Page 23 of Judge’s Redemption

Evie is stretched across the middle of the mattress now, Bun-Bun trapped beneath her stomach.

I slide out carefully and find Judge standing in the bathroom doorway, fastening his watch.

His dark hair is damp from the shower. He's wearing jeans and nothing else, his chest and shoulders covered in ink I used to know by touch. My body tightens before I can stop it. Judge notices. Of course he does.

His gaze moves slowly over the shirt I borrowed from him last night. It falls almost to my knees, but the way he looks at me makes it feel transparent.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with too little sleep.

“What happened with the car?”

“We found it abandoned outside town. Gloves, and a prepaid phone.”

The answer is direct. No softening, no telling me not to worry. I'm still getting used to that honesty.

“Mercer?”

“We know where two of his men are staying. He's moved since the warehouse.”

“And you're going after them.”

“When Kane's ready.”

There's no swagger in the way Judge says it. He isn't trying to impress me with how dangerous he is. That makes it more convincing. He reaches for his shirt, and I see the faint red lines my nails left across his shoulder. Heat crawls into my face.

Judge follows my gaze. “Regretting it?”

I think about the salon. The mirror shaking behind me. The tenderness afterward that frightened me more than the sex.

“No.”

Something hard in his expression eases. “That doesn't mean everything is fixed.” I add.

“I didn't ask if it was.”

“You were thinking it.”

“No, I was actually thinking about taking that shirt off you.”

My pulse jumps. Evie turns over behind me and mumbles something about pancakes. Judge's attention shifts toward the bed, while the heat settles between us, waiting.

By eight, the compound is fully alive.

Judge carries Evie’s backpack to my car. Cash stands near the gates speaking into his phone. Tank has one enormous hand braced on the hood of a motorcycle while a prospect works on the engine beneath his supervision. Nobody treats the morning like an emergency. Nobody treats it casually either.

Judge secures Evie into the car seat himself, tugging every strap twice.

“I can breathe,” she informs him.

His hands pause. “Good.”

“You pulled it too tight.”

She looks at me for confirmation.

“He's nervous,” I say and Judge gives me a dark look over the roof of my car.

Evie nods as though this explains everything. “Grown-ups get nervous.”