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.
“How was your day?” Talking about my work distracted me from finding out what’s bothering him.
“It was really good. The new group we started for trans teens is going better than I anticipated. For some of them, it’s their first time being around other trans kids, and it’s like a light flips on when they realize they’re not alone,” he says, but I see storm clouds brewing in his eyes.
Judge is a complex man who has endured unimaginable pain, and despite having a good life now, he still has bad days. It took me time to learn how to identify the signs, as he often tries to hide how he’s feeling and thinks opening up to me is a burden on my own healing process. I hope that, someday, I can prove to him that discussing his struggles doesn’t make mine any more challenging. In fact, it strengthens our bond to lean on each other.
“I love that, and I love you.”
“I love you too.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he unlocks the door to the little cabin I now call home too. It looks different than it did six months ago. There’s a new roof and a new porch on the outside, but inside is where the biggest changes have been made.
Judge gave me free rein to make changes to personalize our home, but I couldn’t bring myself to completely overhaul his beloved sanctuary. Instead, we blended our styles together. A new sofa now sits in the living room, adorned with one of his vintage crocheted afghans. The eerie altar has been taken down and replaced with a curio cabinet, showcasing Judge’s most treasured religious and spiritual souvenirs from his travels around the world.
In our bedroom, the bed is still covered in his patchwork quilt, but we got rid of his squeaky bed frame and purchased a new one. The rounded upholstered headboard is black, not yellow like Judge wanted, but a mid-century modern piece that fits well with his antique dressers and nightstands.
“I’m gonna grab a shower. I feel gross,” I say, removing my treasured leather cut and hanging it on a hook.
“Okay.” Judge’s cut is already hanging because he doesn’t wear it every day anymore—not only because he doesn’t want to promote joining an MC or a gang to the impressionable youth he’s trying to reach, but also because he doesn’t feel the need.
Despite the fact that it goes against numerous rules set by the Sons, Judge maintains a half-in, half-out lifestyle with the club. Cy has never confronted him about it, likely feeling responsible for the years of suffering Judge put himself through, though it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Judge was taught at a young age that he must hide his afflictions in order to be worthy of love. This belief has carried into his adult life, and it isn’t an easy one to shake off. Nevertheless, he’s making progress, and I admire him for it.
After shedding my foul-smelling clothes that reek of piss and marijuana, I step into the shower and let the warm water soothe my tired muscles. Today, I spent hours hunched over rows of plants at Dope, followed by lugging crates of liquor to restock the club’s bar in preparation for tonight’s party and, of course, scrubbing toilets on my knees.
On my knees.
A chill runs down my spine as the memory of that day rushes back. It’s a familiar sensation, but not one I experience as frequently now. My need for vengeance hasn’t lessened, but I’ve learned to compartmentalize it. Cy assured me that the club would help me end the life of each man on my list, including David, but only after I earned my place as a member. The wait has been excruciating, but exhausting my body each day and losing myself in Judge each night keeps my rage at bay.
Just thinking about Judge has me rushing through my shower routine so I can hound him until he tells me what’s wrong. Wrapped in only a towel, I’m barely past the threshold into our bedroom when my steps falter, taking in the sight before me. While my body reacts almost immediately, thighs clenching and clit tingling, my mind goes on alert.
“Your day was that bad?” I ask, allowing my towel to drop as I approach an equally naked Judge, who is bent over our bed, arms stretched wide, his cat o’ nine tails whip next to him.
“Please, Myla. I don’t want to talk. I just need the release.”
My fingers trace the jagged scars crisscrossing his back, feeling each mark that’s a tangible reminder of his pain. With every kiss I press onto his back, I vow to do whatever it takes to ease his suffering.
“I’ll do anything for you,” I whisper into his skin before standing and taking the whip in hand.
He rarely asks for this anymore, but when he does, I don’t dare deny him. The thought of the alternative is unbearable, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent him from inflicting that kind of pain on himself again.
Using a downward motion so as not to wrap the thongs around his hip, which would break his skin, I whip his rounded ass. The knots at the end of each fall leave small red dots on his flesh, while the braided tails leave angry red stripes. With each hit, I give him only what he needs and not an ounce more.
It was shocking to admit to myself that I’m a bit of a sadist. There’s a part of me that enjoys inflicting pain, and even though the anger inside me has nothing to do with Judge, after a session, I feel a release of pent-up emotion the same way Judge does. It’s also just as arousing to me as it is to him. Seeing his firm ass cheeks with my marks on them has my pussy throbbing and my nipples budding up tight.
