Page 7 of Judge’s Obsession

He scoffs, derision in his voice. “I don’t rape women.”

My eyes fly open. “Then what are you…”

He releases me, and I spin around to face him. My new position doesn’t help me much as I’m still backed into a corner.

He places his gun on the counter out of my reach, then locks me into place, his hands gripping the marble on either side of me.

He dips his head closer to mine and speaks slowly and evenly. “You want to leave? Fine. But don’t think for one minute that Demon and his guys aren’t out there waiting. They won’t stop until they track you down. Then what happens?”

I want to look away, but I can’t. He’s right. I might have escaped Demon, but I’m not free.

He searches my eyes, then his attention drifts down my body. Suddenly, he reaches for my hands. I try to fight him, but he takes hold of them and looks them over.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he turns them over and inspects the damage.

When his eyes return to mine, his are full of vengeance and promise. I flinch when he reaches for my hips and effortlessly lifts me onto the counter.

Then he points at me. “Stay.”

I open my mouth to argue but think better of it as I watch him turn toward the cupboard under the sink. He digs around until he finds what he’s looking for.

A small, white box.

My trepidation grows until he opens it to reveal medical supplies.

“Hand,” he demands, holding out his hand for mine.

When I don’t immediately comply, his scowl deepens, and he retrieves it anyway. This tall, gruff man works in silence, far more tender than a man like him has any right to be.

With each flinch, he slows and mutters an apology. After about a half hour, he seems to come to the conclusion that there’s nothing more he can do.

He helps me off the counter and grasps my wrist. “Come with me.” His request doesn’t permit argument, but that doesn’t stop me.

“What? No. I can’t just—” I attempt to tug free of him, as ridiculous as that is. There’s no way I can fight him. If he wants something, he’s going to make sure he gets it.

He faces me, his jaw tight, fury still burning in his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“I—what?”

“Your name, Little Mouse. What is it?”

“Why?” I can tell he’s fighting to remain in control, so I blurt, “Kaylie.”

“Kaylie, you’re not going to be safe here for long. The Grave Saints aren’t going to let this stand. The best I can do is give you a room at the clubhouse. You can either walk on your own two feet, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and take you there on my terms. Your choice.”

I gape at him. How is his clubhouse any better? There will be other men there. Other dangers. I shake my head emphatically and attempt to tug my arm free. He shakes his head, disappointed, before he ducks down and quite literally throws me over his shoulder.

The ride to the clubhouse isn’t long, but it’s just as tense as the last hour.

Pressed against his broad back, with my arms wrapped around his waist, I hate how comforting the warmth feels. My body fits so naturally against his, and I stop myself from closing my eyes and pretending I’m safe.

I don’t even know his name. I won’t give him the satisfaction of asking, though.

As far as I’m concerned, this situation is only temporary. I’ll heal up, and then I’m out of here.

We pull up to an unassuming structure. It’s located on a dirt road off the state highway. There are no other buildings or structures nearby. No chance of finding help if I choose to run.

I bet this is tactical. They’d be able to see anyone coming from all sides.