Chapter 6 - Judge
Everything hurts.
My ribs are screaming. My face feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it. Blood's streaming from my nose, filling my mouth with copper. My left eye is swelling shut so fast I can barely see out of it.
But I take it. I take every hit without fighting back more than necessary to stay conscious. Because twenty minutes ago, when these three pieces of shit rolled up, the gray-bearded one pulled out his phone and showed me a picture.
"Pretty thing," the gray-bearded one said, his voice casual like we were discussing the weather. "Cute kid too. What is she, four? Five?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't trust my voice.
"Demon wants to know who they are. Why the Iron Phoenix VP would break his man's arm over random civilians.
" He stepped closer. "We checked every security camera at that station.
Found this. Found them. Now we just need to know where they're staying.
" His smile was all teeth. "So, here's the deal, VP.
You take your beating. You don't fight back.
You let us record it and send it to Demon as proof that we handled business. And we don't go looking for them."
"They're not involved in this."
"Sure looked like it last night. Our boy said you protected them real good. Broke his arm, sent him running." The bald one cracked his knuckles. "Makes us wonder what they are to you."
"Nothing. Random civilians at the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Then you won't mind taking a beating. Since they mean nothing.
" The gray-bearded one showed me the phone again.
The picture of Nora and Grace. "You take it, we leave.
We don't go asking around town about new arrivals.
We don't check rental listings. We don't knock on doors.
" He leaned closer. "But if you fight back?
Well, we'll make it our business to find out why. "
What choice did I have?
Saint and Canvas were minutes out. If I could take a beating for a few minutes, if I could keep these bastards focused on me instead of searching for that house, then Nora and Grace would be safe.
So, I took it.
Took the first punch that split my lip. Took the kick that dropped me to my knees. Took the bald one's fist in my ribs that definitely cracked something. Took the gray-bearded one's boot in my stomach that made me taste blood.
The Viper from last night kept his phone up the whole time, recording, grinning with that broken face.
"Not so tough now, are you?" he taunted. "Where's all that VP energy? Where's that big man who broke my arm?"
I didn't answer. Just focused on breathing. On staying conscious. On counting the seconds until Saint and Canvas got here.
But then the door opened.
And everything went to hell.
Nora stood on the porch, her face pale and terrified, and she screamed at them to stop. To leave me alone. All three Vipers turned to look at her. The gray-bearded one's eyes lit up with recognition.
"Well, well," he said slowly. "That's her. That's the woman from the security footage."
No. Fuck no.
"Get inside." I tried to make it an order, but my voice came out wrecked. Ruined. "Nora, get inside now—"
But the Viper from last night was already moving toward her. Phone still recording. That sick grin spreading across his face.
"Come on out, sweetheart. Let me get a good look at you again. Let Demon see what the Iron Phoenix’s VP is willing to die for."
And now? Now, I don't know where the strength comes from.
Don't know how I manage to move when my ribs are screaming, and my vision's swimming and I can barely breathe.
But I'm on my feet. Shoving the bald one aside when he tries to grab me.
Dodging the gray-bearded one's attempt to kick my legs out again.
The Viper from last night is ten feet from the porch. Eight feet. Six.
"Stay away from her." My voice is barely human. More growl than words.
He glances back at me, laughing. "Or what? You can barely stand, old man. What are you going to—"
I don't let him finish.
I grab him by the back of his vest and yank him backward so hard he flies off his feet. His phone skitters across the pavement. He lands on his back, the air rushing out of him in a wheeze, and I'm on him before he can recover.
My fist connects with his already-broken nose. Blood explodes. He screams. I hit him again. And again.
"You don't—" Hit. "—fucking touch her—" Hit. "—you don't even look at her—"
Hands grab me from behind. The bald one and gray-bearded one hauling me off the Viper, who's curling into a ball, blood pouring from his face.
"So that's how it is," the gray-bearded one says. There's something dark in his voice. Satisfied. Like I just confirmed something. "You do care. That changes things."
He spins me around and drives his fist into my stomach. The broken rib shifts and I nearly black out from the pain.
"New deal," he says. Close enough that I can smell tobacco on his breath. "We take the girl. Bring her to Demon. Let him decide what to do with civilians who get involved in club business."
"Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged."
