Page 71 of Judge's Mercy

Make money off me? Wait. Does he mean by doing what these other girls are doing? No. Absolutely not. Yanking my arm out of the woman’s hold, I jump to my feet, fighting against the dizziness and nausea. “I choose death.”

He pushes me down by my shoulders. “It’s not up to you.”

“I won’t do it. I’ll fight. I won’t ever back down,” I say through clenched teeth.

His eyes darken. “I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JUDGE

In Plato’s The Symposium, humans used to have two heads, four arms, and four legs. They were happy, whole, and, according to the gods, too powerful and ambitious. So Zeus stepped in and split all the humans in half, leaving them sad, lonely, and missing a piece of their souls.

Eventually, humans learned to live with the absence, but we’re all destined to spend the rest of our lives searching for our other half. It’d be sad if it was true because the world is a big place, and the chances of finding that other half would be minimal.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to get some sleep while Satyr digs through the list of names, but my mind won’t turn off. I’m a shell of a person, lonely and sad, desperately searching for the one who completes me. Even if Plato was full of shit, I still believe I’ve found my soul mate.

Damn it. Where is she? Is she safe? Is she in pain?

With an annoyed snarl, I get out of bed and push my feet back into my boots before sliding on my cut. Fuck this. I need to do something, to help in some way. Sitting around and twiddling my thumbs is driving me up the fucking wall. Even if riding around and looking for her is pointless, at least I’ll be busy.

Morning light hits my face when I step outside, the air already thick from what will surely be a scorcher. A distinct smell hits my nostrils, and I look over to see Riot on his porch, smoking. I didn’t see his face in the crowd when I explained what happened, so he must’ve ignored Lucky’s call. It doesn’t surprise me. He’s an anarchist at heart, and conformity isn’t his strong suit. Not that it is for any of us when it comes to the civilized world, but an MC is built on loyalty, and it’s hard to trust someone who’s never around and is so shut down.

“Hey,” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets.

“What’s going on over there?”

“It’s Myla. She’s missing.”

He flicks his cherry. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Satyr’s doing his computer magic, trying to find us a lead.”

He nods in approval, taking a deep drag before a thick plume of smoke surrounds him as he exhales and says, “Fuckin’ sucks she’s missing. I always did like that kid.”

“We’ll get her back.”

“Hope so. That bitch is crazy.” He grins. “And I like crazy.”

My hackles rise with his assessment of her. “She’s not crazy.”

“Sure. Okay.”

“She’s not.”

“It’s in her eyes.” He holds up his hands. “I’m not saying it’s bad. Just sayin’ she’s a little hellion. I think anyone who’s been through what she did will either shut down or get angry. The bitch chose angry.”

I scrub a hand down my face. “Can’t argue with you there.”

“If the reason she’s gone is because someone has her, angry is a good thing. Angry gives you the will to survive.”

“Speaking from experience?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Name one of us who doesn’t have that experience.”

An image of Father Kerrington flashes through my mind. “You’re right about that too.”

Stamping out his cig in the ashtray, he stretches before taking the two steps off his porch. Without another word, he takes his leave down the path to the parking lot.

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