The Ruthless Heir

Judge’s [POV]

This is getting to be a bad habit. Mercedes passed out in my bed. Me watching her. Making sure she’s breathing. Never wanting to witness another incident like the one in Solana’s shop a few days ago.

I pick up her old phone again. Re-read the texts for the fucking hundredth time. Not that it makes any difference. I saw them when I switched it on after charging it to get her the number she claimed she was looking for when I caught her snooping. Pretty sure that was a lie anyway. It would be easy enough to get the number of her yoga instructor from either Solana or Georgie. The texts had been sent over the past several weeks, so for weeks, she’s been in danger, and what the fuck have I done? Didn’t even know about it.

She was a human being, you fucking cunt. You and your sort fucked her up. Now I’m going to fuck you up.

Cunt, you can’t hide in your rich house with your rich boyfriend forever.

I’m coming for you, cunt. One way or another. I’m going to give you what you deserve.

They were all sent from different numbers, and Ezra’s man hasn’t been able to trace any of them. They couldn’t pick up the slightest trail. Would Santiago be able to find something? I can’t ask him. I can’t tell him any of this. He has enough on his plate with the fates of Ivy and their unborn child unknown. I won’t burden him with my failure to do the one thing he asked of me. Keep his sister safe.

I keep checking for a new text. Whoever sent these must know by now that he or she didn’t succeed in the attack so I expect another one to be sent.

My phone vibrates with a call. I silenced it so as not to wake her. I pocket her phone and step out to answer when I see it’s Ezra, leaving the bedroom door open a crack in case she needs me.

“Judge. How is Mercedes?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s sleeping.” Thanks to the fact that Solana kept an EpiPen at the shop. She’d been doing it since she met Mercedes. Georgie too.

“Good.”

“What did you find?”

“Traces of peanut oil in the bag itself. They would have rubbed off on the pastries. The two in the bag were contaminated as well.”

I try to remember the bag. Plain brown paper. I remember Solana commenting it wasn’t the same kid who usually delivers to her.

“Anything on the man who delivered it?”

“The coffee shop’s security was down for maintenance. The footage we grabbed from the shop across the street showed him intercepting the kid who originally left with the order. The lens was dirty, and the view was fairly obstructed but we got lucky. There was a moment we had a clear shot and one of my guys was able to enhance the image enough. Between that and your description, I may have something for you.”

“Go on.”

“I’d prefer to confirm before I tell you.”

“Just tell me. You can confirm after.”

“Does the name Vincent Douglas ring any bells for you?”

My heart stops.

“Judge?”

“What did you say?”

“Douglas. Vincent Douglas.”

No. It can’t be.

“I’m guessing from that silence it does.”

“Possibly.” I clear my throat. “Does he have a family?”

“I haven’t dug too deep. I was waiting on confirmation first.”

“Dig. I need to know if he has a family. A female relative. A wife maybe or a sister.”

“I can do that. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

I already know the answer. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s one of the things that caught my attention when that man walked into the shop. Something about him was strangely familiar. I hadn’t been able to place it then but now, fuck. He’d looked at Mercedes and me with hate in his eyes. It had been so strange and out of place, but now it makes perfect sense.

The courtesan who had poisoned Santiago, whom Mercedes killed, I vaguely remember her from the Cat House from years ago. She’d always struck me as off. And the only reason I know her name is because of what Mercedes did. Because the name of that woman was Lana Douglas. And it would explain the threatening texts.

But Ezra Moore doesn’t know anything about Lana Douglas’s death. All he’ll find is a missing woman.

“Judge? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. How is my brother?”

“Better. The doctor was right. He’d been injected with a cocktail containing enough fentanyl to kill a horse. He administered Narcan, which reversed the overdose. But Theron has a drug problem. You should think about what you want to do. He won’t be able to walk away from this. He’ll need professional help.”

“Rehab?”

“Yes. I can take care of it if you need me to. I know a very good, very discreet facility.”

“Where?”

“Just outside of Santa Barbara.”

Santa Barbara. Good. Far enough away that I won’t have to worry about him coming near Mercedes as I deal with this other mess. “Do it. Anything on the men who attacked him?”

“Still working on that.”

“Jesus. What a fucking week.”

“I’ll let you know about Vincent Douglas as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

There’s a pause. “Just one thing. Your brother is asking to see you.”

“I’ll think about it. Right now, my priority is Mercedes.” At the mention of her name, I hear movement in the bedroom. I peer in through the open crack and see Mercedes waking. “I’ll talk to you later.” I disconnect the call and reenter my bedroom.

“Good morning,” I say.

She looks out the window. “Night, I think.”

I follow her gaze and nod. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She scratches her head, looking around.