Judge takes every lash silently. The only sign that he can feel anything is the slight clenching of his ass as each lash lands. The second I start to see blue bruises bloom from the knots, I step back. This is as far as I’m willing to go. I can only hope it was enough for him.
Grabbing the arnica cream from the nightstand, I gently rub it into his abused flesh, getting small peeks of his puckered asshole, making my clit tingle. It’s taken some time and a lot of conversations to help Judge release the shame he feels wanting the things that turn him on, but who better to teach you to let your freak flag fly than a retired sex worker? And boy, does his flag fly. You’ll never hear me complain about our sex life.
I set the cream down, and Judge stands, a blissful expression on his face that you wouldn’t think you’d find on someone who just got whipped. His gaze turns hungry when he takes in my naked body, reaching out to palm a breast. His cock juts out, straight and proud, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
His hand moves up to cup my cheek before crashing his lips to mine. The kiss is hungry and demanding as he uses his lips, teeth, and tongue to show me just how much he wants me.
“Tell me what you want,” I breathe out when his lips trail down my neck.
“We don’t have time for what I want. The party starts in a half hour, but I’ll settle for you on the bed, your knees bent and your ass hanging over the edge.”
I get into position, my chest heaving with anticipation. Judge pulls the chest of toys out from under the bed. Yes, we need an entire chest. Not only that, but we have an oddly shaped chair in the corner that allows for all sorts of positions, and our bed frame has been fitted with steel bars that come up from each end and a separate bar that sits between them, allowing for a swing to hang. Judge has stamina and also enjoys delayed gratification—for him, not me, because he loves to make me come over and over until I’m near tears.
He stands, holding a wedge pillow and one of our favorite toys. It’s U-shaped, with one half of the U round and tapered and the other half more flat. The pillow gets stuffed under my hips, putting me at the perfect height for him to stand next to the bed and fuck me while the toy gets tossed onto the mattress.
“Oh, sweetheart, look at how wet you are.” He drags a finger up my slit before bringing it to his lips. “Fuck me, you taste so good.”
He leans down and buries his face between my legs. Unlike other men I’ve been with who poke, prod, and generally have no idea what to do when they’re down there, Judge is skilled in the art of cunnilingus. He knows how to speed things up or slow them down with just his tongue.
Tonight, his tongue flutters against my clit until I’m squeezing his head between my thighs, then he switches to sucking while fucking me with his talented fingers. I guess we’re moving fast tonight because an orgasm hits me out of nowhere, making me grind into his mouth as pleasure overtakes me.
“That’s my girl,” he says before giving my pussy a slap. Did he just high-five my vagina?
I don’t have time to ponder it because then he’s standing upright, his finger dragging my arousal down to my asshole, pushing just the tip inside. With his other hand, he pops the top of the lube and jerks his head toward the toy. I hold it up so he can drizzle some onto both ends of the U.
“Play with your pretty tits while I prep you.” Taking the toy, he swipes his finger through some of the lube and spreads it on my ass before pushing in past the first knuckle.
I massage my breasts and pinch my nipples, only ramping up my arousal. God, I love this man and everything he does to my body. He works his finger in and out, twisting it with each motion while his thumb strums my clit. I know I just came, but he has me trained to accept multiple orgasms, even back-to-back, if that’s what he wants.
“Judge,” I whine, needing him to hurry. My pussy wants something to clamp down on.
“You ready for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He places the toy with the flat end at my pussy and the tapered end at my asshole. Knowing the latter takes more work, it goes in first. Little by little, I stretch to accommodate the plug until it’s at the widest part, then he tilts it and inserts the flat end into my pussy. With the push of a button, it begins vibrating, and my back bows off the bed with the sensation. “Feel good, sweetheart?”
“Yes, but I still need you.”
With his gaze honed in between my legs, he fists his shaft and pushes inside my needy cunt. It’s a tight fit, but it only adds to my pleasure.
“How does it feel?” he asks.
“Full. Oh my god, so full and sensitive.”
“Good.” I hear a little beep, and the vibrations amp up. Apparently, I’m not the only one enjoying it because Judge’s grip on my thighs tightens, and his head lulls back, giving me the best view of his Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down.
I fist the blankets at my side, my head coming off the mattress when his hand moves to my lower abdomen, and he applies pressure there. He explained the science behind this move and why it makes everything feel so much better, but I don’t remember. Each slide of his cock brings me closer to what I already know will be an insane orgasm.
“Give me your eyes. I want to watch as you squeeze the life out of my cock before I fill you with my cum,” he says through gritted teeth.
