Her Rebellion (The Rite Trilogy 2)

21

Judge

Capital punishment is legal in the state of Louisiana, but no one has been put to death in over a decade. The last execution carried out by the state was voluntary.

The Tribunal is a different matter. Abel Moreno’s execution was one of two that took place in my lifetime. My personal beliefs don’t matter when it comes to my courtroom, but I am grateful never to have had to sentence someone to such a fate.

Abel Moreno’s death was a necessary one. Tonight, a chapter was closed. But if anyone thought they’d be dancing on the bastard’s grave, they’re mistaken. Death is still death. A human life snuffed out. And an execution is not a peaceful end.

Mercedes has been in the shower for almost half an hour when I ignore her call to go away and unlock the bathroom door to enter. Steam makes it almost impossible to see, and I’m pretty sure she’s in there to muffle the sounds of her crying.

“You’re going to turn into a raisin.” Rolling up my shirtsleeve, I open the glass door and switch off the water.

“I wasn’t done.”

“Come on, little monster.” I reach for a towel, unfold it, and hold it up for her to step into. She looks different. She hasn’t lost weight exactly. Her breasts appear plumper but there’s almost a gauntness to the rest of her. Although perhaps it’s the way she’s standing with her shoulders slumped, toes turned in, making her look smaller.

She steps into the towel. I wrap it around her shoulders, then lift her in my arms. She’s surprised but doesn’t resist as I carry her into the bedroom, where I sit on the bed with her on my lap.

“Your clothes are going to get wet.”

“They’ll dry.”

There’s something about this moment that I want to hold on to. A softness in her yielding to me as she rests her head against my chest and sighs.

“It’s all right to be upset.”

She shrugs a shoulder.

“A man died tonight. And you witnessed it.” Although she didn’t see him hang. The women who were permitted to be present during the execution were made to turn away before the lever was pulled.

“He was horrible. He destroyed my family.”

“I know. But your family is rebuilding itself. Santiago is happy. He has a wife he loves and a child.”

She sniffles.

“And you will be happy too. I promise.”

She turns her gaze to mine. “How can you make a promise like that? It’s not realistic. There’s no way you can keep it.”

I feel myself tense. I know what she wants. What she still wants. And there’s a part of me that wants it too. To keep her. But it’s true what I said. I don’t know how.

Her comment from earlier comes to mind. It’s been repeating ever since she said it. Don’t be nice to me. And each time I remember how she sounded when she said it, something tightens inside me, making my chest constrict. Making it hard to breathe.

The Mercedes who first came here is a distant memory to the woman in my arms now. There are glimpses of her, to be sure, but less and less. She has grown. She is learning from her mistakes. She wants to make amends. I know what it took for her to apologize to Ivy. To ask to be included in their lives. The Mercedes of before would not have done that. Not even close.

What I don’t like is the sadness. This shadow swells ever bigger, taking up more space both inside and outside of her. And I know I am to blame for it.

Don’t be nice to me.

Because it would be easier if she hated me. And she may in some way. I’ve broken something inside her, just as she has me.

What a mess I’ve made. It’s easier when we fight. When we fuck.

Mercedes shivers, and I stand her up. She lets me dry her, her eyes on my face. My shirt is soaked, so I take it off and toss it aside. From beneath her pillow—when did it become hers, when did she get a side of my bed—I retrieve her pajama set. Silk shorts and a matching tank top.

“Theron did this the night you saved me from him,” she says, and for a moment, I am confused, but then she touches the small scar high on my cheekbone.

“I did worse to him.” I look her over, see the tiny triangle of dark hair she’s let grow between her legs. I like it. I like to run my fingers through it.

“Judge?”