2. Judge
CHAPTER TWO
Myla’s breaths slow, and her body relaxes further into me. Good, she’s asleep. I’ve never seen someone become overtaken by pain so quickly. Thankfully, after being around Bones for so many years, I had a decent idea about what she needed, and I was grateful she didn’t fight me through any of it, not even when I lowered her head onto my lap. I should’ve offered her a pillow, but the need to keep touching her was too great.
Reluctantly, I stop massaging to flip the washcloth to the cold side, and she stirs, whimpering softly. My chest tightens at the pathetic sound, and I quickly return to massaging her scalp. Her brows are pinched, even in sleep, and I wonder if it’s from pain or her haunting memories.
I try my best to conceal my fascination with her whenever we’re together, stealing only quick glances in her direction. But now that she’s asleep, I can’t help but take in every detail of her stunning face. Without her usual scowl, she looks even more youthful, which only amplifies my guilt. I’m old enough to be her father, yet I can barely contain my desire to kiss her slightly parted lips. She’d be disgusted if she learned of my attraction to her.
My pocket vibrates, giving me a much-needed distraction, and I slowly work my phone free. Tinleigh’s name flashes across the screen, and I hover my thumb over the green button. I don’t want to wake Myla, but I know better than to ignore her sister, so I accept the call and wedge the phone between my cheek and shoulder so I can keep massaging.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“How’s it going?” Tinleigh asks, also in a hushed voice.
“Good. I’m with Myla.”
“Why are we whispering?”
“I’m whispering because Myla had one of those post-concussive headaches. I gave her a pain pill that knocked her out and don’t want to wake her. I have no idea why you’re whispering.”
“Oh, right,” she says at a normal volume. “A headache, huh? Is it bad?”
“I guess. We were just talking, and next thing I knew, she was barely lucid.”
“Shit.”
“I think she’s okay now, but I don’t want to leave until she wakes up and I know she’s okay.”
“Want me to come take over?”
“No.” My words come out sharp, almost aggressive, surprising even myself. I refuse to leave this apartment until I know Myla is okay. The thought of leaving her in someone else’s hands when she’s in such a fragile state fills me with dread. I don’t even trust her sister to take care of her properly.
“Okay,” Tinleigh draws out, clearly confused. “Did she say anything before all this happened?”
“I’m not your spy.” I’m quick to remind her, because I set clear boundaries before I agreed to watch over her sister. If Myla opens up to me, it’ll be in strict confidence, and I won’t break her trust; that’s not the kind of man I am.
“I know, I’m sorry. I only called because Lucky said she stopped by the ranch today and has something to talk to me about, but when I tried to reach her, she didn’t answer.”
“I don’t know where her phone is, but it’s not out.”
“Okay. Well, I guess when she wakes up, will you tell her I called?”
“I will.”
“Thanks, Judge.”
The line disconnects, and I let it slide down between the cushions of the couch, not wanting to take my hands off Myla. I don’t let myself dissect whether my intentions are to keep her comfortable, or if I’m doing it simply because this is the only way she’ll ever allow me this close.
Trying to think of something else I can do to help her, I realize this would be a good time to practice Reiki. So, as much as I don’t want to stop touching her, I pull away and close my eyes, focusing on my breathing. In my mind’s eye, I picture white light pouring in from my head down to my heart. Rubbing my hands together, I allow that light to travel down my arms to my fingers. Warmth spreads through me, and I set the intention of delivering healing. With my palms hovering over Myla’s head, I feel the energy travel through me and into her.
After a few minutes, my thoughts stray to what it would be like if Myla was mine. I don’t have a lot to offer anyone. My life is simple, and not because I’m poor. My share of the club’s profits has padded my bank account nicely; I just choose not to spend it. The kind of wealth I strive for is in happiness and love, not material objects.
“Shit,” I mutter, my focus lost.
“What are you doing?” Myla’s voice is groggy and quiet.
Before replying, I close my practice by circling my arm in front of me and touching my fingers together to seal off the energy while saying a silent prayer of gratitude.
“Reiki,” I say, noticing how glossy Myla’s eyes are from the medication.
“I’m in your lap.”
“You are.”
She sits up slowly, removing the washcloth and rolling her head, looking confused. Her movements are slow, and I can tell the short nap wasn’t nearly enough.
“Wait, what were you doing?” she asks again.
“Last year, I focused on learning Eastern philosophy, which brought me to Reiki, or energy healing. I thought this was as good of a time as any to practice.” I smile at her frown. “How do you feel?”
She stretches, lifting her arms over her head, which has her shirt riding up high enough for me to get a glimpse of her outie belly button. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “Actually, I feel better than I deserve to. Did you give me medicine, or did I imagine that?”
