AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Not in the least,” Judge answered immediately. “I have sisters. They can be just as mean as any guy, sometimes meaner. And my mother wore the pants in the family.” He had to hold back a laugh at the way she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
PJ’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear: I. Am. Not. Your. Mother.”
He let go of a grin. “Trust me when I say I’m in 100% agreement with you. You don’t act, sound or look like my mother. I will not get the two of you confused.”
She stared at him a moment longer as if trying to determine whether she could believe a word he was saying or not. Finally, she nodded. “Good. Let’s get to work.” PJ pulled a knife out of the scabbard on her belt and came toward him, holding it in front of her with the tip pointing toward his chest.
Judge didn’t look at the knife. Instead, he held her gaze. He was completely at her mercy. She could plunge that knife into him if she wanted. At the last moment, her face softened just a hair. She pressed the tip of the knife gently against his chest, then drew it upward, slicing through the duct tape.
As she leaned close to him, he could smell that light citrusy scent.
A rush of heat pushed through his veins.
Bending over him, she cut through the tape holding each ankle to a chair leg.
Judge inhaled a deep breath of her, his nostrils flaring.
PJ straightened and stared down at him, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she rounded the chair, positioned the knife between his wrists and sliced through the tape binding them.
Once freed, Judge pushed to his feet, fighting away the dizziness, the lingering effect of the drug they’d injected into him. He peeled off the tape still clinging to his skin and clothes, wadded it into a ball and tossed it to the corner. Then he stretched his arms over his head to work the kinks out of his muscles. When he looked around for PJ, he found her standing in the shadows.
“Follow me,” she said and pushed open a door. She led the way out of the shack he’d been confined in and out into the darkness of what he assumed was the wee hours of the morning.
“How long was I unconscious,” he asked.
“Long enough,” she answered.
“My truck and my belongings?” he prompted.
“Will be returned to you when we know we can trust you.” She kept walking, not waiting for him to keep up.
He lengthened his stride and fell in step beside her. “What does PJ stand for?”
“PJ,” was her clipped response. “While you’re here, you’ll go by Judge. You won’t share your given name with anybody. If you do, you will be punished.”
“Why?”
“When you’re a part of The Chosen Way, you’ll go by the name assigned, releasing you from the name and burdens of your past. That way, there’s only the present and future.”
“I thought TCW was a kind of militia, not a cult,” he said as he walked past several metal buildings.
“Call it what you will,” she said. “It’s what we make of you and what you make of the training we provide.”
“And what kind of training is that?” he asked.
“You’ll see soon enough.” PJ stopped in front of a small building that wasn’t much more than a shack. She pulled a set of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. “For the safety of the other recruits as well as your own well-being, you’ll be confined to this building except for training, meals and hygiene.”
“And how long will this confinement last?”
“For your probationary period or until you’ve proven you can be trusted.”
“And how will I prove I can be trusted?”
“Time will tell.” She opened the door and held it for him. “You have three hours until morning light and training begins. I suggest you use it to sleep. The training is physically demanding.” She tipped her head toward the interior.
As he stepped into the doorframe, she whispered, “I hope you follow advice better during training than you did in the bar.”
He paused, so close to her he could almost feel the warmth of her breath. So many questions rushed into his mind. Asking them might open him to questions from her that he couldn’t answer without blowing his cover.
