Chapter 4
JUDGE
This place has too much fucking dust in the air after its first frost, every bite gritty.
I tilt my head back to the gray sky, catching the smallest fleck of a snowflake drifting down.
Already colder this year—just one more reason to lock down New Bunker, with its hidden crops buried safe beneath the earth.
It truly was only a matter of time before someone took them.
I’m doing them a favor, really, by getting it over with.
Soon, the mountains will close with snow, cutting off Titan unless he’s mad enough to plow those roads himself. No one with half a brain risks that anymore, not with how the wasteland winters bury everything in white.
He’s unfortunately just a fucking asshole, not an idiot. So I won’t waste the winters, and secure every border worth taking. The snow will buy me time, so I can hibernate within my thoughts as I mentally stare at the chessboard Titan and I are on.
An abnormally tall beta of mine, who also happens to be one of the old men left from an era before me, makes his way over.
His experience is evident in the gray, wiry streaks of his beard and deep wrinkled crow’s feet, his peppered hair hidden behind a black bandana.
He’s one of the few who actually know what he’s fucking doing, not just hotheaded and dangerous.
The skin surrounding his eyes is smudged black, and I’m surprised the ink hasn’t become a permanent stain by now.
The tattoo around his neck looks touched up, the skull with a single dagger through it on the left side indicating he’s got rank.
The other dagger would be what I have, and only one should have it in their skin at any given moment.
His limp is worse than it was two weeks ago. Something he hates to talk about, and needs injections for. His momentum to me is like an ocean’s wake that washes others over here, including a woman strutting up behind him like she’s stuck in his orbit, staring at me.
I’m quite fucking used to that, and don’t make eye contact. Instead, I deeply inhale as I absentmindedly rub my chin with my thumb, eyeing the rings on my fingers. The ones I’ve cut off of others and resized to fit.
Skinner, my direct right hand, looks over his shoulder at the pale brunette, who straightens out her jacket that’s unzipped enough to have her tits nearly hanging out.
As she opens her mouth to say something, Skinner rolls his eyes and faces her.
“Go on and find someone else to fuck you, doll. You know he ain’t going to,” Skinner says to the woman.
She obeys with lips that curl into a pout as she focuses on me before lowering her head and strutting away. Skinner drops into one of the completely mismatched chairs across from me, kicking one boot up with dirt on the bottom, resting it on a box of what looks like fruit.
My eyes follow the beta as she walks off, her hips trying too hard in case I might be watching.
She’s been circling me since the day she showed up two months ago.
Some alphas are whores to their instincts, and I’m not necessarily better.
I would be if people didn’t have an annoying instinct for drama, watching every movement of mine like I’m a fucking saint.
The only ones to remain for more than one night in my den have been omegas in heat, pleading for me to dig my teeth into their scent glands to mark them as my mate, their pussies leaking slick at each growl of mine, the plump softness of their cunts begging for me to knot deeply inside.
I only ever agree to fuck them into oblivion, never to bite.
My reason for abstaining from taking a mate is my own fucking business, and I don’t need any of these road dolls ever thinking they have a chance to be a frequenter of mine.
That’s just asking for shit to go wrong, because frequenters always know more than they should.
Still, as I let my gaze slide down to the beta’s ass, I wonder if she might serve a different purpose.
Drama has its uses. Sometimes it pays to light a match just to watch the sparks.
Could watch her pupils dilate as I tell her to get on her knees, and tell her she’s a good road doll for being so desperate to suck the cum right out of me.
I shift slightly, arching a brow as I’m liking that idea with each passing second.
“Heard a random ass omega was here,” Skinner comments.
A sigh leaves me, trying to refocus. “Desperate for suppressants, surprising no one.” I lean back, eyeing the walkway beyond the hanging bodies.
One sways as the other I stepped on still stands on his pedestal, too chicken shit to get it over with.
“Didn’t quite work out. She’s in containment now. Not very happy to be there.”
“Well, at least that one wasn’t hard to snuff out,” Skinner remarks.
