Judge of Hell (Hell Night Series Book 3)

by Alex Grayson

  I lift my head and give him the truth. “Tell them to give me some time. I’m not saying no, just not yet. This is still very new for us. Maisy doesn’t even know yet.”

  He nods and tips my head back by my chin for a kiss. “I’ll tell them.”

  “Thank you for understanding and not pressing the issue.”

  “I never want to put you in a situation where you’re not comfortable. If you need time, then that’s all you need to say. But I want you to know, you have nothing to worry about with them. They’re good people, and I think once you get to know them, you’ll find you actually like them.”

  I bark out a laugh. “You’re definitely reaching.”

  He chuckles and turns us back the way we were going. We’re just passing the driveway to Trouble’s office when there’s a loud crash behind the building, followed closely by some pretty colorful curse words.

  “What in the hell?” Judge mutters. He grips my hand, pulling me behind him as we jog down the driveway to the back of the building.

  “Motherfuckin’ bastard,” Trouble grumbles as we come up on him sitting on the concrete several feet from his truck. The driver door is open and there’s a trash can on its side about five feet from him.

  “What happened?” Judge asks, helping Trouble to his feet.

  I look down and see something wet on the sleeve of his shirt on his forearm. Something rattles behind me, and I spin around, nearly jumping out of my skin at what I find.

  “That’s what fuckin’ happened. Now where in the hell is the other one?”

  At Trouble’s words, my eyes widen and I spin in place, frantically looking around for another rattlesnake. An arm wraps around my waist, and I’m hoisted up off the ground. My legs are tossed over the bed of the truck. As soon as I find my footing, I turn around, finding Trouble leaning against the back fender while Judge walks around, looking for the second snake. The first one has slithered off in the bushes.

  “Found it,” Judge calls, lifting his head from looking underneath the truck. He walks around to the other side, and I follow him in the bed. The snake in question is slithering toward the alley.

  Judge pulls his phone from his pocket, presses something, and puts it at his ear.

  “We’ve got two rattlers behind Trouble’s office. Trouble was bit. We need someone to come get them.” He pauses as he listens. “Got it.” He pockets his phone and comes to the truck, holding his hands out to help me down.

  “Sanchez is on his way with Williams.”

  When I look at Trouble, his face is pale and sweaty, and he has his arm close to his lower stomach and angled down. He’s rolled up his shirt sleeve and the area around the two puncture marks is already starting to swell.

  “We need to get him to a hospital,” I tell Judge, worry for Trouble making my voice come out shaky.

  “I have antivenin in my office,” Trouble pants, his breathing labored.

  I look to Judge, who has his back turned to us, looking toward the alley. “Well, shouldn’t we get him inside then?”

  “We gotta wait until Sanchez and Williams get here to make sure no one else comes across them.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, my body tense with worry. Thankfully, it only takes a couple of minutes before a truck pulls behind the building and two men get out. Judge points in the directions the snakes went, then immediately comes to Trouble’s side. His brows are pulled down, and I note his own worry for his brother.

  Trouble tosses me his keys, telling me which one to use, and I quickly unlock the back door. Judge walks with Trouble down the hallway and into one of the rooms. Trouble holds out his hand to me, and I drop the keys into his palm. He finds the one he’s looking for and goes to a locked cabinet. His hands shake as he unlocks it and the bottles jostle together as he searches for the antivenin. He does this with only one hand because he keeps the other angled down. I remember seeing an article once that said you need to keep the bite below the heart to help keep the venom from traveling to the heart for as long as possible.

  I glance around and find Judge gathering a few things and putting them on the tray by the bed. Feeling useless, all I can do is stand there and watch. I’ve never known anyone to have been bitten by a rattlesnake. All I know is that it can be deadly if not given the antivenin quickly enough.

  “Do you want me to call Remi?” I ask Trouble as he carries a vial and hypodermic needle to the tray.

  “Not yet,” he answers. “She’s going to freak out, so I want to take care of this first.”