“I did.”
Her gaze shifts to everywhere but me. “And you massaged my scalp?”
I nod. “Along with the Reiki. It seems it was a winning combination.”
“I thought you were some kind of priest? Doesn’t Eastern philosophy kind of go against Christianity?”
“That’s a really big question”—I stand—“that I’ll save for another time. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Come lock up behind me.”
“Oh, okay.” She’s too tired and medicated to hide her look of disappointment, which fuels the tiny flame of hope inside me. I can’t dream a woman like her would ever love me, but maybe someday she could call me a friend.
“And call your sister,” I say before shutting the door, not leaving until I hear the snick of the lock engaging.
“It all comes back to money, doesn’t it?” Tinleigh says more than asks.
“And power,” I agree.
“They’re firm in their beliefs until the government threatens to take away their tax-exempt status, and then they suddenly have a change of heart.” Her feet swing between the legs of the barstool, and I note how content and relaxed she is, so different from the girl I met months ago when our morning religious debates began.
I nod and smile, taking a sip of coffee. I can’t take credit for the change in her, but I like to believe I at least played a small role in her evolution. Lucky would probably disagree by saying something crass about how a part of his anatomy is responsible for her newfound happiness. Thank goodness he’s not around.
The front door to the clubhouse opens, drawing both of our attention. In walks a more severe version of the twin I’m sitting next to, one who seems to have had a makeover since yesterday. Myla’s once long blonde hair with purple streaks is now black as night, cut in a severe bob that ends at her jawline. The seductive clothes and shoes she usually wears are gone, traded in for a simple pair of black leggings, a cropped hoodie, and black tennis shoes.
My mouth opens and closes like a fish as I struggle to voice even the simplest of greetings. Tinleigh must share in my confusion because neither of us says a word, even when Myla stops in front of us.
“What?” she asks, cool as a cucumber.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Tinleigh hops off the stool. “You can’t possibly be my sister because she would’ve called me before changing her entire appearance.”
Myla’s chin lifts. “The same way you consulted me when you made plans to keep me safe from Neal?”
Damn, she went right for the jugular. It’s no secret that Tinleigh has kept a lot from Myla over the years. While it was done with the best of intentions, I can see that not telling Myla about what was going on has hurt her.
Tinleigh rears back. “You know why I did that.”
“I guess.” Myla reaches into the pocket of her hoodie and produces a cell phone she places on the bar in front of me. “I only stopped by to give you this.”
So that’s where I left it. I didn’t even notice it was gone until this morning.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my thoughts about her makeover to myself—mostly because they aren’t appropriate. I’m just glad I’m sitting at the bar because she looks like sin, and I never claimed to be a saint.
“Myla—”
She cuts her sister off with a hand in her face. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean it; I’m just in a mood.”
“Don’t you start training today?”
“Yeah. That’s pretty much the only good thing to happen this morning.” She tucks her hands in her pockets.
“Why? What happened?” Tinleigh plays with a lock of Myla’s new hair.
“I just woke up with another one of those stupid headaches.”
“Did you call Bones?” I interject.
She narrows her icy blue eyes at me. “No.”
“Maybe you should,” Tinleigh says.
“And maybe everyone should stay out of my business!” Her booming voice echoes in the open space, drawing attention from everyone.
“Everything okay?” Sugar pops her head out of the kitchen, looking concerned. Having Mustang’s mom live with us is one of the best decisions we’ve made. Our club’s secretary might be her only biological kid, but from the day she came to live on the compound, she’s been a surrogate mom to all of us.
Myla ignores her, keeping her attention on Tinleigh. “Look, I just stopped by to give my babysitter his cell back before I head to work. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, okay.” Tinleigh looks defeated, and I feel pulled in two directions. On the one hand, I want to comfort my friend, but on the other, I want to give chase to the vixen who’s turning tail and sprinting out the door. Instead, I do neither.
“It’s all good, Sugar.” I flash her an appreciative smile.
She nods and disappears into her kitchen. The whole building might be owned by the Sons, but make no mistake: the kitchen is hers, and no one says shit because, before her, we ate nothing but processed meals from the freezer. Now, we eat like kings, and even more than that, we have the comfort only a maternal figure can give, something I had never experienced before. It didn’t take long for me to realize what I’d been missing all my life.
“What was that?” Tinleigh asks, reclaiming her stool and resting her chin in her hand.
“You know it had nothing to do with you, right?”
“Oh, I know.” She straightens her posture and huffs. “That was all her. I just wish I knew how best to support her.”
I cover her hand with mine. “The only thing you can do is be there for her, even through the ugliness.”
