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Without looking back, I continue into her bedroom.
She follows. “What is that tattoo?”
“It’s nothing.” In her bedroom, I see the tray of food Miriam must have returned. Still uneaten for the most part. Some of the bread has been picked at. It’ll grow mold soon. “Your breakfast is here, Mercedes,” I tell her as I reach the door to exit her room.
She’s right behind me. “Judge?” Her fingers wrap around my bicep just as I pull the door open. “What the…?” She touches the spot. “There’s a scar under there. What is this?”
I turn to face her. “The past. Get dressed, eat your breakfast, and think about why you’re here or you’ll be spending another day locked in this room.”
She searches my face, hers unreadable. “Who did that to you?”
Is she taunting me? Using my own words to play with me? “Go eat your breakfast. Now.”
“I’m not eating that. Tell me who did it? And why you’d hide it under a tattoo. Or can you ask me, but I can’t ask you? Like you can touch me, but I can’t touch you.”
“You will learn to do exactly as I say.”
“Fuck I will. You forget who you’re dealing with. I’m not some courtesan working the Cat House. I’m Mercedes De La Rosa. You don’t simply get to dismiss me.”
“Is that so?”
I turn to her and close the door. There’s a finality that comes with that sound. A shifting in the air, a weight to it.
I peel her hand off my arm and walk her backward to the wall, setting my hand against it and taking in the difference in size between us. I lean in close and scan her eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her mouth, noting the subtle signs of arousal. Both of her hands come up to grip the towel tight.
“You don’t want me to dismiss you?”
Her pulse thrums at her neck.
“Alright. You want my attention? You have it. Now drop the towel.”
She swallows audibly but doesn’t obey.
“Drop it. Now.”
Slowly, she does it, letting it fall to the floor and baring herself to me. I look down at her breasts and flat stomach. Then the slit of her sex. I return my gaze to hers.
“You’re very beautiful. But you already know that, don’t you?”
She bites her lip.
“And perhaps we’re both forgetting the reason you’re here.”
“Judge—”
“Turn around and put your hands against the wall.”
Goose bumps rise along her arms as she stares up at me, trying to understand what’s happening. I’m not sure myself, to be honest. But I can’t have her asking questions about my past. About the wound that almost killed me. So I will distract us both. And I’ll put her firmly on the opposite side of the boxing ring while I’m at it because that’s safer for her. For both of us.
“Do it.”
She turns, hands shaking a little as she sets them against the wall.
“Now walk backward but keep your hands where they are.”
“Judge, I—”
“Don’t stop until I tell you.” I give her space and watch as she does what I say, her fingertips trailing down the wall as she moves her feet farther from it, bending at the hips. “Stop,” I tell her when her torso is parallel to the floor. “Spread your legs wider.”