“Headache? Anything? Do I need to have the doctor return?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and hand her the glass of water there. She takes a sip and hands it back. “Drink it all, will you?”

“I’m fine, Judge.” She tries to get out of bed, but I stop her and hold the water out. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes but drinks, then hands the empty glass back to me.

“Have you had to use it before? The EpiPen?”

“When I was younger but I’m really careful.” Her forehead creases and I’m not sure if she’s embarrassed or scared. I consider how much to tell her. “I eat beignets from there all the time. They know about my allergy.”

“It happened. Just try to forget about it. Probably just an accident.”

“The EpiPen in my purse didn’t work, Judge.”

I was hoping she wouldn’t remember that part, but the EpiPen was tampered with. I wonder how long ago that had been done. I don’t have to ask who did it. Miriam is missing. She left most of her things behind and took off. Her fingerprints were on the EpiPen although we all handled it, so it was kind of a mess. Ezra has men looking for her.

“I ordered more. I replaced the one in your bag. Put two in there in fact. Solana and Georgie have more as well. Just in case. I’ll be keeping them in the cars and Lois has several in the kitchen. There will always be extra-”

“Judge,” she says, stopping me. I watch as she pushes her hand through her hair, soft waves of it falling over her shoulders when she releases it. “Did someone tamper with it?”

“It was probably just faulty.”

“Those things aren’t faulty.”

“Either way, you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Yeah, I kinda do.”

I clench my jaw.

“You moved me in here before that happened. You’ve got security around me like I’m the Queen of England. What’s going on?”

“Miriam is gone, Mercedes.”

“Miriam?”

“I know what she did to you. The paperweight. I know you weren’t lying, and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Her eyebrows rise, but it’s not in an I-told-you-so way. More just in surprise. Probably from my apology. I think this is the first time I’ve apologized to her.

“I confronted her a little while ago,” I tell her. It won’t hurt her to know this.

“Why did she do it? I mean, she and I never really liked each other but fuck. She hurt me.”

I clear my throat. I’m not ready to tell her that part just yet. Because that secret would unravel far too many others.

“I don’t know,” I lie instead.

She studies me. “You think she messed with the EpiPen too?”

“I suspect so.”

“But she’s gone now. What does that mean exactly? Gone like Theron or…”

“I have men looking for her.”

“Jesus, Judge! You knew what she did to me, and you didn’t have her arrested or something?”

“There was more to it than that, and I was managing her. I felt it would be better to have her where I could keep an eye on her. That was a mistake.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question. Why did you move me in here? Why the extra security?”

“With Abel having attacked Ivy as he did, I didn’t want to take a chance he’d come after you, too.” It is true. I have considered it. And I think this will be less frightening for Mercedes to deal with than knowing the brother of the woman she killed is out for revenge.

“Abel? He won’t come after me. Why would he?”

“You’re Santiago’s sister. Not to mention you can testify against him to The Tribunal.”

“Abel doesn’t scare me.”

Cupping her chin, I tilt her face up to mine. “Well, I’m not taking any chances with you. I will do what I need to do to keep you safe, little monster, even if I have to lock you away to do it.”

“That was starting to sound sweet and then just got creepy.”

I cup the base of her skull and pull her close. “I mean it, Mercedes. Seeing you like that the other day, feeling fucking powerless to fix it, it fucked with me.”

“Be careful, Judge.” She turns her huge eyes to me. She’s so close that I see faint rings of gold inside them, and fuck, she’s so beautiful, disarmingly so. “You don’t want me to get the impression you care.”

We look at each other for a long moment, and I know what she’s waiting for. Confirmation. But nothing has changed between us. Nothing can change. I won’t marry her. I can’t. And she’s right. I can’t give her false hope.

So I change the subject. “Georgie’s gay.”

She searches my eyes, and I see her disappointment, but then she grins. “It took you a long time to figure that out.”

“Why did you let me believe you two were together?”

“I didn’t. You believed that all on your own.”

“You certainly didn’t correct me. And those texts. Any man would believe what I believed.”

“Haven’t you ever just had a really easy, fun friendship? Someone you don’t have to be all intense Judge-like with?” That last part she says with a mock-serious tone.

I don’t know why I’m taken aback by this. Almost confused. My friendships are serious. They always have been. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone like what I have seen between Mercedes and her friends.

“Oh, my God, you haven’t. That’s actually kind of sad, Judge,” she says without a note of mockery.

Before I can reply, my phone vibrates. “I need to take this.” I get up, grateful for the interruption.

I unlock the phone and read the text. One sister. Lana Douglas. Whereabouts are unknown.

Fuck.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“You keep so many secrets.”

“Says the woman with a second life. Hungry?”

“You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Nothing’s going on. Come on,” I draw the blanket away and hold out my hand. “Get dressed. We’ll have dinner downstairs.”