Chapter 12 Penelope
Penelope
Leah is anxious, and for good reason, too. She’s hugging her medical bag, waiting for those doors to push open.
I guess their plan didn’t go as planned. That happens. Ghost is in the dark, but he promises everything is going fine. He even updates us, following their location as they make their way back to Willowbrook Ridge.
Judge is going to be fine. He has to be. We’ve had our few battles over the years, a handful of disagreements with surrounding towns and cities, but he’s always come home. He’s always survived.
Twirling an empty shot glass between my fingers as I lean over the bar, I feel a little anxious, too.
If Raven were next to me instead of trying to put distance away from Jinx, she’d tell me I was overthinking the whole thing. She’d tell me to calm down.
Above my worrying about his safety, there’s something else that’s digging at me. A regret.
I should have told him how I felt before he left. Should’ve confessed my feelings so he could’ve known.
Blinking away the start of tears, I follow Leah’s gaze, staring at the door while hoping to hear the rumble of bikes.
I’m going to tell him when he gets back. That way, I don’t ever regret something like this again.
Releasing the shot glass, it rattles against the bar. The sound echoes amongst us who are holding our breath, waiting for any kind of update. Thankfully, it comes sooner than later.
“Leah.” Ghost calls out to her, making her jump. “Two minutes ETA.”
She’s on her feet without another word, just as many of the others. Holding my breath, I don’t follow.
My legs feel like jello. Without any idea of what we’re going to see when they arrive, my stomach clenches in anticipation.
Telling myself that if I rush out of here, I’ll be in the way.
I expect a few of them to need tending to.
A voice lingering in the back of my mind tells me there’s a good chance someone didn’t make it.
We only know of Warden’s condition because Ripper texted him. Since then, we’ve been in the dark.
Hearing the roar of bikes, I move to the other side of the bar and take a seat. Rubbing my palms against my thighs, I focus on my breathing to keep calm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In and out. Slow and steady.
The front doors blast open hard enough to make me jerk. Seeing Judge appear, he’s got a scowl written all over his face. Only once he spots me does his expression soften.
He’s alive. He’s got blood soaking his shirt, but he’s alive.
For such a big guy, he eliminates the space between us in what feels like only a couple of steps. As the smell of copper hits my lungs, his hands are reaching for me. We notice the blood staining them at the same time, and he freezes, stopping only an inch shy of my cheeks.
Is it his blood, or someone else’s? Does it even matter? Judge is alive.
Relief floods me in a wave, and I choke on my next breath as I tumble off the stool to fall into his arms. “You’re alright.”
The tension in his body seems to melt completely as I get my arms wrapped around him. I try not to squeeze him too tightly, not without knowing his injuries.
Pulling away, I grimace at the crusted stains hiding underneath his cut. Relieved that none of it is wet, I take in the rest of him.
Only one part catches my attention compared to the rest of him.
Collecting his hands into mine, I take in their damage. The skin is broken, and it looks like they’re in so much pain. Leah’s probably busy enough with Warden and anyone else with wounds. A few busted knuckles should be something I can take care of on my own.
We’ve got a kit behind the bar for cuts and scrapes. Using the strength I don’t realize I have, I pull away from him and fetch the kit.
He hisses at the alcohol wipes, but grits his teeth for the rest of my careful tending.
“First, you beat Ripper up and bruised your knuckles. Now, you go and do this.” Wrapping the bandage between his fingers, I’m careful not to pull it too tight. “You need to take better care of yourself.”
Scolding him at the worst time, my stomach clenches when a chuckle rumbles out of him. At least he can still laugh at a time like this.
“Everyone make it?” My heart thuds faster as my curiosity gets the best of me.
Life won’t feel right if someone is missing. It’s been years since we’ve lost someone.
“Warden isn’t going to be able to ride for a minute. Diesel’s going to risk ruining his arms at this rate.” He ticks off the prospect’s conditions. “Smoke was grazed. Kansas took a blow to the eye. They’ll live.”
Sounding confident, I can’t help but believe him.
“And you? Outside of busted knuckles as a bruised cheek?” Lifting my hand, I cup his face and feel how warm he is. Must’ve taken a few hits, but he’s brushing them off like they’re nothing.
His eyes close, and he leans into my touch. “A few bruises at most. I’ll survive.”
He smells like blood. Badly. With how much is caked on him, I can only hope that those he fought got the worst end of the stick.
Packing up the kit, I leave it out in case anyone else needs it. Once my hands are free, I’m reaching for his wrist, not wanting to hurt him.
