Page 55 of Judge's Mercy

“Then why do you look so sad?”

His voice quiets. “I’m not.”

“Judge—”

“If you’re not going to leave, then I need you to do one more thing for me. Think you can handle it?” His hand falls to his side as he faces me fully.

My stomach bottoms out because I instantly know what he’s going to ask and the thought has me taking a huge step back. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You said you have training and that you’ve done it before. The only training I had was what he did to me, so I thought if I didn’t break the skin and bleed for my sins, it didn’t count. But maybe you can do what you did at the ranch, and it would be enough. I won’t have to bleed.”

“That’s different. What I did was a pre-arranged scene with someone; it wasn’t real life. Those men wanted a power exchange, not to be punished.”

“The reason doesn’t matter. Please, Myla. I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I’ll end up with an injury I can’t come back from. I already have spinal pain, and at some point, there will be too much scar tissue to heal and I’ll get an infection. I need to see if there’s another way to repent.”

I grip his shoulders, giving him a firm shake to wake him the hell up. “You don’t deserve a punishment for getting a little kinky in the bedroom. The reason you like it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” His jaw sets in a firm line. There’s no getting through to him. Had he received some kind of therapy when he finally got away, maybe his mind could’ve been retrained, but it’s been too many years. His lower lip trembles, and saliva collects in the corners of his mouth, breaking the heart I didn’t think I had. “Please?”

Everything in me screams that I’ve done enough damage for one day, but the thought of Judge flogging himself and ripping his already tender skin open kills me. At least if I did it, he wouldn’t be injured. I could make him feel it without making him bleed, and if his mind can accept that as the punishment he thinks he deserves, then I’d be doing him a kindness.

“On one condition,” I say through the spread fingers covering my nose and mouth. His brows lift. “You have to come with me when I tell the club about the list?—”

“I was already going to.”

“I wasn’t done. You have to come with me, and you have to tell them about all this.” I motion in his general direction.

The pained expression is back with a vengeance. “I can’t.”

“Then I can’t.” I release my hold on him and scan the floor, finding my shorts. Still no underwear, but it won’t be the first time I’ve gone commando.

“Fine. I’ll tell them.”

I fold my arms over my chest, shorts hanging from my hand. “I mean it. You’ve been carrying this around for too long, and those assholes deserve to know what they’ve done to you.”

“It’s not their fault.”

“Like hell. Maybe without their confessions, you still would’ve felt the need to hurt yourself, but not as often.” He doesn’t even try to argue with me because he knows I’m right. “Exactly. I’ll meet you in the other room after I take a shower.”

I don’t wait for a response before I move to the en-suite and close the door. If I’m really going to do this, I need a minute to get my head right. Running the water as hot as I can stand, I step under the spray, letting it hit me right in the face. It burns, and I’ll resemble a tomato when I get out, but I don’t give a shit.

Once I’m certain I’ve melted the makeup off my face, I rest my forehead on the cool tile. How do I get myself into these situations? My entire upbringing set me up to have the most boring life possible, and I was ready to accept my fate. I didn’t like to rock the boat or disappoint people, so I did whatever was asked of me. That meant when I turned eighteen, I would marry a returned missionary, pump out some kids, and spend the rest of my life regretting my decisions like every other woman I knew at the time.

Then Tinleigh had to go and give us a way out. I haven’t had a boring day since.

Scanning the built-in cubby, I find a generic bar of soap, an all-in-one shampoo/conditioner hybrid, and a bottle of the same soap I used to clean blood off my hands. I choose the bar of soap, and while I wash, I think about how many times Judge has stood in this very place after a session that left him bleeding and alone.

My chest burns with yet another emotion I thought I turned off—empathy. Day after day, Judge is taking away my only purpose in life by making me human again. If he succeeds, I’ll have nothing and no one left. The women at the Honey Pot, who I thought were friends, never call me because I’m not part of their world anymore. The minute I moved out of the clubhouse, the Sons all but forgot about me, and my sister is getting married. The only person in my life is a fuck buddy who’s almost as mentally unstable as I am, and the only reason he’s in my life is because he won’t take a hint.

When I can’t stall for time anymore, I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel, Judge’s towel, but I figure after what we’ve done together, sharing this is nothing. I prefer to make mistakes with clothes on, so I rummage through Judge’s drawers, talking to myself. “Underwear, socks, a gun safe—interesting place for it, but okay. Ribbed tanks. Bingo.” The third drawer down has neat rows of folded T-shirts. I find a white one with the SOE skull printed on it and slip it on. Though it hangs to mid-thigh, it’s not as baggy as I’d like. Judge is taller than me, but he’s not big and broad, so his shirts are a medium long.

Oh well. It’s not like he hasn’t seen my nipples before.

Taking a deep breath and steeling my spine, I open his bedroom door and step into the kitchen. From here, it’s a straight line to his creepy altar. Even knowing I’ll find him there, nothing could’ve prepared me for what I see.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JUDGE

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