  I nod in understanding. Remi is going to freak out, and Trouble needs to concentrate on taking care of the bite first.

  As soon as Trouble gets on the bed, he instructs Judge on how to give him an IV. I’m amazed at how well he does with the instructions, not once having to repeat himself. Trouble leans against the raised back of the bed, his eyes closing. His face is covered in sweat, and the swelling on his arm is getting worse and turning an angry red.

  As soon as the IV is in, he has Judge inject the medicine into it. My cuticles are torn to shreds as I watch the pair work together.

  “I know this is Texas and all, but is it common for rattlesnakes to be in town like that?”

  My worry is for Maisy and all the other kids in town.

  “It’s rare that we get them in the populated areas,” Judge answers, hanging a clear bag from the IV pole. “What I want to know is why there was two. They’ll share resting places sometimes, but they wouldn’t have found a resting place here in the center of town. Too much activity.”

  Trouble pops his eyes open. “They were in my truck.”

  “What?” Judge says loudly, his eyes shooting to Trouble.

  Trouble nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Someone had to have put them in there.”

  “Fuck!” Judge angrily swipes his fingers through his hair, his expression savage.

  “It has to be the same person. Too much of a fuckin’ coincidence.”

  Trouble nods. “My thoughts too.” He rolls his head my way. “Do me a favor and call Remi now?”

  With a nod, I pull my phone from my pocket and find Remi’s number. My hands tremble as I bring the phone to my ear.

  What in the hell is going on here?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  JUDGE

  The Past

  I SNEAK OUT THE BACK DOOR, making sure to turn the knob so it doesn’t click closed. Running barefoot across the backyard, I turn down the alley. It’s raining buckets of water, but it feels good against my sore body. Muddy water splashes, leaving streaks of mud down my legs, but I don’t care. I need to hurry and get to the gazebo where the others are.

  It’s still dark outside, but the sun will be coming up soon. We need to get to Mae and Dale’s house before it does.

  I almost stumble when a sharp pain hits my stomach. Forcing myself to continue, I turn right at the end of the alley and sprint across the Harrisons’ front yard. A dark shape darts out in front of me, and I barely have enough time to jump over Merlin, the Moores’ black cat.

  Up ahead, I spot the gazebo, and release a sigh of relief when I see a shadowed figure. I come to a stop beside JW and bend at the waist to rest my hands on my knees. I suck in big gulps of air. My stomach is starting to hurt really bad, but I ignore it as much as possible.

  “Where are the others?” I pant and brush my wet hair back from my face.

  “They should be here any minute. Rella wasn’t looking so good when they left the Hall tonight.”

  Anger hits me square in the chest. Mr. Masters is a twisted son of a bitch. There’s no telling what all he had Emo do to Rella tonight.

  I spin around when I hear splashes come from behind me. Trouble and Emo come walking up. Rella is huddled against Emo’s chest, her arm around his shoulder and her head tucked against his neck. She has on a long white nightgown that’s soaked through. Although her eyes are open, she doesn’t appear to be looking at anything. Her gaze is va
cant. There’s a bruise on her cheek and the skin around her mouth looks raw. There’s no telling what was done to the rest of her.

  Emo, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to lose it. His black hair and eyes seem even darker against the grayness of his complexion. His eyes are red-rimmed, but I know it’s not from crying. It’s his fury showing through. His lips are a straight line and the skin over his cheekbones is tight. His body is rigid, but his hold on Rella is gentle. Emo doesn’t show his emotions, except when it comes to the girl in his arms.

  Trouble isn’t in much better condition. He looks just as angry as Emo, like he wants to kill someone. His movements are stiff, so I know he had a rough night, but his focus is centered on his little sister. He stays close to her and Emo, his eyes continuously flickering to her.

  “How is she?” I ask, walking over to them.

  “Not good,” Trouble replies, gently pushing Rella’s hair off her cheek.

  “Come on. Let’s get to Mae and Dale’s and they’ll look her over.”

