26
Judge
When I am released many hours later, Santiago is waiting by his car. I walk on wooden legs to meet him, each slow step an agony.
Pain. It’s all I can think right now. Pain.
And her.
Dawn is breaking, but it’s still dark enough that the streetlamp casts an eerie shadow over his tattooed face. He leans against the Rolls Royce, hands in his pockets, face set in stone. I wonder how long he’s been here. A while, I think.
Without a word, he opens the door, and I sit, wincing as my back brushes against the leather of the seat. He looks at me, but swallows back his comment. In silence, we drive to De La Rosa Manor.
The house is quiet. Everyone is still sleeping, I’m sure. We walk to his office, and when I enter, Ivy stands up from where she was lying on the sofa. She must have fallen asleep here. For the first time in all the time I’ve known her, she doesn’t look at me with fear but something else.
“Sit,” Santiago says, taking my briefcase from me. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it.
I sit and happily take the generous tumbler of scotch, trying not to wince as the movement of my arm disturbs the opened skin of my back. We both drink, and he refills our glasses.
“Is Mercedes alright?” I ask, my voice sounding close to normal. I think.
“She is.”
“Good.”
“Why did you do it?”
I don’t tell him I couldn’t ever let them hurt her for reasons I myself am only just beginning to understand.
“I knew the punishment, and I couldn’t let her take it. I’m not sure it wouldn’t break her entirely. And frankly speaking, if I hadn’t invoked Vicarius, wouldn’t you have?”
He drops his gaze to the floor and nods. “What was it?”
“Twenty-four lashes.”
Ivy gasps from her place across the room, and I turn to her and raise an eyebrow. I give her a smile. “I survived.”
“Santiago, the painkillers. They’ll help,” Ivy says as if just remembering.
“No, no pills,” I say. “Scotch will do it.”
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I nod. Santiago is watching me when I turn back to him, and I swallow the second scotch, then hold my glass out for another. He fills it generously.
“Besides, Hildebrand would have enjoyed punishing Mercedes too much,” I say. “I have a feeling he’d have happily stood witness.”
“I am sure he enjoyed punishing you, too. He’s a fucking sadist. Take off your shirt and let’s see the mess they’ve made.”
I stand and am slow to peel it off, hissing with pain as the skin reopens when I pull the shirt away. Their doctor cleaned the wounds, and that may have been more painful than the actual lashing, but when Santiago walks behind me, and I hear his intake of breath, I have a feeling I’ll be going through it again.
“Fucking barbarians. Sit down, Judge. And help yourself to the scotch. Ivy, come help me. Your touch is gentler than mine.”
I look over my shoulder to see her take in the damage, her eyes growing misty, mouth frozen in an O. But then I see Santiago’s face. His gaze on the tattoo he doesn’t know about. At least I hope the scar it covers is camouflaged by all the rest of the damage.
He clears his throat and meets my eyes. He won’t be asking me about that tonight.
Turning the chair, I straddle it, and for the next half hour, I endure another round of cleaning and bandaging. I drink half the bottle of scotch as they tend to the wounds.
“You were brave,” Ivy says.
I am not sure about that. Maybe it was me atoning for my own sins against my friend whose keen eyes study me as he wipes his hands on a towel. Because I have broken his trust. I have bedded his sister again and again and again.
“I’ll leave you two,” Ivy says. She kisses her husband and leaves the room.
Santiago opens the armoire, and from a drawer, he tosses me one of his shirts. “Put this on. Yours is ruined.” My bloodstained shirt lies on the floor. I pick it up and drop it in the trash can then put on his shirt. We’re about the same size.
“How much did you tell Mercedes?” I ask him.
“Nothing. She doesn’t know what the Vicarius clause is.”
“Good.”
“She should know what you did for her.”
“I think she’s learned her lesson, don’t you? No need to burden her with more guilt.”
He watches me still, and I wonder if it’s my guilt he sees. “We talked, my sister and me. And we will heal. I know that for sure now.”
“I’m glad.” But does this mean he’ll take her back now? Take her from me? “If you’ll lend me a car, I’d like to get home. I’ll have Raul bring it back tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you stay? Get some sleep.”
I shake my head. “I’d like to get home.” To her.
“I’ll drive you.”