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Why was he on his back when it hurt so damn bad?
Where the fuck was he? Why couldn’t he open his eyes?
Easy had to concentrate hard to force them open even partially. As soon as he did, he shut them again because the light caused an ice pick to stab his eyeballs and pain to radiate through his shaken-not-stirred brain.
He groaned again and when he went to roll over to push himself to his feet, he couldn’t. Something was holding him down.
A weight.
Was he restrained?
Fuck! Were the Shirleys back and they ambushed the club?
Maybe he was dead and someone forgot to tell him.
He gradually blinked his eyes open to let them adjust to the bright light.
“Did I make it into Heaven?” Was that his voice? Couldn’t be. It sounded like a ninety-year-old man.
Judge’s deep snort made him turn to see the blurry outline of the enforcer hovering over him. “Yeah, you’re in Heaven, dumbass. And I’m Saint Peter.”
Easy cleared his throat that was as dry as his mouth. Someone must have fed him a dirt sandwich. “You’re way fuckin’ uglier than I thought, Pete.”
“Think you got bigger fuckin’ problems than what I fuckin’ look like. Especially since you ain’t in Heaven. More like you just stepped up to the gates of Hell.”
He’d been there before. However, not feeling the way he did at that moment. Like he needed a scorching hot bath, a few Percocets, a massage and a bottle of whiskey.
A blowjob might help, too.
Since his vision was fuzzy, he had to concentrate hard on Judge’s face to see him more clearly but as soon as he did, Easy knew he wasn’t getting any of what he needed.
The big man’s expression made it seem like things were about to get worse.
Maybe he should close his eyes, wait a few minutes and try again. Like powering off his phone to reset it when it was acting up.
That was what he needed… A restart button.
“You just gonna lie there or you need me to help you up, you stupid bastard?” Judge’s deep rumble, along with the rest of his thoughts, circled Easy’s brain like a drain.
“Why am I lyin’ here? What the fuck happened?”
“Trip.”
Huh? “I tripped?”
“Somethin’ like that, but The Punisher caught your fall.”
Trip. The Punisher.
Fuck!
Wait.
Did he imagine…
“Tessa?” He tried to sit up and the horizon tilted at a dangerous angle. “Fuuuuck,” he breathed.
Judge grabbed his arm and held him upright until the dizziness slowed somewhat. At least to the point where he no longer felt like puking. Wrong, he still felt like puking.
“She got carried into the farmhouse.”
Even his frown hurt. What the fuck! “Why did she need to be carried? What’s wrong with her?”
“When you went down, she went down.”
When you went down, she went down.
“Don’t get what you’re sayin’.”
“Then let me catch you up to speed. You fucked Trip’s sister behind his back. Trip knocked the fuck outta you. Tess tried to stop him.”
“She get in the way and get hit?” If so, Easy was going to kill Trip for that.
“Nope. She passed out.”
“From what?”
“From you gettin’ knocked out.”
“Makes no sense.”
“You remember what she said?”
“Who?”
“Tessa!”
He blinked and tried to think back. He didn’t remember much of anything. “No.”
“She wanted to take your place.”
“The fuck she did.”
“Yeah. Blamed herself. The only problem is, she can’t knock herself up.”
What kind of fucking language was Judge speaking? “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”
“You fuckin’ knocked her up and she shouted it to the fuckin’ world, hopin’ it would stop Trip from hittin’ you more.”
“Guessin’ it didn’t work.”
“Fuck no. Wasn’t her finest moment since it had the opposite effect.”
“He hit me pretty fuckin’ hard.”
“No fuckin’ shit. Think he was tryin’ to kill you. If I hadn’t stopped him, he might have.”
“Why?”
“Jesus fuck, brother, try to keep up. You knocked up Tessa and Trip knocked you upside your melon. You not only kept that you were bangin’ Tessa a secret but her pregnancy, too.”
Easy took a breath and, fuck him, it hurt like fuck, but he had no choice but to take another one. And another. Unless he didn’t need oxygen in Hell? That would be a plus.
Wait. Did Judge say knocked up? “She was just usin’ that to get Trip to stop.”
“Better hope that’s true, but thinkin’ it’s not. Congrats, you dumb motherfucker.”
“That can’t be right, we… fuck…”
Judge cocked one eyebrow.
“Help me up,” Easy finished weakly.
Judge fisted Easy’s bloody T-shirt near the neckline and somehow hauled him to his feet without it ripping. He automatically reached out and planted a hand on the enforcer’s arm to keep his balance and from falling back to the crushed grass beneath his feet.
“You got it?” Judge asked.
“No.” He swallowed down the saliva pooling in his mouth. “Think I’m gonna puke.”
“Yeah, he probably shouldn’t have clocked you in the noggin since it was already fucked up from the crash. Whatever you fuckin’ do, don’t puke on my boots.”