I wouldn’t share this vulnerable moment with anyone but him. When I meet his gaze, I’m in awe at how much love shines down on me. I can’t believe I ever pushed him away and almost didn’t get to experience any of this. My eyes glass over as he thrusts into me at just the right angle to send me flying.
I burst apart at the seams, every inch of me tingling with so much pleasure, the tears threatening to fall only a few seconds earlier now spill over. I think it’s all too much, but then Judge is shoving himself deep inside me and grunting his release. Fuck. Has there ever been a more perfect moment than this one?
He reaches under where we’re joined and pulls out the toy before he yanks the pillow from under my hips and leans over me, holding himself up on his elbows. I think he’s dipping down to kiss me, but instead, his lips go to the trails of tears on my cheeks. He kisses and licks the liquid sadness off my face but never asks why I’m crying. I suspect he knows, though, because he appears just as affected by the moment.
“I love you to the point of madness,” he says against the shell of my ear.
I wrap my arms and legs around him, unable to get as close as I want to be with him right now. “I love you too. So much it hurts to think what could’ve been.”
“Shh, sweetheart. You can’t dwell on the what-ifs. Focus on what we have now.”
I nod, tipping my chin up to kiss him. As if Ryder knew we needed to lighten the mood, he jumps up onto the bed, looking as if he’s judging us for what just went down.
“If you still had nuts, you’d be the same,” Judge says, making me giggle and my pussy pulse around his cock. He groans. “Don’t do that. We don’t have time for another round.”
“Sorry.” I pull him down for a sweet kiss. “Now, get out of me so I can take another shower.”
A half-hour later, we’re hand in hand, strolling through the back door to the club, expecting to find the place full of people. It’s not out of the ordinary for us to open the clubhouse to close friends and family for a night of letting loose, but usually, no one is required to be in attendance. Cy made it very clear that everyone was to show tonight, including the darkly mysterious Riot.
My brow furrows, and confusion has me stopping in my tracks when the only ones in the clubhouse are Sons. Most I recognize because, although there are eight ranking members, there are a dozen or so others, like Bones, and Judge, who are regular members. Added to that are a few I only see occasionally, and some because they work at the Garage or don’t have families of their own, so they like to hang out.
Part of prospecting is learning about the history of the club, so I know there are chapters all over the States. Maybe the ones I don’t know are from one of them? Then I notice a thin man with snowy white hair, wrinkled skin, and the right leg of his jeans cuffed, revealing his prosthetic.
“Tripod?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” Judge doesn’t appear the least bit confused as he pulls me closer to the founding father of the Sons of Erebus.
A rock settles in my gut as I wonder what this could mean. Is he here to object to a woman joining the club? I swear to God, if he takes this away from me, I’ll be devastated.
“Tripod, this is Myla, our newest prospect,” Cy says like a proud dad, and in a lot of ways, that’s what he’s become to me. He never says no when I want to learn more about bike engines. Or, if I just get bored and walk over to the Garage, he’s always happy to listen to me yammer on while he works. I love his wife, Char, just as much. The gorgeous woman with legs for days and the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen can’t be more than fifteen years older than me, making the age gap between her and Cy even bigger than the one between Judge and me.
“Well, well. I finally get to meet the little hellion who wants to be a Sons,” Tripod says, holding out a hand that I shake as though I’m a man.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
He turns to Cy. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see it. I heard she was small, but fucking hell, Cy. First, you let baby face over there prospect, and now a woman who can’t lift her bike if it tips?”
“I can,” I interrupt.
His beady eyes turn on me, and in them, I see years of darkness, evil, and death. “Excuse me?”
I straighten my spine. “It was the first thing I learned to do when I put on my cut. I know I don’t look like much, but I can do everything I need to in order to be a Son. It might look different, but I still get it done.”
Judge squeezes my hand in a silent show of support while I stand proud under the scrutiny of a room full of scary-looking men. But I stopped cowering almost a year ago when I was dumped just outside of where I stand now, and I’ll never do it again.
His expression is unreadable, but I stay firm, holding his gaze until he’s the one to break it by walking away from me. He waves his hand through the air and yells, “Church.”
All the ranking members follow, and I turn to Judge. “What is this? I thought there was a party.”
“It is. Sort of.” He shrugs his shoulders, looking guilty as fuck.
“What do you know?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You’re keeping a secret from me?” I huff.
“Prospect,” Rigger shouts in my direction. I look all around me to see if he’s calling for me or Tobi, but he’s not here.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Need you in here.”
I stare dumbly at him, nervous and confused as hell. Over the last few months, I’ve grown comfortable with all my club brothers, but it’s always been in a casual atmosphere. When everyone is serious and official, it feels as though I don’t know them at all.