  For the last couple of years, we’ve been going to Mae and Dale’s once Hell Night is over. They help patch us up when the adults have been particularly cruel in their sick perversions. I don’t know why they help us, I’m just glad we have someone to go to. I don’t care about myself really, but my brothers and Rella need the comfort they offer.

  It doesn’t take us long to get to their house behind The Hill. The door opens before we make it up the steps; they knew we would come.

  The moment Mae sees Rella, her eyes fill with tears.

  “Come,” she rasps. “Bring her to the bedroom.”

  Without a word, Emo follows Mae with Rella in his arms. Trouble trails behind him. JW and I stay right outside the bedroom door.

  Emo carefully lowers Rella to the bed.

  “No!” she yells, reaching for him. “Don’t leave! Please.”

  She begins to cry, her hands frantically grabbing at Emo’s shirt. The tortured look on his face tightens my throat. Emo hates himself for what he’s forced to do to her every month, but to Rella, it’s a pain they share together, one they have no chance of escaping. She doesn’t blame him, none of us do, but Emo sees it differently.

  Despite his part in the monthly rituals, Rella has always clung to Emo. It’s something he’s never understood, but my brothers and I do. She sees the pain Emo endures himself. She knows the pain he goes through along with her.

  Emo sits on the bed beside Rella, his jaw clenched. Her fingers are white as she clutches his hand. Trouble hovers behind Emo, worry for his sister all over his face. I hate seeing my friends like this. It makes me so angry that I can’t help them.

  “Come on, boys,” Dale says behind us. “Let’s leave them to it and get you two cleaned up.”

  Trouble glances up, hearing Dale. Expression pained, he looks back at Rella, not wanting to leave her, but knowing he can’t be present for what comes next. Mae needs to check over Rella for any damage done to her body.

  He leans over and kisses her cheek, murmuring something quietly. Her chin wobbles as she nods at him. He says something else that has her face crumpling, and she shakes her head rapidly.

  “I want him to stay,” she croaks, her hand tightening around Emo’s. “Please don’t make him leave.”

  Trouble looks at Emo, torment contorting his face. After a moment, Emo nods once, indicating he’ll stay. He’d do anything to help Rella, even torture himself more by finding out just how bad her injuries are.

  With one more remorseful look at his sister, Trouble comes toward us. I turn away from the door just as Mae begins lifting Rella’s nightgown, but I don’t miss the red on her thighs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  JUDGE

  A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, I twist the knob, open the front door, and step through. Closing it behind me, I turn and take in the dark room.

  Emo moved into this house when we came back to change Sweet Haven into Malus twelve years ago. It was gutted and refurbished, just as all of our houses were, but he’s never attempted to make it his own. It’s barren, only holding the bare minimum of items. Chair, love seat, and a television he never uses in the living room. Stove, fridge, and sparse dishes and utensils in the kitchen. There are three bedrooms. Two are empty. The third, which is the one Emo uses, has a king-sized bed, bedside tables on either side, and a dresser.

  It’s that bedroom that I head toward. The door is cracked open, the light from the bedside lamp illuminating a small strip of floor in the hallway. Pushing the door wide, I immediately spot Emo sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  I sigh and walk over to him. He doesn’t lift his head or acknowledge my presence when I take a seat beside him, pressing my back to the wall, keeping some space between our shoulders. Several feet away, propped up against another wall facing us, is a small brown stuffed rabbit. It’s old, tattered, and the hair is matted in some spots. It used to be Rella’s. She carried it around everywhere with her. The day she died from slitting her own wrists, Emo snuck into her bedroom that night and stole the stuffed rabbit. Trouble knew, but never told his parents. He also never asked Emo for it back, figuring it was something he needed to help him cope with her loss.

  My eyes fall on Emo’s hands. There’s a line of crusted scabs over the palm where the bandage used to be. He’s using that hand to gouge straight lines through the skin of his other forearm, the teeth of his key the weapon. It looks like he’s been at it for a while from the pallor of his skin and the amount of blood soaking his jeans.

