Page 35 of Judge's Justice

"She'll be safe with Ivy," Phoenix says. He's standing beside me now, watching them too. "Ivy's good with kids. And she knows what it's like to be scared and in over your head."

I look at him. "She does?"

"She showed up here about a month ago. Running from a Viper who treated her badly. I protected her. Just like Judge is protecting you." He pauses. "This club was built to protect people who need it. That's not just words. That's what we do."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," I whisper. "I just wanted somewhere safe and quiet. I just wanted to start over with my daughter."

"I know." Phoenix's voice is surprisingly gentle. "And you still can. After we deal with the Vipers. After we make sure they understand that civilians are off-limits." He looks at me. "But right now, the safest place for you and Grace is here. With us. Understood?"

I nod because I don't trust my voice.

"Good. Come on. Let's get you to Judge before he starts trying to get up to find you."

Phoenix walks toward the building, and I follow. Past the motorcycles and the men who watch us with curious but not unfriendly eyes. Through the door into a space that smells like leather and coffee and something that might be chili cooking somewhere.

Down a hallway. Past doors with patches and names. To a room at the end with medical supplies visible through the open door.

Judge is on a table, shirt gone, Saint cleaning blood from his face. Brick stands nearby, arms crossed, watching.

Judge's good eye finds mine immediately.

"You okay?" he asks. His voice is barely audible, wrecked and rough and still somehow concerned about me when he's the one who can barely move.

And I know, right here and now, I'm already in too deep. Grace and I just became part of something we don't understand. Something dangerous and probably doomed.

But when I walk to Judge's side and his hand lifts slightly: an invitation, a reassurance, I take it without thinking.

And he holds on like I'm the most important thing in the world.

Like we both are.

And I think: *Maybe family isn't such a ridiculous word after all.*

Even if it can't possibly last.

Chapter 8 - Judge

The sharp sting of a needle pierces my arm, and I try to protest, try to tell Saint I don't need whatever the fuck he's about to pump into me, but my mouth won't cooperate. Words come out slurred, meaningless.

"Easy," Saint says somewhere above me. "Just painkillers and something to help you sleep. You need rest, Judge. Real rest. Not the kind where you wake up swinging every hour."

I want to argue. Want to tell him I need to stay awake, need to watch over Nora and Grace, and need to make sure the Vipers don't come back. But Nora's hand is warm in mine, her fingers gentle around my battered knuckles, and that simple touch is enough.

It makes me want to hold on. Makes me want to resist the pull of whatever drug Saint just gave me long enough to tell her… To tell her what? That I'd do it again? That those broken ribs and dislocated shoulder were worth it? That I'd take a hundred beatings if it meant keeping her and Grace safe?

But the words won't come. The world is getting fuzzy around the edges, soft and distant, and the last thing I feel before I go under is Nora's hand holding mine.

Like an anchor.

Like something worth waking up for.

Days later…

When I open my eyes, everything hurts.

Not the screaming agony from before, but a dull, persistent ache that radiates through my entire body. My ribs throb with every breath. My shoulder feels stiff, immobile, wrapped in somethingthat keeps my arm pinned against my chest. My face… Christ, my face feels like I went ten rounds with a concrete wall.

I blink slowly, trying to orient myself. The medical room. I'm still in the medical room. Dim lighting. The smell of antiseptic and something else, coffee, maybe. How long was I—