Judge’s Justice (Iron Phoenix MC #2)

Chapter 1 - Nora

The bus smells like stale air and someone's leftover fast food, and I've been breathing it for six hours straight. Grace is curled against my side, her head heavy on my arm.

The world outside the window is nothing but darkness and occasional streetlights, and I keep checking my phone like the map will somehow change, like Millhaven will suddenly be closer than it was thirty seconds ago.

My reflection in the window looks like a ghost: pale, red-rimmed eyes, hair falling out of its ponytail in greasy strands.

I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours.

Haven't eaten anything but gas station crackers.

My stomach is a knot of nausea and rage that won't untangle no matter how many deep breaths I take.

I came home early. That's the stupid part. I came home early because I forgot my laptop and needed it for a presentation the next day. Turned my key in the lock at two in the afternoon instead of six. Walked down the hallway calling his name.

Opened the bedroom door and…

My chest tightens. I force myself to breathe.

Grace shifts against me, and I look down at her sleeping face, those dark curls tangled around her cheeks, her mouth slightly open, completely peaceful.

She has no idea. No idea that her father chose someone else.

That I packed everything we could carry into two suitcases and ran before I could talk myself out of it.

She keeps asking where we're going. Keeps signing it with those small, perfect hands. “Where, Mama? Where?”

“On a trip,” I sign back. “Just you and me.”

She smiles every time like it's an adventure. Like we're not running. Like I'm not the biggest idiot who ever lived for trusting a man who told me not to worry about his "best friend."

The bus slows. I feel it in my bones, that deceleration that means we're almost there. My phone buzzes, a text from Jennie.

**You there yet? Call me when you get settled. I love you. He's an asshole.**

I smile despite everything. Jennie answered on the first ring when I called her from the gas station bathroom, my voice shaking so hard I could barely get the words out.

She didn't say "I told you so" even though she could have.

Just said, *Pack your stuff. Leave. I'll help you figure out the rest.*

My mom said almost the same thing. Told me to come stay with her, but she's three states away and hasn't been the same since Dad died. I couldn't do that to her. Couldn't show up broken on her doorstep and make her take care of me when she's barely holding herself together.

So, I found Millhaven instead. Googled "quiet small towns" and picked the first one that had an Airbnb with a code entry. No checking in with a host. No small talk. No having to pretend I'm okay when I'm so far from okay I can't even see it from here.

People online said Millhaven is mostly calm. Calm sounds perfect. Calm sounds like exactly what I need.

The bus pulls into the station, and I realize immediately that "station" is a generous word for what this is.

It's a covered bench with a vending machine and a single streetlight that flickers like it's considering giving up entirely.

The building behind it, some kind of convenience store, maybe, is dark. Closed. Everything is closed.

Of course it is. It's almost eleven at night.

I wake Grace gently, signing against her palm so she knows I'm here before she opens her eyes. “We're here, baby. Time to wake up.”

She blinks up at me, confused and sleepy, then sits up and looks around. Her hands move immediately. “Where is here?”

“Millhaven,” I sign back. “Our new place for a little while.”

“Is Daddy here?”

My heart cracks. “No, baby. Just us.”

She frowns but doesn't ask anything else. I grab our two suitcases from the overhead compartment, and the bus driver barely looks at us as we step down onto the pavement.

The doors hiss shut behind us, and the bus pulls away, and then it's just us. Me and Grace in a flickering pool of light in a town I've never seen before.

Grace's hand finds mine immediately. She doesn't like new places, doesn't like not knowing what's around her when she can't hear everything. I squeeze her fingers and try to look confident even though I have no idea where we're going.

The Airbnb is a ten-minute walk according to my phone. Straight down Main Street, left on Oak, third house on the right. Easy. Except my suitcase has a broken wheel and keeps trying to tip over. Grace is dragging her feet because she's tired, and the streetlights are few and far between.

I'm trying to figure out how to carry both bags and hold Grace's hand when I remember the vending machine. Food. We need food. I have maybe thirty dollars in cash and a debit card I'm terrified to use in case he's monitoring it somehow, but Grace hasn't eaten since the gas station six hours ago.

“Hungry?” I sign to her.

She nods immediately, her whole face lighting up.

The vending machine is ancient, the kind with a mechanical arm that's supposed to push your selection forward. I feed in a five-dollar bill and press the buttons for a bag of pretzels and a pack of cookies. The arm moves. The pretzels don't.

