Page 88 of Judge's Mercy

Iwake up alone again. Two weeks have gone by since I rescued Myla, and it’s been radio silent between her and me. If she has a new phone number, I don’t know it, and no one has offered it to me. If I wanted to, I could bang on her door until she eventually answered, but what would I say? I’m no closer to accepting her risking her life every weekend than I was before. It just doesn’t sit right in my soul.

For all I know, she’s already out there doing just that. Her arm probably isn’t fully healed, but the rest of her must be on its way to normal. I try not to think about it, though. I’m having a hard enough time sleeping without worrying about what she’s getting herself into.

Getting out of bed, I pad to the bathroom and do my business before making my way to the kitchen for some coffee. As it brews, I wonder if I could just wait her out and keep my distance while she takes care of what she feels she needs to do. Then, when she’s done, we can try again.

I shake my head while I grab a mug. That’s a stupid idea. If I expect her to accept my darkness, then how can I not accept hers? It’s not fair. She deserves someone who will support her no matter what.

Willing the pot to percolate faster, I stretch, the tight scarring on my back only allowing me to reach so far above my head. The coffee reaches the four mark, meaning it’s only halfway done.

My phone vibrates on the counter, and I see that it’s Rigger calling. “What’s up?”

“Not a lot. Just called to tell you church is in an hour, and you’re required to attend this one.”

My hackles rise, wondering what this is about, but I know better than to ask. “Okay.”

“See you then.”

Hanging the phone up, I stare at it for a long time. Ever since Cy told the ranking members about what I’ve been doing, things have been tense. Not because I think they suddenly dislike me. More because they don’t know how to talk to me anymore. It’s left us in this weird place.

The awkwardness could be my fault since I don’t know what I’m doing at the clubhouse anymore. Sure, I still have my talks most mornings with Tinleigh, and to my surprise, Sugar, Jenson, and Golden have joined in when they can, making it feel like a Bible study. Though Tinleigh and Jenson have mentioned an interest in learning more about the Qur’an, the Gita, and other sacred books, so maybe it’s just friends learning about religion together.

The coffee maker dings, bringing me out of my thoughts, and I can’t yank the pot off the warmer fast enough. I burn my tongue on the first sip, but fuck if I don’t need the caffeine. My nights have been riddled with dreams and nightmares in equal measure. One night, I’ll have the most beautiful dreams of what a life with Myla might look like, then the next, I’ll be tied up and forced to watch men do horrible things to her while I’m unable to help. It’s a crapshoot which one will pop up, and last night was horrific. I woke up at three in the morning, sweating and scared. After that, I couldn’t fall back asleep, so now I’m exhausted.

I bring my mug into the shower with me, setting it on a built-in shelf before turning on the hot water. As I wash my body, I try to keep my mind off why I was specifically called into church. Maybe I’m reading too much into it and there’s a benign reason my presence has been requested.

After soaping up my hands, I wash my nether regions, not surprised when my cock doesn’t even twitch at the stimulus. Without a reason for self-flagellation and without Myla around, it appears he doesn’t feel the need to bother. Not that I’ve really tried. Depression has hit me something fierce, and until I figure out how to dig myself out of it, I guess this is my new normal.

I take my time drying off and pop into the kitchen for a refill before getting dressed. Setting my pressed black button-down on the bed next to my collar, I don’t feel the normal importance of wearing either one. I’m not the club’s spiritual leader anymore, and to wear it would feel wrong. I never should’ve put it on in the first place, but at the time, I was young and trying to look the part. After that, it just became part of an armor I hoped would protect my soul from the sins of my brothers. It was stupid, really.

Sticking the shirt back in my closet and tossing the flimsy plastic collar insert in a drawer, I opt for a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans instead. After tying back my hair, I glance over at my cut, wondering if there’s any point in wearing that either. Everything it used to represent to me is gone, and I’m not sure how to get it back.

Picking up the leather vest, I run my fingers over the patch with my name on it. What used to be bright white with black lettering is now a dingy gray with fraying strings from years of riding, the same as the SOE patch on the back. I hold it up, remembering how the polished black leather gleamed in the sunlight, announcing how green I was. I couldn’t wait for it to be worn in with cracks, the color faded from the sun. Funny how something that was so important then means shit to me now.

There’s an ominous cloud hanging over me, and I can’t shake the feeling that my life is about to change as I chug down my third cup of coffee before walking along the path to the clubhouse. That feeling doesn’t change when I walk through the back door and the mood is somber. If Bones was with me, he’d say the room has a black energy.

Dutch and Golden give me a chin lift as I pass by the bar where Sugar is serving up coffee and donuts. If they notice my change in dress, they don’t say anything. Ahead, I spot Cy and Rigger at a table, leaning in close and talking, probably about me. Cy spots me, and they relax in their chairs.

“Hey, bro. How’s it going?” Rigger asks.

“Good.” I rub my hands together. “Everyone here?”

“Looks like. I guess we should get started.” Cy stands, setting everyone else in motion, filing into the room where all the club’s business is done.

The room is medium-sized with no windows. A long table with a copper top and wooden legs takes up the center of the room, and in the middle of it is a metal SOE emblem one of the friends of the club fabricated and welded for us. Pushed into the table are black leather executive chairs that quickly fill up as everyone files in.

“Sit up here,” Cy says, pointing to the chair next to him. “That way, I won’t have to shout.”

That confirms this meeting is about me. As I sit down, my tongue feels too big for my mouth and my chest tightens to the point of pain. If I didn’t have enough childhood trauma to know this is anxiety, I’d think I was having a heart attack. I don’t let it show, though. My posture is relaxed as I scroll through my phone, acting like I’m not freaking the fuck out.

Men don’t leave the Sons of Erebus—not on good terms, at least. Most recently, the Royal Bastards, who were our rivals for a time, exposed our newly elected president as a liar and a murderer. He’s no longer with us, but we have a much better relationship with the Bastards.

Of course, there have been cases where a brother leaves on good terms, but when he does, he has to turn in his colors, including his tattoo. The options for that are to black the whole thing out or burn it off, neither of which sounds like fun. My knee bounces as the last of my brothers settle into their chair, and Cy starts the meeting.

“There’s been a shift in the club, and even though we all know why, it hasn’t been talked about while we’ve all been in the same room.” He sets his big, tattooed arm on the table and turns toward me. “We’ve all noticed you haven’t been happy since you told me about your whole flagellation thing. Is that fair?”

“Sure. That’s fair,” I mutter as I stare at the table, hoping my face isn’t red like an embarrassed child. What I do, what I did, was personal, and talking about it in such an open way, in front of all the people who mean something to me, is embarrassing and strangely emasculating. I’ll have to unpack that later.

“I want to start out by saying we don’t want you to leave the club.” A roar of fists pounding on the table in support cuts Cy off. He holds up his hands to regain control. “We also don’t want you to be fuckin’ miserable after you’ve done so much for us. The problem is, we have a law in place that says once you’re a Son, you’re always a Son. Any exception has to be taken to the founding chapter and approved.”

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