Michaels head was down in the one of the files when he heard Ruxs’ deep voice murmur. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”
Chairs squeaked and groaned as everyone turned to see what, or who, Ruxs was referring to. Michaels however, didn’t turn around, but his heart had begun to race a mile a minute. Everyone was looking out the large glass wall that separated their team’s workspace from the rest of the precinct. The look of confusion, shock, and horror that most of their team wore on their faces had him not wanting to see. Obviously it was Judge, but damn, what the fuck did the guy look like? Shrek?
It wasn’t until Vikki stood and straightened her skirt with a seductive, “yum” escaping her red lips that Michaels decided to turn and look.
Holy hell. All Michaels saw was a tall, walking Adonis. Decked out in leather except for the tight, black shirt hugging his thick chest. As he got closer his eyes appeared dark and mysterious, he seemed to keep his eyes on target but take in everything around him too. People watched him, but didn’t engage him. It was obvious he wasn’t a criminal because of the gold badge hanging around his neck, but damn he looked like he was on his way to kick someone’s ass. Moving through the precinct like he was the Captain. Confident and sure. He wasn’t frowning but he damn sure wasn’t smiling or giving off an approachable vibe. Michaels stood and swallowed hard. Jesus. The man had to be six-foot-three, maybe -four. Taller than his own six one. It was all the hair. Oh, my damn. That beard, that looked course but possibly soft to touch. Damn, he hoped so. Trimmed neatly with a smattering of grays, at least five to six inches of hair beneath his chin. Enough to pull. Shit.
“We all thought you loved yourself, Michaels,” Day said, out of nowhere, watching along with everyone else as the bounty hunter approached.
Michaels frowned at his Lieutenant. It really was not the fuckin’ time.
Day’s eyes bugged and Michaels turned back just in time to see what everyone else did as Judge reached for the door.
Day leaned toward God and hissed, “Why the fuck is he bringing a horse into our office?”
Chapter Eleven
Judge saw that everyone was watching him as he entered the Atlanta precinct, but he couldn’t care less. Stares were nothing new to him. If they weren’t looking at him then they were gawking at the full-grown, almost four-foot tall beast at his side. He kept his eyes on Godfrey the entire time. Damn the man was still sex on a stick. Even bigger than him. His thick arms crossed over his massive chest. When Judge was inside he saw the two gold Desert Eagles holstered at his sides. The man always did wield a big gun. Judge almost smirked at his double entendre, but kept his face stoic.
Ignoring all the other so-called bad asses that made up God’s team, he approached his old friend and stared him down as they stood eye to eye. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room. No one moved, no one broke their stare-off. It was like a cheesy scene out of a Wild West showdown. After a couple more seconds, Judge shifted the sugarcane, quirking one side of his mouth up. God did the same and the next thing he knew he was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. He slapped God roughly on the back then pulled back, looking at him.
“You look good, old friend,” God said, with a huge smile. “Look like you’re ready to work.”
“Always.” Judge gave a slight laugh. “It must be some real shit you got yourself into that you’d need to call me.”
“You could say that. But I knew you’d come.”
“Of course I came,” Judge said, seriously. He’d help God anytime he called. He’d never met a more loyal and trustworthy man. A man that believed in brotherhood. Who’d lay down his own life for another’s. There was no reason Judge would deny a man like that.
“You sure that thing doesn’t need a muzzle?” Day blurted out, pointing at Bookem.
Judge kept his arms folded, glancing over at God’s partner. “You’re the only thing that needs a muzzle, Day. Godfrey, I see you’re still with this asshole.
“And I see you’re still buying your clothes in The Matrix,” Day quipped back. “What’s with all the fucking leather, Morpheus? It’s Atlanta in fall for shit’s sake.”
God looked like he wanted to strangle Day but Judge just waved him off. “When you’re grappling with convicts, it’s nice to have something to protect your skin from the concrete, but you wouldn’t know anything about getting your hands dirty, would ya, Day?”
“Hey, if you think what I go through every night in bed with God doesn’t require protective gear and dirty hands, then you’re wrong,” Day said, with mock seriousness.