Page 100 of Judge's Mercy

Judge shakes his head that’s tilted up to the sky. “Fuck me.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re standing here yammering on and on.” I lean over and smack his ass. “Let’s do as they say and ‘save a Harley, ride a biker.’”

He rolls his eyes, putting on his own helmet. “That’s stupid.”

“I saw it on a T-shirt. I thought it was cute.”

“You don’t think anything is cute,” he deadpans.

“I’ve changed,” I argue. “Now when I flip someone off, I smile while I’m doing it.”

“Quite the improvement.” He throws his leg over the bike and kicks up the side stand. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Always.”

The engine springs to life with a deafening roar, and I hold tight to my biker, knowing that even though the road before us is full of twists and turns we can’t predict, we’ll make it through together.

EPILOGUE

MYLA

“This is fucking disgusting!” I shout to no one because I’m in the bathroom alone, but it makes me feel better to scream at my club brothers for having bad aim.

Keeping my toilet water hands far from my face, I wipe the hair from my eyes with my upper arm, catching sight of my scar from when I got shot. The skin is thin and pink, while the area around it is raised and puckered. It’s big and ugly, but I don’t hate it because it’s a constant reminder to be smart.

I toss the nasty piss rag into the bucket and yank off the latex gloves I’m wearing with a snap. After disposing of them and washing my hands, I leave the bathroom wondering how much longer I’ll be on bathroom duty. I’ve been a prospect for six months now—six long months of scrubbing toilets, getting the guys a beer whenever they asked, even if I just sat down with my own. I’ve hand-washed more bikes than I count and done every other menial chore they can think of. Even fucking Tigger, who patched in three months ago, is having a grand old time bossing me around.

I’m forced to swallow my pride every single day—something that’s very difficult for a self-proclaimed bitch—but at the same time, I’ve never been happier. Being a member of the Sons gives me a sense of safety and provides me with the community I’ve missed since leaving the church.

“Myla?” Judge calls down the hallway.

“I’m coming,” I say, flipping off the light and nearly running into the man of my dreams. “Hey, handsome.”

“You ’bout done?”

“Just finished. Why? Does someone need me to wipe their ass or something?”

He chuckles, but it’s half-hearted. Something is bothering him. “No. I just want to get you home.”

“Oh yeah? How come?” I ask, feeling him out.

“Because I haven’t seen you all day, and tonight we have that party here, so I won’t see much of you then either.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward the back door. “How was your day?”

“Not bad. I spent most of the day at Dope. Now that spring is almost here, we’re planning how much seed we’re going to plant and clone. I can’t wait to see how it’s done.” I get giddy just thinking about seeing all the little marijuana babies I’ll make.

“Who would’ve thought you’d have such a green thumb?”

“I know, right? But I love it more than any other job I’ve tried.” I think about all my failed attempts at employment.

After only two weeks of working as a receptionist at the Garage, Cy fired me, citing my lack of customer service skills. But I stand by my decision to throat-punch that asshole who tried to mansplain his fuel system issue to me. I confidently suggested it might just be a filter replacement he needed, but he scoffed and dismissed me, saying bike repair wasn’t a woman’s job. Little did he know, I’d seen the same issue a few weeks prior. He refused to believe me, so I went ahead and made him the expensive appointment with a mechanic. Turns out, I was right, and he ended up paying for parts and labor for a filter change. Of course, he tried to argue and dodge payment, but a quick tap on the throat settled that. Whatever.

Judge fired me after I tried to take on some of the paperwork to get his nonprofit off the ground. I loved his idea to turn the church into a real resource center for at-risk and unhoused teens and really did want to help, but sitting at a desk all day was not a good time. I need to move my body in order to feel productive, so I was grouchy and picked fights with Judge constantly until he finally told me to kick rocks, except he was nice about it because he’s Judge.

I was also let go from my job as Tinleigh’s personal assistant for her new makeup artist company that has kept her too busy to handle the administrative side of the business. She needed someone who’d do exactly what she said, and I thought her instructions were more of a suggestion I could improve upon. After the sting of rejection faded, I recognized it was for the best. My sister and I have improved our relationship significantly in the past six months, and working together would have jeopardized all that progress.

Since Mary won’t allow me back at the ranch, that left only one place: Dope. It was a blessing in disguise, though, because I love everything about it. Bones has taught me all about the medicinal qualities of marijuana, and I even found a strain that helps with my migraines, an ailment I’ve just accepted is part of my life now. Actually, there isn’t an aspect of Dope I don’t enjoy. I love experimenting with new recipes for edibles, and I even love working with the plants in our outdoor grow space as well as the grow house.

“I’m glad.” He holds the door open for me, and we step out into the late winter’s day. The temperature is barely above freezing, but the sun is shining bright.

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