23
JUDGE
Iwake with a headache that rivals any I’ve ever had.
A gasp nearby has me turn my head in that direction but opening my eyes seems to present a challenge I am not up for.
“Judge!” It’s Mercedes. Her voice breaks on my name as both of her hands close around one of mine. I drag my eyes open, the light so bright behind her it’s painful, but in that light, she looks so lovely, so like an angel with a sweep of dark hair cascading around her. I smell her shampoo when she leans closer to peer at me. For a moment, I wonder if I haven’t died. If we haven’t died. “Judge,” she says again more quietly this time as she sucks in three short breaths. Tears mar her beautiful angel’s face. She looks like she’s been crying for days.
“We must be dead,” I manage as I reach up to brush my fingers over her face and wipe away some of those tears. I have seen too many of them during these past months.
She laughs and shakes her head. Her hair caresses my cheek, and it’s the best feeling ever.
“We’re not dead, but you tried. Why would you do that? Put yourself in front of a bullet like that?” Here come those tears again as she sits down and lays her head on my chest, hands squeezing one of mine.
“What would you have had me do? Let you take it? Let our children—” I don’t finish that thought.
“Oh, Judge. I thought you were dead. I thought… all the blood. There was so much blood.” She raises her head and brings her face close. A tear falls on my cheek, and she kisses it away.
I know I can move my arms, so I wiggle my toes and take stock of my body. Apart from my head feeling like it weighs about a thousand pounds and a tight sensation along the side of it, I think I’m alright.
“What happened after I went down? Is everyone okay?”
She kisses my mouth and brushes my hair away from my forehead. She doesn’t quite answer me, though, and I see how her eyes travel over my face, not holding mine.
“Mercedes?” I want to sit up, alert suddenly. I try but fuck my head.
“Just lie down, Judge. You took a bullet, for God’s sake. Just lie down.”
“Tell me.”
The door opens, and she turns. I look too and find Santiago entering. He sees that I’m awake and smiles, but there’s a darkness to the set of his features, too.
“Mercedes? You’re alright?” I ask her. “Did he hurt you?” She shakes her head, more tears. “The babies. Is it the babies?”
“No, they’re fine, Judge. We’re fine. And you’re going to be fine. The bullet grazed your skull, but there was just a lot of blood, and it looked much worse than it was.”
Santiago puts his hand on his sister’s back, and he looks freshly showered. He must have gone home after they brought me here. I wonder how much time has passed.
“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” I ask them.
Mercedes looks up at Santiago, and I know it’s bad. But how bad can it be? It’s not Ivy, or he wouldn’t be here. Elena wasn’t at the wedding. I take inventory of the rest of the guests. Who would have Mercedes looking like she’s looking?
“Is it Solana or Georgie? Did something happen to them?” I realize how I’ve come to care about them weirdly. Especially Solana.
“No, Judge they’re fine. And you’ll be fine. You have a concussion and about a dozen stitches. They did shave the side of your head, which is not a look I recommend keeping,” Santiago says, trying to make things light, but I know the worst is coming. “You were lucky. A centimeter to the right and…”
He doesn’t have to finish. I’d be dead. Mercedes made a widow on the day she’s a bride.
“Vincent Douglas is dead,” Mercedes says. She looks stricken at this.
“Who killed him?”
They exchange a dark look between them. This is what they don’t want to tell me.
“Who?” I ask, pushing through the pain to prop myself up on my elbows.
They both look at me for a long moment, and Mercedes finally answers. And I understand why she’s crying.
“Theron.”
Theron?
No.
My brother wasn’t invited to the wedding. He wasn’t to show his face at the compound. My brother whom I’ve been keeping at arm’s length. Whom I haven’t yet forgiven for what he did to Mercedes. Who has been trying to rebuild bridges.
“He’s in critical condition. He came out of surgery just a couple of hours ago.”
“Couple of hours?”
“He took two bullets at close range before he managed to kill Douglas. The damage was… extensive. Surgery lasted about eleven hours.”
“Jesus Christ. Where is he? I want to see him.” I try to push off the bed, but the room spins, and two sets of hands push me back down.
“You need to rest, Judge. Your head—”
“A couple of stitches and a concussion I’ll survive. I want to see my brother. Take me to my brother.”
Santiago nods and leaves the room. Mercedes holds on to me, crying silent tears. And I know from that it’s not looking good for him.
Santiago reenters the room pushing a wheelchair, a nurse on his heels. “Sir, he isn’t ready to be moved.”