while she loses herself to this thirst for vengeance. So I’ll stay by her side, sacrificing my well-being in a desperate attempt to save her from herself.

Before I can second guess it, I’m on my feet and behind her, squirting some of the jasmine-scented oil into my palm and rubbing it into her shoulders and back. Her muscles are knotted up tight, and again, I wonder what happened to her tonight. I will find out, but first, I need to take care of her.

“That feels so good,” she moans, her head lolling on her neck.

“Come lie down on your belly.” I take her hand, a couple towels, and the bottle of oil.

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