Judge (Steelwood MC #4)

Chapter 1

Judge

Eight Years Ago

Saying goodbye to Meadow Falls again isn’t easy. Hell, I had to turn my back on it once before when Ashe moved us to Willowbrook Ridge to sink his fingers in there.

This is what’s needed, though. Cutting the last of Ashe’s poisoned ties is the final move. The surgical strike to cut out the rot so something clean can finally grow from it.

“That bastard took the conversation surprisingly well,” Ripper grunts beside me, his scowl a permanent fixture.

If I have to guess, he’s disappointed. He wanted a bloodbath, not a business meeting.

If he had his way, he’d stuff the severed fingers of every Crimson Road dealer down their own throats.

The image is dark enough to bring up a chuckle, a sound I quickly stifle. I can’t afford to encourage the monster in him, not when I need a strategist, not just a blade.

“We should keep our eyes peeled,” I say, the words feeling automatic.

“Blaze won’t take this lying down. He’ll most likely continue to push his product.

We can only hope a warning will be enough.

” I know him. He’s a chess player, like me, and I just took his queen.

He’ll have a countermove. He’ll want to fight.

I just have to wait until he makes his move.

Throw in the fact that I can bet he’s still pissed about the coup surrounding Ashe’s downfall.

Ashe was too gone to be helped. Power-hungry and just as destructive as those I’m cutting ties with today, I couldn’t let him turn such a quaint little town into another battlefield.

Our hometown is already fucked because of such men. So, while some people will miss the tyrant who held Steelwood together by strings barely keeping it together, I don’t regret for one second being the one who had to take him out.

“If they cross the border, then they’re asking for their own death.” His nose scrunches, his words hot. Even just the curl of his hands is enough of a warning.

“I think we need to work on your image.” Cracking a grin, we turn the corner on a long stretch of sidewalk with the hopes of enjoying a taste of nostalgia.

Grab lunch, see those cute diner women who always flush when they get a good eyeful.

The best way to say goodbye. “At this rate, you’re going to start scaring prospects off. Teach yourself how to smile.”

He looks disgusted by the idea of being liked. I can’t blame him. He’s never been the friendly type, keeping his distance. Ever since poor Sarah got caught up in something she shouldn’t have been near, he’s made sure not to get attached.

The only side he’s glued himself to is mine, and right now, that’s how it needs to be. Until all the dust settles, he can stay right there. After that, if he can allow it for himself, I’ll try to help him become the man he was before I found him. Someone a little more human.

A pop rings through the air, but I don’t have enough time to figure out where it’s come from. There are more that follow, but it’s the first one that’s still ringing in my ears. What feels like an eternity, and no time at all, I’m suddenly hit.

The pain is instant, and I can’t even gasp in surprise. Thrown off balance, everything moves in a blur as I realize I’ve been shot.

A noise I’ve never made in my life, a roar, leaves my lips. Fueled by both anger and surprise.

I’ve been grazed before, sure. But never like this. Not without warning.

What the fuck.

Trying to see who pulled the trigger, all I hear is the peel of wheels. The familiar roar of bikes tells me all I need to know.

Being back home has lowered my guard, and this is the cost of such a slip.

In the blink of an eye, Ripper’s suddenly there. Hovering over me, I realize I’m flattened against asphalt. When did I fall? I guess with the pain radiating from my chest, any other pain is considered less.

Instead of his usual snarled look, I’m seeing panic behind his eyes.

Taking far too long to register what has happened, I don’t recognize the noise I make as his hand covers the throbbing area. Instead of taking away the pain, he adds to it.

The pressure of his hand fucking hurts, and even as I weakly swat at his wrist, it’s not enough to make him move. He’s insistent, barking more words at me.

Unsure of what he’s saying, I’m focusing on breathing. Something that’s always been so simple, so natural, now feels difficult. The noises leaving my lips are too distracting. The groans, the rasps, all of it. I can’t even tell what happened to those bastards anymore.

If they ran, Ripper should be chasing them down, putting them down. Instead, he’s right here.

God, I don’t want a bullet to be what takes me out. I’m only a third of the way through my life. Maybe half, with my habits. I wanted to grow old, damn it. I don’t know, meet a woman, have a few kids. I’m a greedy man, but those demands aren’t terribly selfish.

“Judge.” Ripper’s growl echoes in my ear, a frantic effort to cut through the haze clouding my thoughts. “Don’t you fucking die. You need to see this through.”

He’s right. After all the killing, the betrayals, the things I did to claw my way to the top… to finally have the gavel in my grasp, only to be ended by a single, well-placed bullet? It’s not a death. It’s an insult.

I try to speak, to tell him to ease the pressure, to go after them, but all that comes is a bloody, pathetic rasp. The edges of my vision fade into shadow, narrowing my world to the pain in my chest and the frantic gaze of Ripper’s eyes.

“Judge!” His voice is distorted, fading. “Fuck, Samuel!”

* * *

Eyes snapping open, a pained sound leaves my lips. Like the wound is still fresh, I grasp at my chest. Expecting a pool of blood, I feel worn, scarred skin under my fingertips instead. My skin is damp from sweat, another nightmare feeling too real.

A cold sweat trickles above my brow as my heart goes rogue in my chest. Looking around, I have to familiarize myself with my surroundings.

What’s it been, a week since I started staying at the clubhouse? Sticking close to my second home to protect it. Even after all of these days, the room feels unfamiliar. Every night, that memory has haunted me.

Steadying my breathing, the mattress beneath me groans as I throw my legs over the edge. Wiping a hand down my face, I can’t stop the curse from leaving my lips.

I’m supposed to be the one holding this club together, not panicking in secrecy over a man I cut ties with over eight years ago.

