Page 4 of Judge’s Redemption

Dottie waits until Mrs. Bell leaves with fresh layers and enough information to feed three weeks of gossip. Then she locks the front door, turns the sign to CLOSED, and leans against the reception desk.

“You want me to keep Evie tonight?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“She likes my house.”

“She likes your cookie jar.”

“Same thing at four.” Dottie's expression softens. “You don't have to do this alone.”

“I've been doing everything alone for five years.” The words come out sharper than she deserves.

Dottie doesn't flinch. “That wasn't what I said.”

I sweep a line of hair into a pile beneath my chair. “Judge is coming to the house after she's asleep. We're going to talk on the porch. That's all.”

“And when he asks why you didn't tell him?”

“I did try.”

Dottie knows that. She waited in the car while I walked up to the compound gates six months pregnant and terrified.

King met me before I got inside.

He'd been president of Kingdom Come for thirty years and ruled the club, and everyone connected to it, as though they belonged to him. Kane's father was cold, ruthless, and very good at making a threat sound like advice.

He made sure I understood there was nothing waiting for me beyond those gates.

Dottie's mouth pinches. “He was a cruel bastard.”

“Yeah…he was.”

“Judge isn't King though.”

“No.” I straighten and meet her eyes. “Judge was the man who made King easy to believe.”

She doesn't argue with that.

At home, Evie eats half a grilled cheese, all the apple slices, and exactly one bite of tomato because I ask her to. She tells me the worm probably has a worm family and wants to know whether worms have preschool. I answer as best I can while watching the clock move toward seven thirty.

Her bath takes fifteen minutes. Finding the correct stuffed rabbit takes ten more because apparently the near identical rabbit on the bed is not Bun-Bun but Bun-Bun's cousin, Steven.

By seven twenty, she's tucked beneath her yellow blanket with Bun-Bun under one arm.

“Who was the motorcycle man?” she asks as I turn on the night-light.

The question stops me beside the door.

“His name is Judge.”

“That's a funny name.”

“It's what his friends call him.”

“Is he your friend?”

Once, he was everything.