16
JUDGE
My cell phone, which is sitting on my desk, pings with a text from Paolo.
She’s here, and the car is ready.
My mind is a flurry of activity, of possibilities and what-ifs as I leave the office and drive home. There’s just one thing that lingers beneath the surface that I am trying hard not to think about. Mercedes’s last words to me that morning at the condo.
Maybe I don’t want you…
Every time I replay that moment, it’s like a piece of my heart is carved out. I have fucked up so completely. How could I be such an idiot? I can’t even blame her. She’s right. I am arrogant. What I want, I take. And she doesn’t deserve the scraps I am capable of giving.
But am I capable of more?
No.I knock that thought out before it has a chance to root. Absolutely not. I need to hear her now. I have been selfish, and I need to put her first.
And then there are the babies to consider. The thought that I won’t be a part of their lives is a reality I can neither understand nor accept. But accept it, I must. I have to let her get on with her life.
But what the fuck does that even mean? She’ll marry someone else? Let them bed her? Let them be a father to my children?
The thought sends a wave of raw fury through me.
I pull up to the front of the house, where Paolo has the Range Rover ready for me. It’s the car the dogs fit into. I walk into the house to find a flurry of activity, a sight I’ve not seen in too long. Lois and several of the staff are gathered around the little puppy who is putting on a show as they ooh and aah over her, petting her, and taking turns cuddling her. Even Pestilence is nudging the little Doberman with his nose, wanting to play.
“Judge,” Lois says, looking up at me from her crouched position. “She is too sweet by far!”
I have to admit, she is charming as she comes over to sniff my shoes, Pestilence settling at my side as I bend to pet her, turning her face up to mine to get a look at her.
“Does she have a name yet?” One of the girls asks.
I lift the puppy and straighten. “Not yet.” I’ll leave that to Mercedes. “Is the car loaded?” I ask Paolo.
“Yes. Mercedes will have enough supplies for a week, and I’ll drop by with more then.”
“Thank you,” I say and whistle for Pestilence to follow. Outside, I open the back of the Range Rover, and Pestilence jumps in. I set the puppy down beside him and watch Pestilence nudge her backward as I close the hatch.
Right now, given what’s happening with Vincent Douglas, I’d like nothing more than to drag Mercedes back to the house and lock her in my room to keep her safe. Well, Douglas is one of the reasons. This puppy is my effort at giving her the space she is asking for. But I’m not above a little emotional blackmail to get Mercedes back here of her own free will. I’ll take what I can get, any scraps she’ll offer me.
How the tables have turned, I think, as I climb into the driver’s seat and head to the condo.
When I arrive, I’m glad I don’t see Solana’s or Georgie’s cars in the lot. Two Rolls Royces are parked side by side, watching Mercedes’s house. I open the hatch of the Range Rover, and Pestilence jumps out. The puppy tries to follow suit but hesitates at the high drop, whining. She sits and looks up at me, her little tail wagging.
Oh, yes. Blackmail.
I pick her up, nod a greeting to the guards, and head to Mercedes’s front door. Pestilence sniffs everything in the front garden before coming to stand by my side as I ring the bell and wait for her to open the door.
Her steps falter when she sees me through the window but then Pestilence barks, his tail wagging as he sees her, and she hurries to open the door. She doesn’t greet me, doesn’t even smile, and before she can say a word about the puppy in my arms, Pestilence is nudging his nose against her, demanding all her attention.
“Hey you,” she says in a warm tone she uses with the dogs. She crouches down and lets him lick her face as she pets him. “What are you doing here?”
I clear my throat and invite myself in.
“Oh,” she says, tone cooler as she looks up at me. She straightens.
“They can’t drive themselves,” I say.
“Hm.” Her gaze moves to the puppy, whining to be free of me, and she smiles wide. “Who are you?” Mercedes takes her from me. The puppy instantly loves her, her little butt wagging along with her tail as she licks Mercedes’s face while Pestilence demands more attention.
“Do you like her?” I ask. Closing the door, I get a look at her belly in the T-shirt she’s wearing. It’s clearly not a maternity shirt because it hugs her tight, leaving a strip of skin exposed above her leggings. It takes all I have not to reach out and touch her stomach, lay my hand over my babies inside, wondering if they’ll recognize my voice, my touch.
When I meet her eyes, she’s watching me. “What is this, Judge?”