Chemicals have fucked our bodies for too long, chemically castrating ourselves.
Getting rid of them for public consumption is one of the first steps to truly reclaim order to these wastes.
It will force people’s carnal instincts forward, revealing who is truly a predator and who has morals.
I want to stare at each person’s hard truth before restoring order.
Someone has to be the alpha and make the hard decisions that get it all done.
Half the time, an omega presents herself to us.
Those are the ones I fuck if I want to, unless she’s a scent match to someone among us.
Otherwise, a beta road doll gets the job done.
Their pussies just never smell or leak like a sweet omega’s does…
Either way, that omega we just took won’t go near me after today.
“Maybe we’ll get another scent match. Been on a lucky streak with those,” Skinner comments, as if reading where my mind was.
I shrug, rubbing my chin harder. “Maybe.”
People talk about the scent of an omega as if it’s just about sex. But it’s more. It's an instinctual recollection. Possession. A scent can carve through logic; I’ve seen the strongest alpha lose their ever-loving mind with just a whiff of the right one.
“We need to find a way to sniff out the other omegas that have to be out there,” Skinner says. “Before the ass-cunt Titan gets to them. He’s on the move as we speak.”
I shift my gaze to him. “What did you learn?”
“Red told me that Grim’s Reapers are pretty well rooted and won’t move much, which also means they aren’t going after Titan if he claims more land as long as it’s not too close to theirs.”
Fucking lovely. The other massive gangs—Grim’s Reapers, Bayou’s Maw—are finally molding into something permanent, like a massive tree overgrowing the rest and choking out the sunlight.
Which is why we’re here, because if we have to live under an amalgamation, it’ll be under my fucking reign. That’s something I’m even willing to die for. I’ll never bow to another alpha again.
It’s why we do what we do. Omegas drive it all—whoever can have the most mated pairs will have the strongest society, and there are more omegas out there. Hidden. Drugged. Masked. Broken down into something less than themselves.
Once we solidify New Bunker, we’ll move outward and continue claiming terrain until the snow locks us down, and when it all melts, we will have control over the trade routes here. Offer bounties—real ones—for any omega sighting.
Then remove the alpha that rules over the Bayou’s Maw.
Skinner looks up at the bodies, pointing with his forefinger. “So what happened here?”
“Got cocky,” I say, still lost in thought.
Skinner rises from his seat with a grunt, strutting over to the one still twitching at the end of the rope.
Skinner draws his dagger, the curved one with the black blade, and pokes the man in the side as blood blooms through his shirt.
The guy jerks to let out a strangled whimper.
“Too much of a pussy to kick this out?” Skinner wobbles the box the hanged man stands on.
The man lets out a raspy, miserable attempt at a scream.
Skinner’s not wrong—it’s the dead man’s own fault for suffering needlessly.
The brunette beta from earlier approaches again with Skinner occupied. She even kneels down on one knee. “If you need some company later, sir, I’m available,” she quickly offers, as if passing a note. “It was a long ride getting here. Might need to warm your bed later.”
“You’re always available,” I say without inflection. “It’s your role.”
She stiffens for a moment, but she is admittedly good at recovering. “Then let me do it.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Andrea.”
“I understand you’re desperate to choke on my cock, Andrea, but don’t approach me again,” I lazily say, rolling my gaze at her as she averts hers almost instinctively. “If I want to fuck you, I’ll let you know.”
There’s a tremble behind her eyes, something caught between hope and shame.
She almost protests. One wrong word, and I’ve got others that ensure the road dolls are kept in place.
I glance down at the tattoo on her neck, one of a skull without the jaw; someone vetted her and thought her safe enough to bring into our inner circle.
Her departure instills that whatever the fuck is wrong with our world is still alive. Violence and destruction have bred an entirely new set of humans that only answer to an equal force. Taming that side will take time and precision.
Society needs order to thrive.
I watch her as she goes back to her group, a popular male road doll taking her hand and speaking gently to her as he guides her over to Razor, one of the few female alphas in my ranks. She and Mauler always fight over the rarest male omega, if we ever find one.