Of course.

I try again. Nothing. The machine ate my money and gave me nothing, and I feel tears burning behind my eyes because this is perfect. This is exactly perfect. I left everything, and I can't even get my daughter a snack from a vending machine.

"Well, well. What do we have here?"

The voice comes from behind me, and I spin around so fast I nearly trip over my suitcase.

The man leaning against the closed convenience store wall is maybe mid-thirties, with slicked-back hair and a leather vest covered in patches.

A skull with flames coiled around it. Words I can't quite read in the flickering light.

He's holding a beer bottle, and when he smiles, it makes my skin crawl.

"Didn't expect to see anyone this late." He pushes off the wall, moving toward us with the confidence of someone who's used to getting what he wants. "You lost, sweetheart?"

I pull Grace closer instinctively. "No. We're fine."

"Don't look fine to me." His eyes slide over me in a way that makes me want to shower. Linger on my curves in places that make my stomach turn. "Look like you could use some help. Some... company. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be alone at night."

"We don't need anything. Thank you."

"Come on, don't be like that." He takes another step closer, and I smell stale beer and cigarettes. "I'm just being friendly. What's your name? Where you staying?"

Grace is pressed against my side now, her hand fisting in my jacket. She can't hear what he's saying, but she can feel my fear.

"Please just leave us alone." My voice shakes, and I hate it. Hate how small I sound.

"Leave you alone?" He laughs, but there's nothing funny about it. "Baby, I'm just trying to be neighborly. You new in town? Looking for a place to stay? I could help with that." His eyes drop to Grace, and something in his expression turns uglier. "Cute kid. She yours?"

I step in front of Grace completely. "Don't look at her."

"Protective mama bear, huh?" He's close enough now that I can see the patches on his vest clearly.

A serpent coiled around a skull. VIPERS MC.

"I like that. Shows you got spirit." He takes another drink from his beer.

"Tell you what… Why don't you give me your number?

I can show you around town tomorrow. Make sure you get settled in right. "

"I said no."

"You're making this harder than it needs to be." His voice drops lower, meaner. "I'm trying to be nice here. You should appreciate that."

My heart is racing so hard I can barely breathe. I'm searching for something to say, some way to make him leave, when I hear it.

The low rumble of a motorcycle engine.

The Viper hears it too. His head snaps toward the sound as the motorcycle comes into view, headlight cutting through the darkness, and pulls to a stop about twenty feet away.

The engine cuts off.

The man who climbs off is big. Not just tall, but well-built, the kind of broad-shouldered, heavily muscled presence that takes up space without trying.

Short dark hair. Green eyes that immediately lock onto the scene in front of him.

A leather vest over a black shirt, patches I can't quite make out, something emblazoned across his back.

He doesn't say anything. Just stands there next to his bike, completely still, watching. The Viper's whole demeanor changes. His shoulders straighten. His chin lifts. When he speaks, there's something challenging in his voice. "This doesn't concern you."

The bigger man's eyes move from the Viper to me to Grace pressed against my side. Then back to the Viper. "Looks like it does."

"I'm just having a conversation with the lady here." The Viper's hand drops casually to his belt, where I now see a knife handle tucked. "Private conversation."

"She doesn't look like she wants to talk to you."

"That's not your call to make." The Viper takes a step toward the bigger man, and I see something dangerous flash across his face. Something eager. "You wearing Phoenix colors?"

The bigger man doesn't move. "I am."

"Well, shit." The Viper grins, but it's all teeth and no warmth. "This just got interesting. You know we're at war, right? Your president made sure of that when he stole what belonged to us."

"He didn't steal anything. He protected someone who asked for help."

"That's not how Demon sees it." The Viper is still smiling, still moving closer. "You got a name, Phoenix?"

"Judge."

The Viper's eyes go wide. Then he laughs: loud, mean, delighted. "No shit? You're Judge? The VP?" He looks back at me, then at Judge again. "This is perfect. You know what taking down the VP of the Iron Phoenix would do for me? The reputation I'd get?"

"You're welcome to try."

"Oh, I'm going to do more than try, old man." The Viper pulls the knife from his belt, and flips it open with a practiced flick. "Demon's going to pin a medal on me when I bring him your patch."