“Go on,” Judge says, slapping my ass.
I rub my sweaty palms down my jeans and school my features as I walk into the windowless room I’ve only heard about.
On the walls are framed articles and pictures of what I’m assuming are important memories, but that’s it. That’s the entire room. I’ve heard rumors that the walls are reinforced with cement and wire mesh to block cell phone reception, that it acts like a safe room when you close the steel door, but I don’t know if it’s true.
“Probably wondering why you’re here,” Cy says.
“Very much, actually.”
“You’ve been prospecting for six months, which is the minimum requirement before we can take a vote. A lot of prospects take longer than that, like Tobi, but others we know right at that six-month mark whether they have what it takes.”
“And what did you decide?” I tell myself not to cry if they reject me and to walk out with my head held high.
“That’s up to the vote.” He looks to his left to start the vote. “If even one person votes nay, you’re out. I’m not talking about going back to prospecting; I mean you’re done altogether.”
My stomach lurches with the threat as Rigger’s piercing emerald gaze locks onto me, studying my every move with a serious expression. I try to appear calm and composed, standing tall like a soldier at attention, when in reality, my hands are trembling behind my back, my legs pressed together for stability.
“Aye,” he finally says, his lips curling up into a smile.
“Hella aye.” Lucky slaps a hand down on the table.
“I’d be proud to have you as a sister,” Mustang says. “Aye.”
I look down the line and see Golden, Dutch, and Satyr all giving me their votes. My heart races with excitement, and my stomach fills with nervous butterflies. I’m still in disbelief that this is happening. I never expected to be voted in this quickly; if anything, I thought they would make me wait longer than the average prospect.
I’m feeling confident until we get to Riot. If I can just ignore his attitude, maybe then I can appreciate that he’s extremely pleasing to the eye. However, he gives off a vibe that creeps me out and makes me uneasy. Regardless of him being my neighbor and my prospecting, he’s made no effort to get to know me, and I took his cue, giving him a wide berth.
And now, my future rests with him.
“You really want this, little bit?” he asks, his voice sounding like it’s been tumbled with rocks.
“Yes.”
“You expect me to trust that you’ll have my back when shit goes down? Do you even know how to shoot?”
“If you were around more, then you would know I’m an excellent shot with handheld guns, and Lucky is working with me on long guns now.”
He nods. “You’re not gonna go crying to Judge the second your feelings get hurt and create a bunch of drama?”
“No. If you said something to hurt my feelings, I’d punch you in the nuts, and then you can go crying to Judge that his ol’ lady prevented you from ever having children. Which, by the way, would be a mercy on mankind.”
The room erupts into a fit of laughter and disbelieving howls that I ignore because I’m currently in a pissing contest and don’t have a dick, which means I have to work harder to win.
Riot leans back in his chair and, if I’m not mistaken, has pride in his expression. “Aye.”
“Not that you need my vote, but you have it. I believe you’re worth breaking the rules for,” Tripod says.
“That leaves me,” Cy says. “I have my reservations, all of which I’ve shared with you. I’m worried about you being in a relationship with another member?—”
“Judge and I?—”
Cy holds up a hand, and I snap my mouth closed. “Don’t interrupt. As I was saying, if things go bad between you two, it could cause dysfunction within the family, and we can’t have that if there’s ever a life-or-death situation. But I also recognize when two people are meant to be; I saw it with Rigger and Navy, then again with Lucky and your sister, and it’s the same thing I see when I look at my Charlotte.”
“I appreciate that,” I say.
“All that said, I’ve never seen a prospect work as hard as you do to earn our respect. It surprised me because, no offense, but you’re kind of a bitch.”
“None taken.”
“I expected that attitude to come out when the guys pulled rank, but you tucked your pride away each and every time. I’ve been around to watch every single man in here prospect, save for Tripod, and I’ve never been more certain of this vote: aye.”
Before I know what’s happening, the guys are on their feet, swarming me. My cut is pulled from my body, and the men separate to give me room to approach the table where they’ve laid it out. A knife is thrust at me, and I take it, using the sharp edge to cut through the stitches of my prospect patch. The top rocker and the MC cube are handed over, transforming it from a two-piece—which meant I was a potential member—to a three-piece, making me a full member of the club.
Cy hands me one last patch, but it’s upside-down, so I can’t tell what it is. When I flip it over, I read the name on it out loud. “Killer?”
“I mean, it’s kind of fitting,” Lucky says.
The room fills with the sound of my club brothers chanting, “Ki-ller! Ki-ller! Ki-ller!”