The bald one grabs my arm, twists it behind my back. The angle is wrong, too high, something pops in my shoulder and agony shoots down my arm.
The gray-bearded one walks toward the porch.
Toward Nora.
She's backing up, hands raised, eyes wide with terror. "Don't. Please. My daughter is inside. She's five years old. Please don't—"
"Should've thought about that before you opened the door, sweetheart."
I see movement in the window behind Nora. A small face. Dark curls. Grace is watching. Watching these men advance on her mother. Watching me bleeding on the ground.
I'm fighting now. Actually fighting. Driving my elbow back into the bald one's face. He grunts but doesn't let go. I kick backward, catch his knee, feel something crunch. He roars and releases me.
I stumble forward. The gray-bearded one's almost to the porch steps.
"Nora, run—"
Then I hear it.
The most beautiful sound in the world.
Two motorcycles. Coming fast. Coming hard.
Saint and Canvas.
The gray-bearded one hears them too. He stops, turns, curses viciously.
The bikes scream around the corner. Saint's in front, his bike black with silver accents, the Iron Phoenix patch prominent on his vest. Canvas is right behind him, his bike louder, modified exhaust that sounds like thunder.
They don't slow down. Don't stop to assess. They see me bleeding on the ground, see the gray-bearded one near the porch, see the bald one and the Viper from last night scattered around the street, and they react.
Saint's off his bike before it's fully stopped. He catches the gray-bearded one as he tries to back away from the porch, grabs him by his vest and slams him against the porch railing so hard the wood cracks.
"You made a mistake coming here," Saint says. His voice is cold. Flat. "You made a really fucking big mistake."
Canvas goes straight for the bald one. The bald one's bigger. Six-five, at least two-eighty, pure muscle, but Canvas doesn't care. He's faster. He drives his fist into the bald one's solar plexus, follows with an uppercut that snaps his head back, blood flying from his mouth.
I'm trying to get up. Trying to help. But my body won't cooperate. Everything's screaming. The broken rib, the dislocated shoulder, the swelling eye. I manage to get to my knees. That's as far as I get before my vision grays out.
"Judge!" Canvas glances over, sees me struggling. "Stay down. We got this."
Saint has the gray-bearded one pinned against the porch, forearm across his throat. "How many of you did Demon send?"
The gray-bearded one spits blood. Grins despite the pressure on his windpipe.
"Just us three. Scouting mission. See what the VP cares about.
Report back." His eyes slide to Nora, still frozen on the porch.
Then to the window where Grace's face is pressed against the glass.
"Looks like we found something interesting.
The woman from the security footage. And the kid.
Demon's going to want to know all about them. "
His gaze shifts to Saint, and his grin widens.
"Well, well. Look who came to play hero.
Little Saint. Demon's baby brother." He laughs, blood bubbling at his lips.
"Oh, Demon's going to love this. His traitor brother protecting the Iron Phoenix VP and his civilian bitches. This just keeps getting better."
Saint's entire body goes rigid. His forearm presses harder against the gray-bearded one's throat. For a second, I think he's going to crush his windpipe right there.
"Say that again," Saint says, his voice deadly quiet. "I fucking dare you."
The gray-bearded one chokes, gasping, but manages to rasp out, "Demon... knows you're soft... knows you'll always... be soft... protecting the weak..."
Canvas calls out a warning. "Saint! Civilian!"
Saint looks up at Nora. His face changes immediately. The rage banks. He releases the gray-bearded one but doesn't step back. "Ma'am, are you okay?"
Nora nods shakily. Can't seem to speak.
"Is there anyone else inside?"
"My—my daughter. She's five. She's—" Nora's voice breaks. "Is Judge… Is he—"
"He's alive," Saint says. "Stubborn bastard won't die that easy.
" He glances at me. Then back at the gray-bearded one.
"You're going to get on your bike and ride back to Demon.
You're going to tell him exactly what happened.
That he sent three men and the Iron Phoenix sent two, and his men lost. You're going to tell him that if he comes after civilians again, if he even thinks about using them as leverage, we won't just beat his men. We'll bury them."
"Big talk from nine men against forty-three."
"We're not the ones who ran," Canvas says. He's got the bald one on the ground now, knee pressed into his back, the bald one's arm twisted at an angle that makes my shoulder hurt just looking at it. "We're not the ones who need three against one to get a win."