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“What?”
“They can’t anymore.”
“What did you do?” she asks, her voice trembling. A tear slides down one cheek because she knows what I did. What they did. She knows the ways of The Tribunal.
“I did what I had to. We need to go. Now. I need to think.”
“Show me.”
“No.” I try to pull her along, but she resists. I can force her, but I don’t want to.
“Show me, Judge.”
“You want to see?”
She nods, looking uncertain.
“Are you sure about that?”
She nods again.
Holding her gaze, I unbutton my shirt and slide it down my back. It pulls where it sticks to the fresh blood. Mercedes walks around me.
“Oh god. Oh my god.”
I turn to find her eyes wide, cheeks wet with tears streaming down her face. I draw my shirt up as she drops onto the bed, her hand over her mouth.
“Let’s go. We need to go.” I help her to her feet, and she doesn’t struggle. She only grabs her purse as I lead her out to the car and take her home.
7
Mercedes
"Judge."
I stop in the entryway, peeking up at him from beneath my lashes. I’m half afraid of what I might see in his eyes, but it doesn't matter because he won't look at me. He's staring into the distance, his jaw set, something unreadable in his expression.
He didn't talk to me the entire way home. I know he's thinking about the baby right now... I didn't dare tell him there are two, but I can't stop thinking about his wounds. He took that flesh payment for me. It means something. It means everything. But he's so shut down I can't get through to him.
"Judge, I—"
"Go to your room, Mercedes." His voice is so cold it makes me shiver.
Still, I can't move. I need to fix this somehow. I need to take care of him, and then I need to make him understand.
He turns his back on me, crimson seeping through his shirt as tension bleeds through his every muscle.
"Go to your room," he repeats. "And if you even think about leaving again, you should know there are guards at every door now. One try, and I'll have you strapped to the bed for days. Do not fucking test me."
He heads down the hall, his shoes echoing in the direction of his office, and I stand there, frozen in silence. A part of me thinks I should listen to him because I've never seen Judge like this. But even so, I can't allow him to suffer. So with more determination than I really feel, I go into the kitchen where I know Lois keeps some first-aid supplies. I grab what I need and gather the courage to go after him.
The door to his office is cracked when I pause outside, and I can see him at the window, sipping from a bottle of scotch. It's a haunting sight and, admittedly, a painful one.
I never once expected him to rejoice in what I'd done. To him, I understand this must feel like another betrayal, one of the worst kind. He never wanted this. He never wanted me. Not in a permanent way. It's a rejection I had braced for, but there’s no preparing your heart for something like this.
I push open the door tentatively, and his eyes move to my reflection in the glass. He goes rigid, and I'm glad I can't see the full spectrum of emotions on his face as I approach him from behind.
Quietly, I set the supplies on the windowsill and draw in a weary breath as I position myself behind him. He doesn't speak when I wrap my arms around him and start to undo his buttons, but his body is so stiff, words aren't necessary to convey his disapproval. Yet he doesn't fight me when I peel the shirt back from one shoulder, carefully removing it from the areas of his back it touches. Judge takes another long pull from the bottle, moves it to his other hand, and then discards the shirt entirely.
