“Judge is going to call a meeting once he comes back with Diesel. They’ll discuss what they’ll do, and after that, just pull him aside. Tell him what you told me, not the part about going to talk to that fuck. He won’t like it. Stick with the facts. He won’t be mad at you. If he is, I’ll give him a black eye.”
Her serious tone makes me laugh. I don’t know if that’s her goal, but her frown lessens.
I care about the man very much. The last thing I want is for my sister to go after him and risk us losing our home.
Nodding my head to her instructions, I force down this bad feeling in my gut and let her try to salvage whatever sleep she can get.
* * *
Hammer’s the first to make his appearance once their meeting wraps up, stealing away my excuse of a distraction. Then Ripper pulls Haven away.
Stacks needs whisky, stressed about whatever was discussed. Warden opts to join him.
Poor Diesel is still radiating with rage, and I can’t find the strength to meet his gaze. He fills in his prospects of what’s going on, and I hear Ghost’s name thrown around. Then, he drags Kansas out with him, hopefully going to the clinic to see Ruby.
Waiting for the doors to open again, my stomach clenches up when Raven appears. She’s exhausted, for good reason.
“Go find him.” She jerks her chin. “Now.”
She wants me to run right into the solid being of my anxiety instead of running away. Yeah, sure. I can do that.
Using my gelatin legs to carry me away from the bar, I leave the room and head toward the back. Assuming he’s still in the same room, I stop at the closed door.
He doesn’t like me coming inside. I’ve suggested sitting in on a meeting only once before, out of pure curiosity, and he shut me down before I could even finish the question.
My mouth pinches at the memory, a sour taste on my tongue. I lift my hand, the knock on the door too soft, too unsure. It’s the sound of an apology before a word is spoken, before I push it open.
He’s inside, a king slumped in a throne of his own making. The high-backed chair doesn’t hold him; he sinks into it,defeated by a weight only he can feel. His brows are drawn tight, and his focus is solely on the gavel resting on the table.
“Judge?” My voice is a fleeting whisper, a shadow of the confidence I long to possess. I take in the landscape of his face—the deep grooves of exhaustion, the shadows pooling beneath his eyes. He looks ravaged, a man pushed to the very edge of his own endurance.
The instinct to cup his face, to smooth the tension from his bearded cheeks with my thumbs, to draw the poison of his stress into my own body so he might breathe for just one moment grows strong.
He lifts his gaze.
A shiver, cold and sharp, traces the line of my spine. Our eyes meet, and I’m staring into darkness. His frown isn’t just an expression; it’s a barricade.
“I’m not in the right mindset right now, Pen.” The words are flat, but beneath them, I hear the low, dangerous hum of rage. “Can it wait?”
My heart plummets. He’s going to besomad. Raven doesn’t know what she’s talking about.
Shaking my head, I stir from the doorway, my body moving on a hope I no longer feel. “Can I come in?”
He grants me a grunt, a sound that is neither permission nor denial, but a dismissal of the question itself. It’s a risk, but I take it. I step inside and shut the door with painstaking care, terrified the softest click might be the spark that finally ignites him.
With Judge, he is always calculating, always deciding fates. What will mine be?
Each step toward him is a conscious effort. My fingers grow clammy, and my heart begins a frantic, traitorous rhythm against my ribs. This reaction—it’s the pulse of pure dread. But the only thing I’m truly afraid of is seeing that final flicker of belief he has in me extinguish forever.
Before Eliza Parsons got pulled into our club, this man was mine. Not in the way the world thinks, but in the secret, quiet ways that matter. He’d slip me a smile meant for my eyes only, a private crack in his formidable armor. He’d speak to me in a voice reserved for sacred spaces, a soft murmur against the barked orders he gave everyone else. Without ever meaning to, Judge made me feel special.
The man in that chair now isn’t the one who shared secret smiles. He’s the one who discovered me on the streets—guarded, smart, and cautious. And I am about to hand him a reason to see me as part of the problem he needs to solve.
Swallowing thickly, I step to him and reach into my pocket.
“Someone came into the club last night. I… I don’t remember what they looked like.” Fingers trembling, I pass him the paper. “I must’ve thought they were a prospect or something. I don’t know.”
He stares at the folds, his frown evening out into a flat line. “Last night?”