I’m lifted into the air, holding onto my cut and patches, and taken out of the room into the main area. I can’t see Judge and fuck, I wish I could. I want to know what he’s thinking and if this is why he had storms in his eyes earlier. He’s always been supportive of me joining; he’s the one who put me on this path, but something was off earlier, and I wonder if he’s had a change of heart.
Setting me down in front of the bar, Tobi already has shots of God knows what laid out on the bar. Tobi’s the other one I’m worried about. He’s been prospecting for over a year, and I know this must sting.
“Thank you,” I say, gaining his attention.
He purses his lips but nods in acceptance, telling me he knows it’s not my fault. If I was to guess why he hasn’t made it in yet, it wouldn’t be because of his effort or loyalty; he has both in spades. It’s most likely due to his age, which is hypocritical because we’re the same age. But Tobi behaves like he’s twenty-two, while I’ve never been allowed to be my own age, even as a girl when Dad told me to cover up at the beach when all I wanted to do was build a sand castle and be a kid. Maybe he didn’t understand that, by saying what he did, he was sexualizing me, taking away my innocence.
“I’m proud of you, Killer,” Judge says from behind me, and I whirl around, jumping into his arms. I don’t have to worry about him catching me because I know he always will. He kisses my neck. “You did it.”
“I’m so happy.”
“Me too.” He’s saying the right words, but the conviction behind them and his expression show something different.
“Does that make you two brother and sister?” Lucky shouts over the crowd. “Holy shit, Rigger and Navy are siblings too. What the hell kind of incestuous club is this becoming?”
“It’s not fucking incest, you idiot.” Rigger slaps him upside the head, which has Lucky trying to put him in a chokehold, and wrestling ensues.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask.
“More than okay.”
A shot glass is shoved at Judge and me, and Cy makes a toast. “Cheers to our newest member: Killer. Joining this club means you’re a little bit crazy, a little bit rebellious, and a whole lotta badass!”
I grin as I clink my shot glass with Judge’s and shoot it down. The taste makes my face contort and my chest burn. I’m not much of a drinker, and usually when I do, it’s a beer. Knowing this, Judge hands me a glass of my favorite pale ale.
“Thanks, babe.”
“Let’s go outside for a minute,” he says.
I’ve had so many emotional highs and lows today that I can’t take much more. All I want is to celebrate with my club brothers and then take my man home and celebrate all over again, but at the same time, I need to know what’s bothering him.
Now that the sun has gone down, it’s freezing out. I slip my cut back on and tuck my patches into my pocket so I can sew them on when I get home. Facing Judge, I pin him with a quizzical look.
“You have one more surprise tonight,” he says flatly.
“What is it? You don’t sound excited.”
“I’m happy you’ll finally get some closure.”
“Judge, what is it?” I ask as the smell of cigarette smoke invades my nostrils. Riot steps out from the shadows, the cherry of his smoke burning bright.
“Hey, Killer.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Judge bends over and removes a knife and sheath from his calf before pulling a Glock from a holster at the small of his back, handing them both to me. “Here.”
“Why do I need this?” My mind races but comes to no conclusions. None of this makes any sense.
“Let’s go,” Riot says, motioning for me to follow him.
“Judge?” Whatever this is, I need him to tell me.
“Trust me, sweetheart. Just go with him.” He looks brokenhearted, and it destroys me, especially not knowing what I’ve done.
“Listen, this is riveting entertainment, but if we’re gonna do this, it needs to be now,” Riot says.
“I love you.” I kiss Judge on the cheek.
“Love you too.”
Riot leads me to the parking lot. “Follow me.”
I start my bike and slap my helmet on, not surprised to see Riot doesn’t wear one as he rides past me. My mind races just as fast as my bike does because Riot is a menace on the roads. Eventually, I catch on that we’re headed in the direction of the Honey Pot, which puzzles me even more. What the absolute fuck is going on?
Pulling through the gate, we leave our bikes on the side of the circular driveway. Riot strolls into the ranch like he owns the place, which I guess he sort of does, while I keep my head down, not wanting Mary to see that I’m here after she banned me.
The place is packed with mostly men, but a few women as well. Some are waiting to be checked in for a party, and others are at the bar, having a drink and mingling with some of the girls. I’m glad they’re making bank tonight. They deserve it.
Riot holds the door open for me to enter the restaurant. I pause just inside because I don’t know if we’re sharing a meal or what. He walks past the hostess stand and through the door that leads to the kitchen. Back when I was working, we spent a lot of time in here. When the restaurant was open, the chef would make us whatever we wanted as long as they had the ingredients, and when they weren’t here, we were allowed to make our own snacks or simple meals that didn’t require more than a microwave.
