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By the tightening of Judge’s hand on mine, it’s clear he’s heard the remark too, and he doesn’t miss a beat.
“You are mistaken, Vivien.” His eyes move over me with undiluted admiration. “It was me who needed to secure Mercedes’s hand. There’s no other woman who can compare.”
Vivien looks as if she’s been slapped by Judge’s remark, and it pleases me far more than it should when we leave her standing there, mouth agape as we walk away.
“I think I’ve had enough congratulations for the moment,” Judge says.
I nod in agreement as he leads me toward the door, pausing for a moment to look at me.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?”
He’s referring to the mark. The tattoo he will ink into my skin himself. We discussed it briefly, along with a phone call to an IVI doctor. It’s not exactly common to give the mark to pregnant wives, but it has been done before, and with the proper precautions and sterile equipment, we have the green light to proceed if we wish.
“I want it now,” I assure him. “More than anything.”
His eyes flare with that possession again, and he nods. “Okay, little monster. As you wish.”
He directs me to the church doors that lead into the IVI courtyard. I already know from experience that another gathering will witness him giving me the mark. Yet it will be an intimate moment. His hands on my body. His artistry on my skin. His claim on me for all of eternity.
A frisson of excitement moves through me as an attendant opens the doors for us to step outside. My head is in the clouds, the starry sky above twinkling just for us. There isn’t a single moment of tonight I would change. It feels magical. It feels like I’m on a roller coaster going a million miles an hour, the wind in my hair, the thrill of the destination ahead on my mind. Everything is perfect. It’s beautiful. It’s amazing.
Until it isn’t.
Judge freezes beside me, and I look up at him, following his gaze to a man at the bottom of the stairs. He’s not familiar to me, but I don’t have to guess who he is as he raises his arm, the glint of silver in the moonlight aimed straight at me.
It all seems to happen in slow motion. The choked word from Judge as he shoves me behind him. The pop that splits the air, piercing the perfect bubble we had only a moment ago. Warm liquid splatters my face, and I feel myself falling, Judge’s body jerking against mine. In the chaos, I catch a glimpse of Vincent’s shoes as they move toward us, echoing like the executioner he is. I cling to Judge, silent tears streaming down my face as I realize we’re never going to meet our babies. This is it. The beginning and the end.
“No!” Someone screams, and there’s a flash of a familiar robe. A masked man from the wedding tackles Vincent to the ground, and then there are two more quick pops, followed by a grunt, and one final gunshot ringing through the night air.
I see Vincent’s head loll to the side, half of his face blown open. Screams tear through the crowd, followed by more chaos as people move around us. But it all fades away when I turn to Judge, reaching for his face. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay. Except it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.
His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, and when I roll him onto his back, I understand why. Blood seeps from his head, dripping down his neck.
“Judge?” I shake him in a panic, but he doesn’t respond.
“Judge!” I scream, the strange voice coming from my lips unfamiliar. “No! You can’t do this to me! I just got you back!”
Sobs rack my body as a pair of strong arms come around me, trying to pry me away.
“Mercedes.” Santi’s pained voice infiltrates my anguish. “Come. We have to get you out of here.”
“No!” I scream at the top of my lungs, throwing myself over Judge, but Santi pulls me back again, kicking and screaming.
“We just got married,” I sob. “He can’t leave me now. We’re supposed to have forever, Santi. Tell me we’re going to have forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Santi chokes out. “Mercedes, I’m so fucking sorry.”
21
Judge
I see him the instant we step outside. Through the happy chaos of our wedding as bells ring in this late hour and the inky blue sky sparkles, he is here, lost among the witnesses collected in the courtyard for this next part of the ceremony. The placing of my mark on the back of my wife’s neck in that space I’ve known, on some level, was for me. Was always for me.
Mercedes feels the shift in me. I sense it in how her back stiffens. Don’t the others see him? But the scene is confusing; too many people here to watch the wedding that I swore would never be, the gates less well-guarded in the rushed mess of it. And Vincent Douglas standing in a borrowed or more likely stolen, ill-fitting cloak, his shoes too loud, his hatred too palpable.
In the throng, he stands apart. It’s as if the others sense his menace and keep their distance. But they don’t see his eyes. No one does. They’re all watching my beautiful wife in all her happiness.
In a happiness we were perhaps never meant to have.
