Judge of Hell (Hell Night 3)

I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze. “No.”

He takes a step forward. “Excuse me?”

“I had my reasons, and I’d prefer to not discuss them right now.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “I have a right to know.”

“You lost that right when you tossed me out of your apartment in the middle of the night barely dressed all those years ago.”

His hands ball into fists and he stuffs them in his pockets. “That doesn’t give you the right to keep my daughter away from me.”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

He barks out a humorless laugh. “Twelve fucking years later. What kind of bitch doesn’t tell a man he’s fathered a child?”

I toss my hands on my hips and glare at him. “The kind who tries to keep from getting hurt again by that man. The kind who will do anything to protect their child from getting hurt too.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” he snarls. “You know I’d never hurt you, and you know better than to think I’d hurt my child. Any child, for that matter.”

“Not physically, no, but emotionally, I’m not so sure.” He takes a threatening step toward me, but I hold my ground. “It was so easy for you throw me away that night like I was trash, knowing how I felt about you. We made plans for a future together. You told me you loved me. Who’s to know you wouldn’t do the same to our daughter?”

Grief flashes over his face for a moment before he wipes the look away. “I would have never turned my child away,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“I couldn’t take that chance. You said you loved me,” I repeat, my voice cracking. “You said you always would, but you lied.”

That night comes back to me, and the agony with it. I’ve never felt pain like I did.

“You claim you were worried I would hurt Maisy, but you did the same by keeping her away from me. No child should be without both parents if both parents are available. And you certainly didn’t help her when you could have had my income at your disposal. Instead you’ve waited until you had no other choice, which put her life at risk.”

I pale at his words and grab on to the bar to keep myself standing. He’s right. I’ll hate myself until the day I die for waiting so long to ask for his help. And if I’m too late and Maisy doesn’t recover, I know I’ll never recover either.

“Please,” I beg hoarsely, letting the pain I’ve kept bottled up inside me since Maisy’s doctor said her prognosis wasn’t good without a kidney transplant shine in my eyes. “I’ll do anything.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches as he regards me shrewdly. “Do you really think I won’t help, Ellie? You think so little of me that you believe I wouldn’t do everything in my power to save my own child?”

I close my eyes. No, I never thought he wouldn’t help, but he still hasn’t said he would, either.

I jump when there’s a loud bang beside me. Opening my eyes, I find Judge on the other side of the bar pouring himself another drink. He tosses it back and slams the glass back down. His eyes laser back to me.

“Anything that she needs, it’s hers. You only have to ask.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and jerk my head in a nod.

“What else?” he demands. “I know there’s more.”

I wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans and turn to face him fully. “As I told you in your office, she needs a kidney transplant, but she has a rare blood type. AB negative.”

He doesn’t flinch, move a muscle, or even look surprised at my statement. He knows exactly what I’m asking. One day about three months after we started seeing each other, I talked him into both of us donating blood to the local blood bank. The lab technician who was drawing our blood about had a fit of joy when Judge told her his blood type was AB negative.

“Call the doctor in the morning to schedule the surgery.”

I cross my arms over my middle and hug my stomach tight, relief almost making me lightheaded. “Thank you,” I whisper.

His nostrils flare. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for her,” he says harshly.

Shaking my head, I force out through a thick throat, “Even so, I’m very grateful.”

He grunts as he pours himself another drink. Seeing my empty glass, he reaches across the bar, grabs it, and pours an inch before sliding it back to me.