The chef on duty doesn’t even bat an eye as we walk right past him and into the. . . pantry? My curiosity is at an all-time high as I watch him mess with something that opens a secret door. Peering through the opening, all I see is a set of stairs leading down.
“Riot, I?—”
“Down you go.” He gives me a shove.
“I don’t even?—”
“For fuck’s sake, this is a good thing. Now get your ass down there.”
“Are you coming?”
“Do you want me to?”
Shit. That’s a hard decision, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me, so maybe it’s best if he does. “Yes.”
“All right.” He rubs his hands together and clomps down the stairs.
My steps are not as confident as I creep my way down to the basement I didn’t even know was here. My heart rate ratchets up as I catch a whiff of piss. Suddenly, I’m flooded with memories of the last time I was in a smelly basement, and I don’t know if I can do this.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
“I can’t.” I shake my head and turn around.
“Killer,” he calls out, stopping me in my tracks. “You got that name because you set out to right some wrongs. Shit got fucked up toward the end there, I get that, but this is your chance to get even. You gonna take it, or do I get to finish him off? I’m okay with either one.”
Finish him off? Does he mean. . . ?
“David?” I whisper.
He pops his head around the corner. “Yo, asshole. Your name David?” A second later, he’s back. “He didn’t answer, but with how nervous he looked when I said it, I’m guessing yes.”
“What? But how? I mean, Cy said?—”
“That you had to wait until you were patched in. You’re fucking patched, so let’s get to it.”
Bracing myself on the wall since there are no handrails, I descend the rest of the stairs and take a deep breath before rounding the corner. I’ve fantasized about this moment for six months. I’ve killed him a million times over in my mind, each death more miserable and inventive than the last.
I pinch my arm to make sure this isn’t a dream. The sharp sting makes me smile, but only for a second because now Judge’s behavior makes sense, and I feel like shit. He wasn’t atoning for his own sin; he was atoning for one I hadn’t even committed yet. He’s so worried about my soul that he made reparations on his skin in my name. What I’m doing goes against every fiber of his being, yet he sent me on my way—with his weapons to boot.
That man loves me so fucking much, and since Judge suffered for me to kill this bastard, I better make it good.
I blink as I adjust to the low light, making sure I’m seeing this correctly. David’s standing on top of a stack of bricks in the center of the room, his wrists chained and suspended above his head. He’s dressed exactly as he was the last time I saw him, suit coat and all, but what little hair he has is sticking up in all directions, the only indication he’s not having the best day.
“You,” David grits out in accusation. “I swear to God, if you don’t let me go. . . “
He doesn’t bother finishing his threat; we both know I’m the one in control now, and the rush of power is intoxicating. I would’ve enjoyed seeing the shock on his face when Riot took him down, but there’s always next time as we work through my list.
“What are you gonna do to him?” Riot says next to my ear, startling me.
“I don’t know. What are my options?”
“Whatever the fuck you want.”
“Can I shoot him in here? I mean, will anyone hear?”
“Nah. Go for it. This room is soundproof, and even if it wasn’t, no one would say shit. We pay them too well.” Riot cracks his knuckles. “I recommend taking your cut off. Getting blood off leather sucks.”
“Right. Smart.” Sliding it off, I leave it on the stairs around the corner to avoid splatter. I pull the Glock out of the back of my pants and aim. David blubbers more threats, his eyes wide with fear as he tries to jerk free of the chains. Grinning, I fire. The 9mm bullet sails right through his bicep, making him squeal like a pig. I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I stroll around him in a circle, tsking. “You’re gonna need open wound care. Do you have any idea what that means? No? Well, let me tell you. You have to wash it out every single day with soap and water. It hurts like a motherfucker, but even more than that, you get a full view of the inside of your arm twice a day. It’s disgusting.”
“I’m sorry, okay? You were the one who came after me. I was just reacting. I didn’t even know who you were.”
“You’re not here because of what you did to me. I’m perfectly fuckin’ fine.” My manic tone proves otherwise, but I’m almost, almost fine, and I’ll be closer to it once this asshole is dead. “You’re here because of what you did to all those girls. The ones you sold, the ones whose teeth you pulled, the ones you made dress up like little girls so you could get your rocks off, all while spoon-feeding them drugs.”
“If you kill me, I can’t shut it down, and it’ll just keep going.”
I glance at Riot, who’s picking at his nails with a knife the size of my forearm. “There’s around twelve cop cars and three ambulances parked out front of the house right now that say otherwise.”
