Page 33 of Judge's Justice

Judge shifts in the front seat, groaning softly. Brick glances over at him, his expression flickering with concern before smoothing back to neutral.

"How you holding up?" Brick asks.

"Been better." Judge's voice is rough, barely above a whisper. "How much longer?"

"Ten minutes. Phoenix is prepping the medical room now."

"Medical room?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. "You have a medical room?"

Brick glances at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes are steady, assessing. "Yeah. We're prepared for situations like this. Injuries that need treatment but can't go to hospitals."

"Because hospitals mean police," I say, remembering what Judge said.

"Exactly."

"And Saint used to be a paramedic, right?"

"Yes, between leaving the Vipers and joining us. He knows what he's doing. Judge will be okay."

Grace tugs on my sleeve. "What are they saying, Mama?"

I'd been speaking out loud without signing. I translate quickly, and Grace nods seriously.

"Good. Judge needs a doctor. Even if it's Saint-doctor instead of hospital-doctor." She pauses. "Do you think the clubhouse has snacks?"

Despite everything, despite the terror and guilt, I almost laugh. "I don't know, baby."

"Because I'm hungry. And Judge probably needs to eat too when he wakes up properly. Food helps healing."

"Where did you learn that?"

"Daniel Tiger. He had a song about it."

Of course she did. My daughter is applying lessons from a children's TV show to a biker who just got the shit kicked out of him by a rival gang.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

The van slows, turning onto a narrow road flanked by trees. The pavement is rough, cracked, like it hasn't been maintained in years. We drive for another minute before I see it: a chain-link fence, a gate, and beyond it, a compound of low buildings that look like they've been here forever.

Saint's motorcycle rumbles past us, pulling up to the gate. He does something with a keypad, and the gate swings open. Brick drives through, and it closes behind us with a metallic clang that almost makes me jump.

Grace presses her face against the window, watching as Brick parks near the largest building: a long, low structure that looks like it might have been a warehouse once. There are motorcycles parked in neat rows out front. A truck. Another van.

And two people.

A man and a woman standing near the entrance. The man is tall, broader than Judge, with dark hair and an air of authority that's impossible to miss even from inside the van. The woman beside him is younger. Maybe mid-twenties, with auburn hair cut short and green eyes that look nervous but determined.

"That's Phoenix," Brick says, following my gaze. "Our president. And that's Ivy. Phoenix's old lady."

Phoenix. The man who started this club. The man Judge followed because he believed in what Phoenix was building. The man who looks like he's about to have very strong opinions about his VP bringing random civilians into a war zone.

Brick kills the engine. Canvas appears at my door, opening it before I can move.

"Ma'am," he says, offering his hand. "Welcome to Iron Phoenix."

I take his hand and step out of the van. Grace scrambles out after me, immediately pressing against my side, her eyes huge as she takes in the compound.

Saint and Brick move to the passenger side, helping Judge out of the van. Judge tries to stand on his own and nearly collapses. Brick catches him, slinging Judge's good arm over his shoulders.