Page 91 of Judge's Mercy

“I just want to be able to live with myself.”

“And once you’re done with the list?” One salt-and-pepper eyebrow lifts, and I get why his wife must’ve fallen for him. It’s not just the commanding presence and stoic persona; the man is a zaddy. Char must keep him in check because that eyebrow has been trimmed, his beard lines are sharp, and that haircut isn’t from the Dollar Cuts.

I sigh. “I’ve been so hyper-focused on the list, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thick thighs. His weathered and calloused fingers weave together as he studies me once again. I remain impassive, not allowing him to intimidate me. It’s good practice for when I’m healed enough to pick things back up. His head tilts to the side, as if he’s trying to envision something.

“I want to sponsor you,” he finally says, though I hear the hesitation.

“For what?”

“The club.”

My brows lift, and I turn my head slightly, as if putting my ear closer to his words will clear things up. “I’m sorry?”

His lips twitch. “I want you to prospect for the Sons.”

I hear what he’s saying, but it’s not computing. Women aren’t allowed in the Sons. They have this whole bullshit patriarchy thing going on. “Are you starting like a powderpuff group?”

“No,” he says simply, as if he can’t tell if I need more explanation, because he can’t mean what I think he means. It’s impossible. There’s a big ass poster in the clubhouse that has all the rules, and “No Women” is one of them. Unless he’s changing that? For me? Why would he do that?

“You want me to prospect for the Sons of Erebus. As in, be in the club the same way Rigger and Lucky are?”

“No.” The hope that was beginning to bloom in my chest instantly deflates. “You have to prospect first, so I’m asking you to be in the club the way Tigger is.”

I grin, shocked as hell but also excited by the opportunity. “What about the rules?”

“Fuck ’em. They were written when my dad started the chapter. Times change; the rules should too.”

“Don’t you have to, like, vote on it or something?” I ask, waiting for the catch because there’s always a catch.

“Already did.” When he stands, he’s holding something that must’ve been tucked between his leg and my sofa. It’s shiny and black. It’s can’t be what I think it— “Welcome to the Sons, Myla.”

He tosses it to me. I hold it up, and sure as shit, the Sons of Erebus colors are on the back. Flipping it over, I don’t see any patches on the lapel. “Isn’t there supposed to be a patch with my name on it or something?”

“Patches are in the pocket. No one sews that shit on but the person they belong to. It’s an honor to put your rank and name on there, so treat it as such.” He walks toward the door.

I reach into the pocket and find two embroidered patches, one with my name on it and one that says “Prospect.” “Wait. I have so many questions.”

He folds his arms over his chest impatiently. “Like what?”

“Like, what do I do now?”

“You keep your fuckin’ phone on, and if someone calls you to do something, you fuckin’ do it with a smile on your face. Just because you’re a chick don’t mean we’ll go easy on you. If anything, we’ll be harder on you to see if you’ll break.”

I squeal. The high-pitched sound is so girly and inappropriate for this moment that I slap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”

This time, he does smile. At least, I think it’s a smile. It’s hard to tell because it’s a barely there upwards tilt at each corner of his mouth. “We know you’re a chick; you don’t need to hide it. And if we’ve learned one thing from Judge, it’s that you shouldn’t hide anything from us. We asked you because we want you. Speaking of, there’s a stipulation I forgot to add.”

I tuned out the second I heard Judge’s name because I was in such shock. I wasn’t even thinking about how this would affect him or even how hard it’d be to see him all the time. All my excitement dies because I don’t think I can do it. It would hurt too much. Plus, the club is all about trust, and Judge walked out when I needed him the most. How can I possibly trust him to be there for me?

“He’s leaving the club,” Cy says, as if reading my mind.

“What? Why?” For the second time in as many minutes, my entire world is rocked off its axis.

“He’s going nomad so he has some freedom. He’s got some shit to work out, but he’ll still be around.”

Something about the implication behind the word “nomad” hurts my heart. That’s the opposite of what Judge wants. He keeps hand-crocheted blankets around his house because he likes to pretend his grandma made them for him, for fuck’s sake. What about that sounds like he wants to be on his own? He wants family, he wants intimacy, he wants community. No, he doesn’t want all that; he needs it. Going nomad will break him.

---