David’s eyes screw shut as he confronts his inevitable fate. His jaw clenches so tightly, his teeth grind against each other, emitting a bone-chilling sound. When his eyes open once more, his expression is a twisted mask of despair and acceptance. That won’t do. I want pure terror etched into every line of his face. I want him to beg and plead for mercy.
“You look overdressed.” I grab the collar of his shirt and rip it open, buttons popping in all directions. With a quick tug, I work his belt off and undo his pants. He releases a pathetic whine as they pool at his feet, and my face screws up in disgust. “Don’t worry. I’m not happy about this either.”
One more layer to go, I stalk behind him and slice through one side of his boxers with my sharp blade. They drop to the ground, revealing a flat, white ass. Anticipation courses through me as I think of how I want this to end.
“Gloves?” I ask Riot.
The man looks almost bored, his shoulder against the wall and his ankles crossed. “Top drawer.”
Pushing my hands into the blue latex, I once again reach for the knife and meet the eyes of my tormentor as I take his cock and balls in hand. Despite the situation, his disgusting dick twitches at the contact. “How many times have you used this thing to harm girls? A hundred? More?”
With his most vulnerable asset in my palm, his hips swivel in an attempt to get free, but he can’t get far because one wrong move, and he won’t have the bricks to hold him up. I’m fine with that, but I doubt David wants to hang painfully from his wrists.
I tighten my grip around his junk, and he freezes. “Answer me. How many?”
“I don’t know, okay? Why the hell do you even care? The girls I took wanted to be there because as bad as you think they had it, they had it worse without me. Besides, they’re throw-away human beings, nothing more than a drain on society.”
I don’t bother arguing with him on that last point. There’s nothing I can say that’ll change his mind, so even though I want to rant and rave, my energy is better spent torturing him. “Let’s go with a hundred. I’m sure it’s a low number, but I’m being generous. Isn’t that nice of me?”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Count with me, will you?” I slice the top of his cock, just enough to cause pain, not to cut it off. Not yet. “One.”
He doesn’t count, but I didn’t really expect him to, and for the next thirty minutes, I get a small act of revenge for each of his victims. By the time I’m done, his genitals are a bloody mess. I ran out of room after slicing the top, bottom, and sides of his cock, so I moved to his balls. When I ran out of room there, I moved to his inner thighs. Turns out, one hundred cuts take up a lot of space. David whined and cried the whole time, pleading for me to stop, but I showed him the same mercy he showed me—none.
“You’re a sick, sadistic bitch,” he pants out.
I shrug. “Accurate.”
“I hate to interrupt here, and I’m all for a long, painful death, but if I have to stare at this asshole’s dick much longer, I’m gonna get irritated. And no one wants that,” Riot says.
“Then leave.” I shoo him away with my bloody, gloved hand.
His eyes darken to black, and his shoulders lift. He looks like a rabid beast, ready to attack. I wish I hadn’t said that, but it’s out there, so I lift my head high in indignation. We have a stare-off while David squirms and cries, neither of us backing down.
I nearly give in when Riot takes two menacing steps toward me. I’m sure if I was a normal height, he’d be in my face, but it’s not as effective to bend over when reading someone the riot act. “The fuckin’ goal is to get all these motherfuckers dead. I didn’t agree to spend my nights watching you slice these assholes to bits.”
“He threw me down a flight of stairs, then shot me and locked me in a basement with other drugged girls. I was naked, bleeding, and in pain. That didn’t stop them from dragging me upstairs to take pictures of my tits and cunt to show potential buyers,” I say through gritted teeth. “He was going to sell me and all but promised that whoever bought me would torture me until my body gave up then kill me.”
The furrow on Riot’s brow deepens, and I see a flicker of something there. It isn’t pity or understanding. No, it’s something else. Guilt, maybe? But why?
“Just get it done.”
“I will, but he’s not done suffering.” Taking the knife, I slice him from shoulder to shoulder, going deep enough to hurt like a bitch, but again, not deep enough to kill. “That’s for pushing me down the stairs.” My next cut is across his abdomen, and this time, I do go a little too far because some of his guts leak out, along with a hefty amount of blood. “That was for shooting me.”
“Fuuuuck,” David howls and it’s music to my ears.
“Is there bleach in here?” I ask Riot, whose lip is curled at the grotesque scene I’m creating.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Cupboard.”
I grab the bottle of bleach and twist off the cap. Blood from David’s wounds is getting everywhere, but that’s the least of my concerns. With a smirk, I lift the bottle to his chest and pour its contents down his front. The burning sensation is too much for him to bear, and he loses his balance. Hanging from his wrists, he kicks out in desperation, searching for a reliable surface to find footing on. But in his struggles, he dislodges the top brick, leaving him with no hope of escape.
