Page 31 of Judge's Justice

"Because I was available, and you needed backup. Because I knew if things went south, my medical skills would come in handy." Saint meets my eyes steadily. "And because I'm done hiding from Demon. I left the Vipers years ago. If he wants to make something of it, let him try."

"Saint—"

"I'm calling Phoenix," Saint says, cutting me off. He pulls out his phone. "I need to get you back to the clubhouse. I can do a better job patching you up with all the equipment and painkillers we have there. Here, I'm working with a basic first aid kit and hope."

"I'm not leaving them." The words come out harder than I intended. "I'm not going anywhere if Nora and Grace stay here unprotected."

Saint looks at me for a long moment. Then at Nora, who's standing by the couch with Grace pressed against her side. Both of them watching us with wide, frightened eyes.

"Of course not," Saint says. "They're coming with us. Phoenix will agree. We'll put them in one of the spare rooms at the clubhouse. Keep them under Iron Phoenix protection until this is resolved."

"We can't just—" Nora starts.

"Yes, you can," Saint says firmly but not unkindly. "Ma'am, those Vipers saw you. They saw your daughter. They know you're connected to Judge now, which means Demon's going to use you to get to him. To get to our club. The safest place for you right now is surrounded by nine armed bikers who've already decided you're worth protecting."

"But my rental—"

"We'll handle it," Canvas says. "Pack what you need. We'll grab it and go."

Nora looks at me. Her eyes are searching, desperate. "Judge?"

"It's the right call," I manage to sign. The adrenaline's wearing off and everything hurts worse. "Come with us. Please. I can't… I can't protect you if you're here and I'm there."

Grace tugs on her mother's sleeve, signing rapidly. "Mama, we should go. We should stay with Judge and his brothers. It's safer."

Nora's eyes fill with tears. "Baby, I don't want to put you in more danger—"

"The danger's already here," Saint says bluntly. "We didn't bring it. The Vipers did. But we can protect you from it. That's the difference."

Nora closes her eyes. Takes a shaking breath. When she opens them again, there's resolve there. Decision.

"Okay," she whispers and signs at the same time. "Okay. We'll come."

Grace pumps her fist in victory, then immediately climbs back onto the couch next to me, careful of my injuries. She signs with one hand while the other holds mine. "We're staying together. All of us. Like a family."

Chapter 7 - Nora

The van smells like leather and motor oil. Maybe just the accumulated scent of men who live on motorcycles and don't apologize for it.

I'm in the back seat with Grace pressed against my side, her small body trembling despite how tightly I'm holding her. Judge is in the passenger seat up front, slumped against the window, his face a mess of blood and swelling. Brick is driving, his hands steady on the wheel, his expression unreadable. Saint follows behind us on his motorcycle, and Canvas brings up the rear, both of them flanking us like guards.

Grace's hand finds mine in the dim interior. She signs against my palm, so she doesn't have to look away from Judge. "Is he sleeping?"

I glance at Judge's profile. His good eye is closed, his breathing shallow. "I think so, baby."

"That's good, right? Sleep helps people heal?"

"Yes. Sleep helps."

But I'm not sure if he's sleeping or if he passed out. I'm not sure if those broken ribs punctured anything internal. I'm not sure if the concussion Saint mentioned is mild or severe. I'm not sure of anything except that this man took a beating for us because some bikers had our picture and he was trying to protect us.

And now we're being driven to a motorcycle club compound because staying anywhere else means we're targets.

Grace shifts against me, and I pull her closer. She's still in her pajamas, the ones with the cartoon stars, because we barely had time to grab anything before Saint was hustling us into this van. I managed to throw some clothes in a bag. My phone and charger. My wallet with its pathetic thirty dollars.

Everything else we left behind.

The Airbnb I paid for. The quiet life I was supposed to start building. The safety I thought I'd found.