vanilla perfume and wondering, as he did
every day, what he’d done to deserve her.
Just as he was thinking it was time
for them to head to their own bed, Nash slid into one of the empty chairs, beer
in hand. He took the playing card from Judge and set it back on the deck. “Been
thinking,” he announced.
Judge stroked his beard to hide his
smile. “Yeah? About our little house
guest? She’s sweet. You shoulda stuck around
and talked to her.”
Nash frowned. “I know you think I’m
being too hard on Tanner.”
“Not my place to say,” Judge said
as Roxy stirred, straightening up next to him.
“Well, I think you’re being too
hard on him,” she said, glaring at Nash. “He served his time and he’s trying to
do something good here with that girl.”
“Last time he did something good
for a girl, he ended up serving time. That’s my point.” Nash jabbed the table,
frustration clear on his face.
“Cullen,” Roxy said, more gently.
“He’s not you.”
Judge held his breath. Roxy got
away with a lot of shit. She was his old lady and he was the VP, and Nash’s
closest friend. She took liberties other women wouldn’t have, and Nash let it
go. But you could only push the big man so far, Judge knew that. And Roxy had
just slammed her fist down on one of his hot buttons.
Nash’s face darkened, his gray eyes
turning stormy. He curled his hands into fists and Judge could almost see the
wave of rage and regret rise in him. But Nash crushed it down again, and
whatever storm boiled inside him, he kept it inside. He shot Roxy a stony look,
but said nothing.
Judge gave Roxy’s shoulder a
warning squeeze. “You said you’d been thinking?” he asked Nash, redirecting the
conversation.
“Yeah.” Nash took a deep chug of his beer. “I went and
read up on that child-bride shit you mentioned from a couple years back."
Judge squeezed Roxy's shoulder
again, this time just for the need to touch her. Their daughter had been
fifteen or sixteen at the time of that news story —it was why Judge remembered
it. The thought of some sick creep putting their hands on his Elena ... It had
made him sick and angry in turn. "You get a lot of that shit with these
cults."
"Yeah, well, maybe not with
this one," Nash said, "but the news reports hinted at a lot of other
nasty stuff." He picked up the playing cards and shuffled them idly.
"Nothing you could legally do anything about, but we all know about smoke
and fire, right?"
Roxy straightened up, fluffing out
her hair. "What's your point?"
Nash sighed heavily, as if it cost
him to say the next words. "I think I am being too hard on Tanner with
this. If he wants to help the girl out ..."
"How much help are we
talking?" Judge asked. "If her people come round here looking for her, or this guy he clocked wants to press charges ... where
do we draw the line?"
Nash smiled grimly. "Tanner's Wild Blood. That means we go to the end of
the line if we have to."
Chapter Eight
It was dawn and the only sound in
the Church was Nathaniel’s labored breathing. He knelt before the altar,
stripped to the waist and swaying slightly, trying to suppress the whimpers of
pain bubbling in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears
of pain. He clasped his hands together before him to hide the shaking. But he
had already bared his heart to Abram, so the rest didn’t really matter. His
father knew his weakness, his failure. The sweat and blood dripping down his
naked back was testament to that truth.
Abram set the whip down on the
altar. “Look at me, my son.”
Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath,
as if to cleanse himself , and opened his eyes. Abram’s
severe face was drawn with lines of pain, but his lips were thin and stern.
“’The eye that mocks a father and
scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and
eaten by the vultures,’” Abram said. “Is it not so?”
“Yes, father.” Nathaniel’s voice
was strained, but he was
every day, what he’d done to deserve her.
Just as he was thinking it was time
for them to head to their own bed, Nash slid into one of the empty chairs, beer
in hand. He took the playing card from Judge and set it back on the deck. “Been
thinking,” he announced.
Judge stroked his beard to hide his
smile. “Yeah? About our little house
guest? She’s sweet. You shoulda stuck around
and talked to her.”
Nash frowned. “I know you think I’m
being too hard on Tanner.”
“Not my place to say,” Judge said
as Roxy stirred, straightening up next to him.
“Well, I think you’re being too
hard on him,” she said, glaring at Nash. “He served his time and he’s trying to
do something good here with that girl.”
“Last time he did something good
for a girl, he ended up serving time. That’s my point.” Nash jabbed the table,
frustration clear on his face.
“Cullen,” Roxy said, more gently.
“He’s not you.”
Judge held his breath. Roxy got
away with a lot of shit. She was his old lady and he was the VP, and Nash’s
closest friend. She took liberties other women wouldn’t have, and Nash let it
go. But you could only push the big man so far, Judge knew that. And Roxy had
just slammed her fist down on one of his hot buttons.
Nash’s face darkened, his gray eyes
turning stormy. He curled his hands into fists and Judge could almost see the
wave of rage and regret rise in him. But Nash crushed it down again, and
whatever storm boiled inside him, he kept it inside. He shot Roxy a stony look,
but said nothing.
Judge gave Roxy’s shoulder a
warning squeeze. “You said you’d been thinking?” he asked Nash, redirecting the
conversation.
“Yeah.” Nash took a deep chug of his beer. “I went and
read up on that child-bride shit you mentioned from a couple years back."
Judge squeezed Roxy's shoulder
again, this time just for the need to touch her. Their daughter had been
fifteen or sixteen at the time of that news story —it was why Judge remembered
it. The thought of some sick creep putting their hands on his Elena ... It had
made him sick and angry in turn. "You get a lot of that shit with these
cults."
"Yeah, well, maybe not with
this one," Nash said, "but the news reports hinted at a lot of other
nasty stuff." He picked up the playing cards and shuffled them idly.
"Nothing you could legally do anything about, but we all know about smoke
and fire, right?"
Roxy straightened up, fluffing out
her hair. "What's your point?"
Nash sighed heavily, as if it cost
him to say the next words. "I think I am being too hard on Tanner with
this. If he wants to help the girl out ..."
"How much help are we
talking?" Judge asked. "If her people come round here looking for her, or this guy he clocked wants to press charges ... where
do we draw the line?"
Nash smiled grimly. "Tanner's Wild Blood. That means we go to the end of
the line if we have to."
Chapter Eight
It was dawn and the only sound in
the Church was Nathaniel’s labored breathing. He knelt before the altar,
stripped to the waist and swaying slightly, trying to suppress the whimpers of
pain bubbling in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the tears
of pain. He clasped his hands together before him to hide the shaking. But he
had already bared his heart to Abram, so the rest didn’t really matter. His
father knew his weakness, his failure. The sweat and blood dripping down his
naked back was testament to that truth.
Abram set the whip down on the
altar. “Look at me, my son.”
Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath,
as if to cleanse himself , and opened his eyes. Abram’s
severe face was drawn with lines of pain, but his lips were thin and stern.
“’The eye that mocks a father and
scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and
eaten by the vultures,’” Abram said. “Is it not so?”
“Yes, father.” Nathaniel’s voice
was strained, but he was
Similar Books