His cries are pitiful as he pleads with God to end his suffering, but if there truly is a higher power, they would be foolish to waste a miracle on someone like him. As I watch him suffer, I can’t help but wonder if I’m bound for hell for all I’ve done. It’s a perplexing thought because, yes, I have taken lives, but I am not as evil as this man before me. So where does that leave me?
It’s a question for a later time. I step onto the remaining bricks and hold my knife out. “Give him a push, would you?”
“Why? What are you—? Fuck, girl. You might be more messed up in the head than I am.” He huffs but walks over and gives David a little shove.
David hurtles toward me, impaling himself on my knife with a sickening thud. My hands are numb as the blade sinks deeper and deeper into his body with every violent thrust. Riot’s relentless pushing only adds to the brutality, causing David’s cries to become strangled gasps before finally falling silent. Blood gushes from his mouth, mixing with tears as he spits and sputters, choking. His head lolls forward, and I watch as he dies right before my eyes.
“Feel better?” Riot asks.
“A little, but not enough to forget the rest of my list.”
“Next time, can we just shoot the prick and move on?”
The answer’s easy, because I’ve already made that promise to myself. “Sure.”
I peel off my gloves and toss them carelessly on the counter. Blood spatters cover my clothes, and I curse at the mess I’ve made. Will I have to clean this up? Memories of helping dispose of a body as a prospect surface. We paid a guy named Levi five thousand dollars to use his crematorium for the task. After we lifted the body onto a stainless steel table, Levi commented that he liked how small my hands were. It was unsettling to say the least.
“The prospects will take care of it,” Riot says, reading my mind.
I pump my fist in the air. “Yes!”
“And there’s a change of clothes on the bottom shelf of the cabinet over there.”
“Whose clothes?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. Judge handed me a bag and said to give it to you because you’d need it.”
I swoon at the romantic gesture. “Oh, okay.”
The backpack has baby wipes, a small bar of the soap that will kill all traces of David’s DNA, clothes, and a plastic bag for the dirties. He thought of everything. I kick my boots off—I’ll have to disinfect those when I get home—and yank off my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra because my long-sleeve thermal was tight enough that my boobs wouldn’t flop around.
“Jesus Christ,” Riot curses, whirling around so his back is facing me.
“What?”
“I just saw your tits.”
“Rude! I’ll have you know that I’ve had more than a couple men nut just seeing my breasts.”
“I wasn’t saying—fuck. You have a nice rack, okay? But Judge’ll kill me if he knows I saw it.”
I laugh. “Do you know how many men have seen me completely naked? Judge would have his own list if he wanted to murder every man who’s seen me, and it would be a lot longer than mine.”
“That’s different.”
“Okay, you can turn around.”
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, taking one last look at my latest victim. “Rest in hell, asshole.”
The ride home is a blur as all my thoughts are taken over by Judge—how much he helped prepare for this and what he sacrificed. His need for reparations was misguided, but it’s the intent that makes my heart flutter. There’s never been a better man than him, and there never will be again.
After parking my bike, I all but jog to our cabin. Bursting through the door, I’m met with darkness. After stripping my cut and boots, I walk on quiet feet to our bedroom, disappointed to find him asleep. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to show him how much I appreciate him. Ryder pops his head up and walks to the end of the bed to greet me. I give him a few pets and am rewarded with a soft purr.
Before climbing into bed, I remember that I desperately need a shower, so I step into the bathroom. I strip down and step under the hot spray. My eyes are closed as the water sluices down my body, so when the glass door opens, I startle.
“Shh. It’s just me.”
I fly into Judge’s naked body, jumping into his arms with no worry that he’ll drop me. “You’re amazing. Do you know that?”
“Only for you, sweetheart.”
We kiss, and unlike earlier, it’s slower and sweeter. We take our time and let each touch have its own moment before moving to the next. The love I feel for him swells so big in my chest that I can’t hold it in, and I have to break away to choke back a sob.
“What’s wrong?” He sets me down and pushes my damp hair off my forehead.
“I’m happy,” I say through a hiccup.
He bursts out laughing. “Bad things happen and you steel that jaw of yours, but good things happen and you cry. You are a complex creature, aren’t you?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“But if you ever make me whip you for one of my sins again, I’ll find a new place to use that flogger on you, and you won’t like it,” I threaten, but I continue to cry, so I’m not sure the threat lands.
He winces. “I’m hoping to not know about the others.”
“Done.”
He wraps his arms around me. “This is going to work.”
“It is.”
“The sinner and the saint.”
“The priest and the prostitute.”
“The soulmates.”
The End