Our attention is pulled once again, but this time to the back door where Lucky walks in. Dressed in coveralls with a patch on the shoulder that says The Garage, he strolls past the large game room and stops alongside Tinleigh, his eyes locked on our joined hands. I smirk, stroking my thumb over her wrist before pulling away just to fuck with him.
He places his hands on his hips. “You know, I get that the two of you have this theological connection or whatever the fuck this is, but that doesn’t mean you need to put your hands on my woman.”
Tinleigh slaps him in the gut. “Stop it. Judge was just comforting me.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” His gaze shifts to concern as he cups Tinleigh’s cheek, encouraging her to look at him.
“Myla just stopped by, and she was. . . not herself.”
Suddenly feeling like the third wheel in a private conversation, I grab my phone and excuse myself. A pang of envy settles in my stomach like a heavy stone as I step outside and hop on my bike, determined to clear my mind with a ride. I remind myself that it’s just loneliness creeping in. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the touch of a woman, and seeing Rigger and Lucky happy in their relationships only magnifies that absence in my life.
Finding a willing partner to forget my problems with is not a challenge; there are plenty of women hanging around the clubhouse. However, most of them are drawn to the collar rather than me as a person. In my younger years, I didn’t mind when a woman asked me to fulfill her sexual fantasy of fucking a priest. In fact, it was easier for me because keeping my shirt on concealed what was hidden underneath. But now, at forty-two, I’m not interested in using my status to attract someone. I want something genuine.
The idea is almost laughable. Any woman in her right mind would run away screaming if they even got a glimpse at the man I am behind closed doors. It’s just not in the cards for me, and I need to come to terms with that. Besides, most of the time, solitude suits me.
When I left the clubhouse, I had no destination in mind, but I soon found myself one county over, taking the exit for the Honey Pot. It’s been open for months now, but I’m not sure how I feel about the club expanding into sex work, so I haven’t been out here yet. It’s not that I have a morality issue with the oldest profession in known history; it’s more that I think this line of work encourages cheating and depravity, two things I do take issue with.
However, now that I’m pulling through the iron gate, I’m realizing this place is much different than I thought. A large marble fountain sits out front, and though it’s of a nude woman, it’s tastefully done. I park in one of the marked spots for Sons and climb off my bike, trying to convince myself I don’t know why I’m here. It’s bullshit, though. I’ve never felt the urge to check this place out before Myla started working here, but now, I think my reasons are clear.
The lighting is dim, seductive music playing overhead, and a warm, musky scent fills my nostrils as I step into the parlor. There’s a comfortable lounge area to my left, a bar to my right, and directly ahead is a plexiglass-covered window where I can see Mary, one of the madams, sitting in front of a computer with her eyes glued to the screen. There are a couple guys at the bar, drinks in hand and scarcely dressed women hanging on their every word, but it’s otherwise unoccupied.
I rap my knuckles on the plexiglass, startling Mary. I’ve met her a few times at the clubhouse when she dropped by to talk to Rigger, but I don’t know her well enough to laugh at the way she jumps.
“My apologies,” I say.
“No, it’s fine. Sometimes, I get lost in paperwork and forget my own name, let alone where I’m at.” The older woman smiles. “What can I do for you, Judge?”
“I haven’t stopped by to check the place out yet, so I thought today was as good a day as any.”
“Sure, sure.” She pushes away from her desk. “My eyes could use a break anyway.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to disrupt you. I can call on one of my brothers to give me a tour.”
“Nonsense. They’re all busy puffing their chests, trying to impress the new girl with all their technical knowledge.”
My neck goes stiff. “Myla?”
“You know her?” She shakes her head, standing. “Of course you do. She’s Tinleigh’s twin.”
She disappears through a door and, seconds later, is standing in front of me, dressed in a black pantsuit with a silky top that shows off her assets.
“Who’s training her?” I ask.
“Satyr and Dutch. Rigger’ll be by later to see how she’s doing, but he had other shit to take care of first.”
“Satyr and Dutch, huh?” My voice betrays my true feelings toward the overly confident genius and the charming smooth-talker. I never had a chance with her anyway, but that doesn’t stop my irritation at them vying for Myla’s attention. The possessiveness I feel is a new emotion for me, and I’m not sure how to handle it. All I can hope for is that she doesn’t end up with one of my brothers so I won’t be constantly reminded of what could have been.
“Yeah.” She eyes me curiously. “It makes sense, since Satyr’s in charge of our background checks and Dutch pulls a lot of shifts here.”
Not wanting to explain myself anymore, I motion for her to go ahead. “Why don’t you show me around?”