  Both of his arms are completely covered in tattoos, but the designs on the insides of his forearms are fucked-up from all the times he’s sliced through his skin, leaving scars behind.

  “I take it Grace is still out of town?” I ask needlessly. I know she’s still out of town because Trouble told me while he and I were at JW’s office today.

  “Yes,” he hisses, flexing the muscles in his forearm as he twists the key to dig in deeper. A line of blood rushes from the wound.

  “Fuck, Emo,” I growl, my eyes pinned on the red streak. “One of these days you’re going to hit the wrong vessel and bleed out.”

  He grunts, like the idea doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Truth be told, I’m surprised he hasn’t already. The thought sends a sharp pain to my chest.

  I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’m calling Janet.”

  Janet is one of the three women who can handle Emo’s sexual needs, although he prefers Grace.

  “No!” he yells, finally lifting slitted eyes to me. “I don’t fuckin’ want Janet.”

  “Then I’ll call Grace and tell her to come back,” I declare. “If you can’t get a grip on your shit, then I’ll handle it for you. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and let you kill yourself.”

  The look he gives me is as black as onyx. I hold his acrimonious stare with one of my own. He can use that look to scare the shit out of people, but it won’t work on me, and he knows it. His eyes finally leave mine and move to the stuffed rabbit, his body relaxing slightly. He’s no longer using the key to slice his arm, but he now has it gripped in his fist, digging the teeth into the healing scabs.

  I get to my feet.

  “Get up,” I order sharply.

  “Fuck off,” he grumbles, but still climbs to his feet. The key gets shoved into his pocket.

  I’m surprised when he heads straight for the bathroom. Other than when my brothers, Grace, or one of the other women are around and we clean his wounds ourselves, it never gets done.

  I lean against the doorjamb as he puts his arm under the spigot and turns on the water, rinsing away the blood and revealing several deep gashes. I wince when he grabs a rag and scrubs roughly at the wounds. Reaching forward, I open the cabinet that holds towels and grab the first aid kit.

  “Hand me the peroxide and Neosporin,” he grunts, still scouring his arm.

  As I grab the requested items, un
derstanding dawns on me. He’s doing this for Maisy. She asked him to take better care of his cuts, and that’s what he’s doing. If I was the sappy type, I’d tear up at the knowledge he cares about my daughter and her worry for him.

  I watch quietly as he carefully doctors his own wounds.

  “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

  His black eyes lift to mine. “What?”

  “JW said he’s informed you of what happened to Ellie twelve years ago.” He nods, his jaw ticking. “He found the guy who got away. I want you to go fetch him and bring him to me.”

  I got a call from JW this morning, saying he had news about Billy Collins, Ellie’s missing attacker. He found him in Arkansas, living with a girlfriend. My head felt like it was going to explode, knowing we had an address and that I’d soon face that motherfucker head-on. I want to go and drag him back here myself, but I won’t leave Ellie and Maisy while there’s still danger here in Malus. I trust that my brothers would protect them just as fiercely as they would protect Remi, Elijah, and Eden, but I still refuse to leave them.

  Emo, just as I knew he would, jumps at the opportunity. This will be a good distraction for him. “Give me the details. I’ll leave tonight.”

  I grip his shoulder, and he tips his head to the side, looking at me through the mirror. “Bring him to me alive, Emo. I want the pleasure of killing the bastard myself.”

  He jerks his head once, and I know he’ll get the job done.

  Once he’s finished with his wounds, we leave the bathroom. He stops by the bedroom and picks up the stuffed rabbit. His eyes are unusually soft as he gazes down at it, rubbing his hand over the synthetic fur. He carries it to his nightstand and gently sets it down so it’s resting against the lamp. The yearning look is gone when he spins back around and stalks from the room.

  When we pass by the door that leads to the basement, his steps falter and his body goes rigid. His eyes are as hard as glass and his muscles bulge as he stares at the dark wood for a moment. The basement has always been a dark place for Emo. Many demons reside there, ones I’m not sure he’ll ever overcome.