Their Reign (The Rite Trilogy 3)

12

JUDGE

Isit in my car and watch the condo. It’s a little after eleven at night. Two IVI guards lurk not so discreetly in a Rolls Royce, getting looks from every other resident of the small development. I understand why Santiago doesn’t have more discreet men here. Vincent Douglas is still a threat. He wants to be sure if Douglas wants to try to get at Mercedes, he’ll have to get past these two first.

At least with them around, I blend.

Or so I think until I hear a tapping at the passenger side window and turn to find Solana standing there, the hood of her wool cloak pulled over her head to shield herself from the drizzle.

When I don’t move to open the window right away, she gives me a look and points at the button that would lower it. I push it so it comes about a third of the way down.

“Yes?”

“You are scaring the neighbors.”

“No, that’d be the two soldiers in the Rolls.” I point as if anyone could miss them.

“You’re not exactly incognito here. Please tell me you realize that.”

“What do you want, Solana?”

She reaches into her giant bag and retrieves a jar. “Here. Your salve. You're probably running low if you’re using it as I instructed.”

I open the window a little wider and reach out and take it because I don’t think she’ll go away until I do.

“Madame Dubois told me you’d be here, so I brought it with me.”

“Madame Dubois is a crackpot.”

“She’s the real deal, Judge. And she told me a few things about you.”

“Like what?” Why am I playing along?

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” She pulls her arm out, straightens, and looks up at the sky. “I’d better get inside. Mercedes is expecting us.” She gives me a grin just as Georgie pulls up, honking his hello to her as he parks directly in front of my car, just tapping his bumper to mine. He smiles at Solana, then glares pointedly at me and mouths an oops.

“For fuck’s sake.” I roll up my window and watch Solana slide her arm into Georgie’s. They walk together to Mercedes’s front door. He’s carrying an enormous bouquet of roses in every color but red and some sort of sparkling beverage, which I hope he realizes Mercedes won’t be drinking.

They ring the doorbell, and in the light over the front door, I see Mercedes when she greets them. When her eyes flit to me, my heart skips. But she is quick to look away, and her smile is for her friends. Not me.

I guess I’m not so incognito, not that I thought I was. Her hair is braided in one long, dark plait over her shoulder, and she has a turquoise shawl draped over her shoulders. I can’t see her swollen stomach because Georgie and Solana are standing in the way, and I find I want to. I want to see it more than anything else.

I set the jar of salve on the empty seat beside mine. Solana was right. I am almost out. And the stuff is good. That lashing will leave scars but less. She delivered the first jar to my office about a week after she busted in, telling me she only did it as a favor to Mercedes because in her opinion, which I didn’t care to hear but she shared nonetheless, I didn’t deserve it.

A few minutes later, I see the three of them gather around the kitchen table I remember from the last time I was there. Mercedes sets the flowers Georgie brought in a vase in the center, then moves to the window, where I swear she takes a pointed moment to look at me before swiftly shutting the blinds.

I glance away, disappointed. Although I have no right to be. This is what I wanted. I chose this. I let her walk away, and I am a prick for it, just like her friend said. But I remind myself that it’s better for her. Safer. I start the engine and back out of my spot, tempted to plow right through Georgie’s car and give it more than a little nudge. I know what that is. Jealousy. Not like before, like when I thought he might have something with Mercedes. Jealousy that I’m not a part of whatever is going on in there. Jealous that I am on the outside. Knowing I will always be on the outside.

Santiago’s curse floats to mind. I wonder if he knows how powerful words are. How I am suffering every day for the loss of her. The loss of him.

I swallow down my emotions and drive for hours, going nowhere, barely aware of what I’m doing until, closer to one in the morning, I arrive home to a quiet, sullen house. I don’t sleep much anymore. I’m on autopilot. I work. I eat what I need to get through the days. And at the end of each day, I spend my evenings parked outside Mercedes’s house, keeping vigil. I tell myself it’s to watch for Douglas, to make sure she’s safe, but I know better. I miss her. I feel the loss of her like a hole in my chest. Something I have never experienced before. And, strangely, I cling to it. I don’t numb it with drink because when I’m alone and especially in the small hours of the night, I want it to wash over me. To drown me. Because at least then, in some pathetic way, I am close to her.

Theron greets me from where he’s sitting by the fire in the living room with a tumbler of scotch at his side. He is in the dark apart from the small reading lamp beside the chair.

“You’re stalking her again?” he asks, closing his book.

“You’re here again?”

“Where should I go?”

“Somewhere else.”

“Well, unlike you, I don’t have multiple properties to choose from.”

“I gave you the South Cottage. Go there.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s boring.” He gets up and goes to the bar to refill his glass. “Drink?”

I shake my head but don’t leave. The truth is, it helps having him here. A distraction.

“Can you at least not brood. Let’s go to the Cat House,” he suggests.

I raise my eyebrows. “We’re not friends, you and I.”

He lifts his chin, expression serious. “No, I know that. You tolerate me. You will never forgive me for the things I’ve done.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You are free to go to the Cat House. Maybe it’ll do you good.”