Little Miss Andrea needs to learn that when I’m in the middle of my duty as the leader here, I get left alone unless it’s for business.
Only omegas ever get to interrupt an alpha to such a degree.
After I grind my teeth once more to feel even more fucking dirt in there, I stand, stretching my neck as my eyes sweep the exposed square while Skinner returns to his seat. This territory belongs to Dominion now.
To me.
Hozier’s shop still sits crooked across the lot, and I make my way over.
When I enter, the air is thick with the sour tinge of old medicine and smoke.
The few seeking business inside drop what they’re here for to give me space.
That’s the proper response. The old woman behind the counter lowers her head, voice already submissive. “Sir.”
“Who was in here earlier?” I ask. I still think back to the women on those stairs. Something about them caught my eye, like they weren’t supposed to be here. Probably in the way their eyes lacked a certain depth that living here forges.
“Two women. Trying to look like they belonged. Although I’m guessing you caught onto that or wouldn’t be asking.”
“What did they want?”
“Suppressants.”
Of course. Only two kinds of people buy those—omegas trying to disappear, or handlers helping them do it.
“What was their height?” I ask.
She hesitates, glancing up through her long eyebrows. “One was taller than usual, and the other was small.”
Omega, maybe.
“I’m giving you one chance to be honest with me, Hozier. Who were they?”
She actually hesitates, which tells me she’s got some loyalty to them. Then her thin lips press together as she bows her head. “I don’t know their names. They’re from the Enclave.”
Interesting… Do they need more? And why?
Who are they hiding? They get suppressants directly from us because they’re needed in those tightly controlled settings.
Dogma says the pile of suppressants we gave them raises no suspicions; they’re not picked at like someone’s taking extra.
“We grant them shipments of suppressants, in case you weren’t aware.
Why do they come to you, then? They’re not lacking. ”
“I don’t ask, sir Judge. They always pay well, so I gave them what they wanted—“ Her eyes widen in concern. “But I didn’t this time. I promise you. I don’t even have any in the shop, you can check around—”
“Next time that happens,” I interrupt, stepping closer so she can feel the weight of the words, “you flag one of us down. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” she stammers, bowing her head lower like she wishes she could crawl beneath the floor.
I scan the shelves, dust sitting on empty spaces.
We’ve been cutting the vein of this trade at the artery until they capitulated so we didn’t have to take it by force; I don’t like risking my men if I don’t have to.
Especially when it’s just not necessary.
“These shops will thrive again,” I comment, not addressing anyone in particular.
“If you know of any omegas, you know what to do. If you want these shelves stocked again, that is.”
I return to Skinner, the hanged man finally dangling and dead, his face completely blue. “Got some interesting information. There were two women in there asking for suppressants,” I comment to him. “They were from the Enclave.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I put it to you, Judge, you were right about banning those. It’s like gassing a house and locking all the windows. They gotta show themselves at some point.”
I cross my arms as I look around the place. “And revealing that the Enclave might be hiding a bunch of omegas.”
Skinner’s brows rise like he’s hardly shocked. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Their job is to protect.”
We’ve left them alone on purpose because they’re a neutral territory, one that, when I plan to take informal ownership of, it will be done in the same manner as New Bunker—no force needed. They will give themselves to me. I look at him. “What if I visit Freddie directly?”
Skinner looks almost sad at the suggestion. “Judge, that’s dangerous as fuck. You’re sounding like a desperate raider.”
“No, I’m an echo. I’ll live, and it gives me a chance to pay Freddie a visit.
Whatever injuries I get, the Enclave can heal.
Meanwhile, twelve dozen of you come to watch over me and scout the place.
Sniff out every corner. They won’t refuse it.
It’ll cut away any bitching that we’re taking them by force, too. Make it look like we need them.”
Hardened eyes look almost contemplative, but he doesn’t fight it, which is all I need to know. I turn back toward the horizon where the sun will set.
I’m going to find whatever the fuck they’re hiding in there.