Page 51 of Judge's Mercy

I blink away the tears threatening to spill out. “Thank you, and I will.”

“Bye, Myla. It was good catching up,” Jenson says with a wave.

“You—” A hiccup stops me from finishing my sentence, and thankfully, they think it’s because I’m going to puke, not break apart into a million pieces because I’ve never felt more alone.

“Go, go!” Tinleigh waves me off, looking concerned.

I dash out the door, grateful the first tear waits until I reach fresh air to fall. Brushing it away, I speedwalk over to my bike and cringe when I hear Judge calling after me. I swear to whatever power is out there that if this man doesn’t leave me the hell alone, I’ll put his name on my list just so I don’t have to deal with him anymore.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

JUDGE

“Myla, wait,” I call after her, jogging over because I know she definitely won’t wait.

I couldn’t help but hear the conversation between Jenson, Tinleigh, and Myla from where I was sitting at the bar. Before she even ran out, I knew Tinleigh’s news wouldn’t go over well. Myla likes to pretend that she’s an intentional island, that she doesn’t need anyone, but it’s all bravado, and surely hearing that the closest person to her is committing herself to another human being will bring up some big feelings.

“I know I say I don’t want to deal with you almost every single day, but I really mean it right now, Judge.” Her voice cracks as she grabs her dome and plops it on her head, not bothering to do the straps before straddling the bike. She starts the engine and throws it in gear, but the bike stalls. She tries again and again, her anger and frustration growing each time. I could tell her it’s because her side stand is down, something she’d realize if she took a minute to breathe, but I don’t say shit. It’s too dangerous for her to be on the road when she’s this agitated. Tipping her head back, she screams, “Fuuuuuuck!”

“Calm the hell down.” I realize my mistake the second the words are out. Never in the history of stupid ass things men say has telling a woman to calm down been helpful.

“Calm down?” She climbs off the bike, a murderous look in her eyes. Black mascara tints the liquid sadness falling down her cheeks, and her body is vibrating with so many different emotions I doubt she could name them all. “You can’t possibly understand what I’m going through right now and you want me to calm down?”

I pin her with a look that says, “Oh, really?” and she falters, but this isn’t about me, so I let her have the win. “You’re right. I can’t. But I’ve seen too many accidents happen because the rider wasn’t thinking clearly, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t stop you from making the same mistake.”

She glances from me to the clubhouse. “I can’t be here right now.”

I don’t let anyone into my cabin. It’s my sacred space with no expectations because the only problems I deal with are my own, but like every other area of my life, the thought of Myla being there doesn’t bother me. “You can hang out at my place for a while?” I didn’t mean for it to be a question, but it comes out that way.

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” She sets her helmet on the seat of her Harley and follows me through the side yard and into the trees where the cabins are.

Our feet crunch on the gravel path, birds sing from where they’re perched above us, and the muffled voices of my brothers and their women can be heard, but we’re silent. Myla, because she’s a mixed ball of emotions, and me, because I wonder what she’ll think about my home.

“I wasn’t expecting company?—”

“Shut up, Judge. You’ve seen my place with bloody clothes on the floor; I doubt it’s worse than that.”

I hum as I type a series of numbers into the lock before swinging the door open and motioning for her to enter. If I’m not seeing things, I think I catch a glimpse of nervousness as she passes, or maybe I’m projecting my feelings onto her. I don’t fucking know.

“Wait, let me flip on the lights so you don’t trip over something.” I reach for the switch, and in seconds, my living room is bathed in a soft glow. A lot of my brothers cleared trees around their cabins so it wasn’t so damn dark inside, but Riot and I chose not to, so our homes don’t get much sunlight.

Myla takes a minute to untie her boots and step out of them before beginning a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the room. Her face remains blank as she takes it all in, which makes me twitchy, but I hold back all the excuses of why it looks like an eighty-year-old grandma decorated for me.

“It’s homey. I like it,” she finally says, fingering the crocheted afghan tossed over the back of my floral couch.

“Thanks.”

“Except for this.” She stands in front of my altar, crossing her arms as if to protect herself from it. I can’t blame her. Religious trauma tends to do that to a person. “What the fuck is all this? Jesus Christ, did you clear out the religious section of every thrift store from here to Southern California?”

Her words are harsh, but I know it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her lived experience. “I’ve been collecting things for years now.” I stand next to her, remembering where each cross, picture, plaque, statue, and candle was purchased.

“I don’t know how you can still believe as much as you do after what happened to you.”

“The church didn’t happen to me, a person did. I won’t lie and say I have all the answers, but I feel”—I place my hand on my heart—“like there’s something bigger than us somewhere out there.”

She lets out a heavy sigh, and her eyes slowly drift downward, lingering on the spot where my flogger is hidden. My stomach churns with anxiety as I watch her hand inch closer to it. The thought of exposing this vulnerable part of myself to her makes my heart pound erratically in my chest. Every instinct tells me to push her away because being told something and seeing it are two different things, but I refuse to let fear win. There’s no point.

“Is this it?” She palms the woven handle with one hand while the other fingers the braided thongs. Something that has caused me so much pain looks less menacing in her grip. My anxiety dies a sudden death, replaced by arousal, because Myla looks damn sexy as she wields it like she has some experience.

---