For such a brute, Judge easily follows where I pull him. Assuming I’m taking him to the room we’re sharing, he grunts when I take him to the showers instead.
The room is empty for once. My cheeks grow warm as I lead him over to one of the stalls, grabbing two towels in our way. Instead of letting him make his way into one by himself, I guide him inside and urge him to shut the curtain.
“What are we—” He chokes when I shove his jacket off. Peeling it down his arms, he grunts as I hang it up. He frowns down at me as I reach for his shirt next.
“You’re gross.” Not bothering to beat around the bush, I grimace at the way I have to peel the shirt away from his skin. “I… just want to get rid of all the evidence.”
More than that. After what he just went through, I want to offer him an escape he can get away from, even if it’s for a few minutes.
“I just wrapped your hands. Let me do this.” Clutching his shirt, I bite my lip. “Please.”
He doesn’t have it in him to put up a fight. Nodding his head, he helps me pull off his shirt. Revealing marks of purple and red against his chest, my next breath catches in my throat as I take in the bruises.
“They don’t hurt.” His bandaged hands distract me as he grabs at my shirt. Dragging it over my body, the cool air nips at my flushed skin. “Trust me, Pen. I’m fine.”
Hard to disagree with him when he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.
As warmth fills my body, I reach for his jeans. Hearing him groan under his breath, I take in the curve pressing against his zipper.
Yeah, he should be okay.
Holding my breath, I help him out of the rest of his clothes. I can’t be blamed for the way my eyes immediately lock onto his cock. Despite his injuries, there he is, swollen and thick.
Swallowing thickly, I feel a little better for feeling the twisting in my gut, too.
This is about cleaning him up, that’s all. Even if I really want to touch him, really, really want to touch him, I won’t. Tearing my eyes away, I can only hope I’m not drowning in my blush.
Stripping the rest of my clothes off, I’m pulling him closer to the shower. Once I have the water where it needs to be, I hear the soft hiss under his breath.
“Don’t get your hands dirty. Let me do everything.” Pinning him down with a look to push how serious I am about it, I watch his throat bob.
Lifting his hands, he keeps them away from the stream. “You don’t have to. I just want to make that clear.”
“I want to.” Terribly bad.
Letting him enjoy the heat the water provides, I grab some soap and lather up my hands before finally getting the chance to cave.
Ever so carefully, I start with his shoulders. It takes a stretch to reach all the way up there, but it gives me the excuse to brush up against him to coat his skin in the soap.
Dragging my hands down, I lighten my touch when I reach the scar on his chest. He doesn’t wince like I expect him to. “Does it hurt?”
He closes his eyes, inhaling slowly before shaking his head. “No. Not anymore.”
Amazed by his answer, I stare in wonder as he lets me touch him. Biting back my smile, I step a little closer so I can feel his body against mine.
“Pen…” Voice hoarse, he can’t hold back a groan from escaping him.
Spreading the suds along his chest, I wash away all the grime sticking to his skin. Carefully touching him, my fingers coast over bruises. No new stab wounds or bullet wounds, thank goodness.
“You’ve got blood everywhere.” Mumbling the truth, I look up at him and notice the flecks in his beard and the chunks clinging to his hair. It’s like he spent time rolling around in it.
He must’ve hurt a lot of people while he was away. People who deserved it.
“I don’t want you to see me like this.” Admitting his thoughts, he grimaces at the streak of red flowing down the drain. “You shouldn’t have to. This is—”
“This is something that comes with being yours, Judge.” Stopping my touch shy of his lower stomach, I drag my hands back up his chest. “I can handle a little blood.”
I don’t need to know who it belongs to or how it happened. All I need to worry about is this man coming back to me any time he gets tangled up in trouble.
“Now bend down and don’t get your hands wet.” Trying to put a little authoritative tone behind my words, I manage a smile when he listens.
I’ve always wanted to wash him like this. Washing his body is one thing, but cleaning his hair and beard feels even more personal. It gives me little butterflies.
“I’m going to pay you back for this.” Mumbling his promise, I shiver as his breath brushes against my skin.
Now is not the time to start getting tingly.
“You don’t owe me for a thing.” Huffing softly, I glide my fingers against his beard. Flattening my hands on his cheeks, I stand on my toes to kiss him. Attempting to hide my smile, I graze his mouth with mine. “I love you, Samuel.”
Four words I should’ve said before. Right now, I feel like there won’t possibly be a better time than now to make sure he knows for certain.