Page 8 of Judge's Mercy

Tinleigh slaps him in the gut. “Stop it. Judge was just comforting me.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” His gaze shifts to concern as he cups Tinleigh’s cheek, encouraging her to look at him.

“Myla just stopped by, and she was. . . not herself.”

Suddenly feeling like the third wheel in a private conversation, I grab my phone and excuse myself. A pang of envy settles in my stomach like a heavy stone as I step outside and hop on my bike, determined to clear my mind with a ride. I remind myself that it’s just loneliness creeping in. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the touch of a woman, and seeing Rigger and Lucky happy in their relationships only magnifies that absence in my life.

Finding a willing partner to forget my problems with is not a challenge; there are plenty of women hanging around the clubhouse. However, most of them are drawn to the collar rather than me as a person. In my younger years, I didn’t mind when a woman asked me to fulfill her sexual fantasy of fucking a priest. In fact, it was easier for me because keeping my shirt on concealed what was hidden underneath. But now, at forty-two, I’m not interested in using my status to attract someone. I want something genuine.

The idea is almost laughable. Any woman in her right mind would run away screaming if they even got a glimpse at the man I am behind closed doors. It’s just not in the cards for me, and I need to come to terms with that. Besides, most of the time, solitude suits me.

When I left the clubhouse, I had no destination in mind, but I soon found myself one county over, taking the exit for the Honey Pot. It’s been open for months now, but I’m not sure how I feel about the club expanding into sex work, so I haven’t been out here yet. It’s not that I have a morality issue with the oldest profession in known history; it’s more that I think this line of work encourages cheating and depravity, two things I do take issue with.

However, now that I’m pulling through the iron gate, I’m realizing this place is much different than I thought. A large marble fountain sits out front, and though it’s of a nude woman, it’s tastefully done. I park in one of the marked spots for Sons and climb off my bike, trying to convince myself I don’t know why I’m here. It’s bullshit, though. I’ve never felt the urge to check this place out before Myla started working here, but now, I think my reasons are clear.

The lighting is dim, seductive music playing overhead, and a warm, musky scent fills my nostrils as I step into the parlor. There’s a comfortable lounge area to my left, a bar to my right, and directly ahead is a plexiglass-covered window where I can see Mary, one of the madams, sitting in front of a computer with her eyes glued to the screen. There are a couple guys at the bar, drinks in hand and scarcely dressed women hanging on their every word, but it’s otherwise unoccupied.

I rap my knuckles on the plexiglass, startling Mary. I’ve met her a few times at the clubhouse when she dropped by to talk to Rigger, but I don’t know her well enough to laugh at the way she jumps.

“My apologies,” I say.

“No, it’s fine. Sometimes, I get lost in paperwork and forget my own name, let alone where I’m at.” The older woman smiles. “What can I do for you, Judge?”

“I haven’t stopped by to check the place out yet, so I thought today was as good a day as any.”

“Sure, sure.” She pushes away from her desk. “My eyes could use a break anyway.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to disrupt you. I can call on one of my brothers to give me a tour.”

“Nonsense. They’re all busy puffing their chests, trying to impress the new girl with all their technical knowledge.”

My neck goes stiff. “Myla?”

“You know her?” She shakes her head, standing. “Of course you do. She’s Tinleigh’s twin.”

She disappears through a door and, seconds later, is standing in front of me, dressed in a black pantsuit with a silky top that shows off her assets.

“Who’s training her?” I ask.

“Satyr and Dutch. Rigger’ll be by later to see how she’s doing, but he had other shit to take care of first.”

“Satyr and Dutch, huh?” My voice betrays my true feelings toward the overly confident genius and the charming smooth-talker. I never had a chance with her anyway, but that doesn’t stop my irritation at them vying for Myla’s attention. The possessiveness I feel is a new emotion for me, and I’m not sure how to handle it. All I can hope for is that she doesn’t end up with one of my brothers so I won’t be constantly reminded of what could have been.

“Yeah.” She eyes me curiously. “It makes sense, since Satyr’s in charge of our background checks and Dutch pulls a lot of shifts here.”

Not wanting to explain myself anymore, I motion for her to go ahead. “Why don’t you show me around?”

CHAPTER THREE

MYLA

“Is any of this legal?” I ask, impressed by the amount of information they can pull from a driver’s license.

“None of it.” Satyr’s intelligent eyes narrow on me. “That gonna be an issue for you?”

This entire training session has felt like a test. I get it, though. They’re bringing an outsider into an illegal side of the business and are skeptical. Other brothels just have to trust they’re not sending their courtesans into a private space with a psychopath, but not the Honey Pot. The Sons run an extensive background check on anyone who wants the privilege of being with their girls. It’s why I felt comfortable working here. Sure, there’s no way to guarantee something bad won’t happen, and there have been a few incidents, but the Sons are always quick to respond and take care of any issue.

I huff. “Not even a little bit.”

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