Blaze fucking Walker.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to my feet and snag my jacket along with something that isn’t soaked with sweat. I need a shower. What time is it?

The color of the sky tells me it’s barely dawn. The party last night must’ve wrapped up only a couple of hours ago.

I’m glad everyone is ignorant of the weight behind the threat rising on the horizon.

Scratching my bearded cheek and letting out a yawn, I glance at the bed one last time, rarely considering trying to return to it. If it weren’t so cold and empty, it would be more welcoming.

Grunting at the thought of anyone else possibly occupying it, I leave the room, ready to start the day.

Hitting up the showers, there’s no sign of any life. No steam clinging to the air or droplets of water against the walls. It’s better this way. I’m a man who enjoys his solitude.

Moving toward one of the stalls, I catch my reflection in the mirror in passing. Dark shadows cling beneath my eyes, all the proof I need that I’m being haunted by my past.

Tearing my eyes away, I make a note to avoid mirrors in the future. At this rate, I’m going to be a walking horror show. That’s the last thing I need.

A shower doesn’t help me, so I go with the next best thing. Once I’m changed, I’m heading toward the most popular area of the clubhouse. Despite how full it is during the later hours, the morning feels like the polar opposite.

Entering the bar area, I am greeted by an almost silent welcome. There’s the soft sound of a broom and the scrape of glass shards against the concrete floor.

I’m surprised to see Penelope already up and going, especially when she was helping out the night before, but I can’t be too surprised. Not when I’m up and running too.

She lifts her gaze when she hears my steps. Pausing her sweeping, she straightens up, and a smile automatically frames her face. Always like this, she perks up with the sun. At this hour, it’s a soft curve resting on her lips that’s far too tempting not to trace.

“You should be sleeping,” I mutter the words and urge my legs to move, trying not to remain frozen here, staring at her, but I end up stuck for too long.

Brushing a few loose black hairs that have fallen behind her ponytail behind her ear, she leans against her broom. “Couldn’t stay settled for long.”

Tearing my eyes away from her, I make my way over to the bar. As if she feels the need to keep me from feeling alone, she finishes cleaning up someone’s mess before drifting toward me.

There’s no denying the way she grimaces when I immediately go for a beer by leaning over the bar. Cracking it open, I don’t miss her soft sigh, either.

“A little early for one, isn’t it?” She watches as I take one sip, sighing under her breath. Drifting toward me, her concern dances around her eyes. “Are you alright?”

No. “I’m fine. Just as I was the last time you asked.” Keeping my voice firm, I don’t mean to be rough, but with this woman in particular, I can’t help it.

A few people put me on a pedestal because of my past decisions. Ripper and Stacks are from the birth of my reign, so they make sense. Raven and Penelope are a special case. They give me some kind of savior complex I want nothing to do with.

She purses her lips, but she doesn’t push. She never does. I’ve hurt her feelings more times this week than I ever did since I first saw her.

“Pen.” Sighing her name, I fight the urge to reach over and touch her. “We’ve had a few bumps in the road over the last few years, but nothing this big. There’s a lot at stake here. I’m just… a little stressed, is all.”

On my list of things to lose, she sits on her very own throne at the top. If something happened to her…

“You’re going to give yourself more gray hairs.

” Hitting me where it hurts, she squints at me before her expression melts away, leaving behind something soft and sweet, just for me.

“Everyone’s worried about you. I hear things, Judge.

They want to squash this problem. Heck, people are already missing Ghost. They’re worried that you’re… scared.”

My chest aches, and I almost double over because of it. No one wants to admit they’re terrified, least of all me.

That day, all those years ago, I died. Took what was supposed to be my last breath. Then, I was brought back to this life for a second chance that I’ve clung to since. I’ve been careful, never taking risks this big.

I can’t possibly put all the weight of my problems on a twenty-five-year-old woman.

“I just don’t want to start something that can be avoided, that’s all.” Sighing against the rim of the bottle, I drown another mouthful.

If I remember anything about Blaze, it’s that he’s a narcissistic, arrogant, pompous asshole. He saw the value behind a woman and got pissy because he didn’t get to sell her off. Money will keep flowing; he’ll have to move on. It’s not worth the cost of fighting. A man’s pride is only so big.

Everyone thinks we need to go to war. And for what? Just a few women freed—ones ours let go? Hell, I know what kind of contracts he runs over there. That kind of money can be recovered over a couple of weeks.

“Judge…” Her concern remains, hitting me deeper than any of the men I ride with. “What if something happens to you?”

While I love having her worried about me, she really has nothing to worry about.

A sudden ring makes us both jerk in surprise. Tucked deep in the bar, a phone rests. The only device that ties us to the town is a number known by only a few. Meaning, it’s never a good thing to hear it ring.

She abandons my side, racing to pick up the call in time. Holding the receiver to her ear, she greets the other person, her green eyes drifting over to me.

Gripping my bottle, the liquid warms beneath. I can’t even enjoy the second half, not when I notice her chest still with a trapped breath.

Penelope looks like she’s seen a ghost. Reaching for her, I stop myself an inch shy. “Pen, what is it?”

She cradles the phone in a grip that’s left her knuckles white. Parting her lips, she offers the device to me before turning away. If it weren’t for the sheriff’s voice ringing on the other side, I’d reach out for her to figure out why she’s wearing such a haunted expression.

Then I register what Atlas is actually saying. I need to bail Diesel from jail. He’s been arrested for obstructing an officer, one of his deputies. He’s been injured, as had Ruby.

The only reason I’m getting this call is because Atlas isn’t a cold bastard. He pities us and is willing to drop the charge. All because of the destruction that happened only a couple of hours ago.

Crossroads Ink has been taken out. The cause? Arson.