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JUDGE
I SIT BEHIND THE BENCH and give a nervous looking Kevin Timmons a stern look. “Mr. Timmons, you know thievery is not tolerated in Malus, but since this is your first offense, I’ll go easy on you. You’ll spend one month in the town jail.”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” Kevin grumbles. “I was only borrowing it.”
“Typically, when you borrow something, you ask the owner first. And when you get done, you return it. How long did you have Mr. Syke’s weed eater?”
“Two weeks,” he admits, his eyes dropping from mine, embarrassment coating his cheeks red.
“And how did you get the weed eater?”
He blows out a breath before answering. “I picked the lock on his shed.”
“Why didn’t you just ask if you could use it?”
“Because I knew he wouldn’t let me borrow it. He’s a greedy bastard.”
I cock a brow. “That’s not helping your case, Mr. Timmons. In fact, it’s only pissing me off.” Wisely, he keeps quiet. “On top of your one month stay in jail, you’ll also mow Mr. Syke’s yard for a year, starting when you’re released.”
He opens his mouth to protest but snaps it closed when I narrow my eyes at him. The very last thing anyone would think to call me is a push over. What I say goes and everyone who knows me knows that, including Kevin Timmons.
“Yes, Judge.”
I pick up my gavel and slam it down on the sound block, calling the session over. Grabbing the case file, I get up from my chair as Deputy Sanchez walks over to Kevin to escort him next door back to his cell.
I take a seat behind my desk once I’m in my office. Well, I guess it’s technically called my chambers, but I’ve never been one to follow proper protocol. Like the ‘Your Honor’ shit people call most judges. It’s stupid as fuck and sounds high and mighty. Yes, I may be the one who decides a person’s future, but I’m no different than them. What right do I have to demand they call me something that suggests my status is above them? Pompous assholes. That’s what the government is.
I toss Kevin’s file on top of the only other file on my desk. It’s not often I have to hold court against a member of Malus. Crime rarely happens here, and when it does, it’s petty shit like thievery or kids causing ruckus or a dispute between neighbors. It’s the way I like it. It’s part of the reason why my brothers and I decided to rebuild Malus. To provide us and anyone who lives here a safe place to live.
My phone dings on my desk, and I snatch it up. Excitement builds in my chest as I open the email I’ve been waiting a week to receive.
The package has been delivered. Below is the video confirmation.
No signature. Not that I need one. I know who it’s from and what I’m about to watch. I’ve got a collection of these videos I’ve been gathering the last few years. This one will be added to the same external disk drive as the others. After I watch it, of course.
I grab the bottle of bourbon and glass from my desk drawer and pour a couple of inches. I click on the link in the email and wait for the video to pop up. Sitting back in my chair, I bring the glass to my lips as I wait for it to load.
A smile forms on my face when the screen turns from black to a view of an office. There’s an older man sitting behind a desk, much smaller than the one I’m at now. It’s a side view of him looking at his computer monitor. I can’t see what’s on the screen, but I don’t need to. Even if I didn’t know what he was watching, I could tell by the horror on the man’s face that it’s not something he wants to be watching.
Sweat slides down his rapidly paling face. What I wouldn’t give to have been in the room with him as this was taking place. I bet I would have heard his heart beating from several feet away.
A couple of minutes later, the man slams the lid closed on his laptop and bends over the trash can beside his desk, emptying the contents of his stomach. I laugh at the sight and sound of his retching, more than pleased at the results. Once he’s finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sags back in his chair. He looks like shit. Each video I get of him, he looks worse than the one before.
The video turns black. All I needed was a video of his reaction watching the clip I sent him. More will come later. Much more. Building anticipation is a wonderful thing, and I’m damn sure enjoying it.
I pull out the external hard drive, hook it up to my computer, and transfer the video file. Once I’m finished, I delete the email. Finished for the day, I shut down my computer, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, locking the door behind me as I leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Beverly,” I call to the receptionist as I pass by her desk.
“Have a good night!” she says back.
A few minutes later, I’m greeted to a damn good smell when I walk into the house. My keys and phone get dumped onto the counter as I come up behind Layla and lay a kiss on the back of her neck.
“Something smells delicious,” I rumble and take a step back.
She tosses me a smile over her shoulder before turning back to stir whatever she’s cooking in a pot.
“It’s a recipe Remi gave me. Homemade beef stew.”
