Nodding my head, I force my lips to curve into a smile. I’ve mastered this smile by now, so well that Judge can’t even tell it’s not real.
“Go let the others know so we can welcome him back. He’s going to have a lot of work to put in.”
He gives me his orders, and I know I should listen. At the same time, I don’t want to leave him alone.
“The list—”
“It’s nothing,” he promises as he forces himself back. “They wanted you to give it to me, that’s all. Now it’s out of your hands, so don’t worry about it anymore.”
I’m going to keep worrying, because that’s what I do.
Nodding my head, I turn toward the door. Moving without much thought, I pause when he calls my name.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” His brows pinch together. “It won’t happen again.”
My smile becomes hesitant. “We all get scary sometimes. You’re human.” Opening the door, I swallow hard. “Don’t stay cooped up here all day. Eat some lunch, will you? I’ll throw something together.”
Hoping to leave him feeling a little better, it’s the soft sound of a curse leaving his lips that gets closed behind the door as I force my usual smile back onto my face.
Everything is going to be okay. It has to be.
3
Judge
There was a time I found it irritating, the way Ripper shadowed me like a loyal dog. Now, the silence he leaves behind is a damn nuisance. Hunting him down isn’t the worst part; it’s the gnawing void it creates, the loneliness it presents.
I don’t linger in the bar long with my search. Not with the twin sisters standing side by side, a united front that feels impossible to approach. Penelope needs space after our… conversation.
What is she telling Raven? Probably not the truth. One thing I know about Pen is that she hoards her worries like bullets, never wanting her sister to load up on her account.
And Raven? She’s the most protective creature I’ve ever met. If she knew I was the one who made Penelope’s breath hitch with panic, she’d carve the apology out of my hide.
Either way, I’m already twisted up enough on the inside. I’d hand her a gun instead of a knife.
My VP is nowhere in the common areas, so I head toward the hall of rooms used by the members. The air is still and quiet, the kind of silence that feels like a held breath. Until I reach Ripper’s door.
My knuckles are an inch from the wood when I hear it—a low, masculine rumble followed by a feminine gasp that dissolves into a soft, giggling moan. The sound doesn’t just stop me; it seeps through my veins.
Fucking hell. They’re still going at it?
A bitter taste floods my mouth. The image forms, unbidden and unwanted. Ripper, tangled in his old lady, nothing but skin and satisfaction. Nothing is holding him back from enjoying himself with the woman he calls his own.
The jealousy floods instantly, making me even more agitated. It fuels the hammer of my fist against the door, the blow sharp enough to splinter the quiet. The gasp from the other side is satisfying, a tiny retaliation.
“We need to chat.” I don’t wait for a response. Pulling back, I storm toward his favorite spot, the one we use when it’s just us brothers. The air in the lounge is thick with the smell of old leather and stale cigarette smoke. I can’t sit. Pacing the carpeted floor, I try to keep my mind clear, but it’s a losing battle. It keeps snagging on the woman I almost made cry.
Ripper takes five damn minutes to join me. When he does, his entire appearance is thrown together—shirt untucked, hair a mess—but he wears it like a crown. A relaxed, sated grin plays on his lips, and his eyes hold a warmth I haven’t felt in years. He’s radiant, glowing with the kind of peace that comes from a claim staked and honored.
While I’m scowling in the shadows, he’s standing in utter, uncomplicated bliss.
Good for him, I guess.
Throwing himself against the couch, he watches my frantic pacing like a hawk. The springs groan in protest, a sound swallowed by the thick tension. “Something happened.”
Obviously. The word is a bitter pill on my tongue, but I swallow it. My silence is confirmation enough.
“I need to hit something.” The thought escapes, raw and honest.
