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“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he replies. “I was in the kitchen getting something to drink when the next minute it felt like a bomb was going off in my head.”
“Jenny’s dead,” Judge says grimly. I bite my tongue to hold back the sobs wanting to break free again.
“What?” Benjamin explodes, knocking JW’s hand away when he sits up quickly.
“Lay the hell back, you dumb ass,” JW growls when Benjamin starts to list to the side from his sudden movement.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Benjamin mumbles over and over again, following JW’s orders because he has no choice. It’s either that or pass out. He already looks like he’s on the verge of losing the contents of his stomach.
“Yeah. Shit. She’s fuckin’ hacked to pieces on our bed.” Judge spins away and reaches for the back of his head with both hands, gripping his dark strands and tugging roughly. A guttural growl rumbles from him.
“Son-of-a-bitch, Judge. I’m sorry.” Benjamin rubs his hands down his pants, his expression full of remorse. “So fuckin’ sorry.”
Judge’s back stiffens, but he doesn’t turn back or say anything to acknowledge the apology.
I’m devastated for him. We may not know each other that well and it’s not my place to offer condolences, especially given the reason behind Jenny’s morbid death, but I still wish I could go to him and pull him into my arms; give him the soft comfort that normally only females offer. I don’t think it would be well received though.
A car door slams outside. Judge stalks across the living room and meets Trouble, a black medical bag in his hand, at the front door. They exchange a few murmured words, Trouble’s brows slashing into a frown as he listens to Judge.
“Take care of him,” he grunts and jerks his chin in Benjamin’s direction.
Trouble steps up to Judge and lays a hand on his shoulder. It shows how close they are when he doesn’t knock his hand away.
“I’d like to take a look at Jenny first. See if there’s—”
“There’s nothing that can be fuckin’ done, Tro
uble. He tore her Goddamn insides out.” Judge slams his teeth together and hisses out a breath. “Just fuckin’ take care of Benjamin.”
After that, he walks out the front door, leaving it open in his wake. I watch him through the open doorway as he marches down the steps and stops in the front yard. His head falls forward and his shoulders droop, like they’re holding the weight of the world and he doesn’t have the strength to hold it any longer.
Trouble walks by me, his hand squeezing my arm in comfort as he passes by. As soon as he takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Benjamin, JW walks over to me.
“Jesus, you’re as white as a damn ghost,” he mutters, grabbing my hand and leading me to a chair. He forces me to sit and points a finger at me. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves me and goes into the kitchen, reminding me of my search for Jenny a while ago. I never actually went into the kitchen; I just saw over the bar that it was empty. Or at least I thought it was. Benjamin was only a few feet away, and I didn’t even realize it. Had it been Diego, even more destruction would have happened. I shiver at the thought.
JW comes back, holding a glass filled with amber liquid. I take it when he holds it out to me. I’m not a big drinker, but I make an exception this time. Anything to help numb the pain I’m feeling.
I drain the glass, coughing at the burn sliding down my throat.
“More?” JW asks, taking the glass from me.
“No, thank you.”
Snagging me around my waist, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, spins to take my seat, and puts me down on his lap. He palms the back of my head and presses my face into his neck, and I’m only too willing to let him. I feel like a child being consoled by a parent.
The kind and comforting gesture brings more tears to my eyes. I don’t want to cry anymore, not that Jenny doesn’t deserve my tears. I just want to be strong. Being strong is the only thing that will help me defeat Diego. But strength is the very last thing I feel right now. I feel weak and fragile and regretful. So much regret. Then comes the guilt. Not only for what Jenny went through, but because I’m throwing my own little pity party in my head. It’s selfish. My feelings don’t count right now.
The soothing feeling of JW’s hand running up and down my back comforts me, and after a few minutes, my cries of sorrow become quiet hiccoughing sobs.
He pulls me away from his neck, and I want to protest. I’m not done leaning on him. “Are you okay?” He tucks a piece of loose hair behind my ear.
“I don’t know.” It’s the only answer I feel comfortable giving.
“You aren’t to blame for this, Gypsy,” he says gently.
“I’m not—” He doesn’t let me finish.
