His voice shakes the room, and if I'm honest, staring him down like this is terrifying. I've never seen Judge come uncorked. But a small, twisted part of me also gets a secret thrill knowing I've pricked a nerve with him.

That same part of me relishing in the small victory also wants to know his limits. How far can I push him? At what point will he truly snap?

The broken part of me understands these are important details. I need to know how far he'll go, as painful as it might be. I need to have a full grasp on how badly he can hurt me so I know how to prepare for it in the future.

So despite the fact that I’m shaking, I steel myself in his grasp and stare down the beast inside him.

"What's the matter, Judge? You can't swallow the taste of your own medicine? Is it too bitter?"

When he doesn't answer, I go on, trudging into a territory I know we might never come back from.

"Is it mommy issues? Is that it? Is that why you like to exert your power over me? Or was it someone else? They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Are you taking a page out of daddy's book, or perhaps even your grandfather?"

His nostrils flare, his grip on me tightening to the point of pain. I know I'm throwing salt in the wound. It hasn't been that long since his grandfather passed, something that's common knowledge in The Society. But for a moment, I think it doesn't matter. He knows what I'm doing, and Judge has always displayed an eerie ability to remain calm in almost every situation I've seen him in.

Some of the tension in my body ebbs away when he releases my face from his grip, and I prepare myself for a biting remark. But that isn't what I get. Without warning, he lunges toward me, and my instinct is to flee. I scramble backward, getting tangled in the bedding, and he captures me far too easily. For the first time, real fear streaks through me as he pins me to the bed and climbs astride my torso, locking me in place between his muscular thighs.

“Judge—” I try for a feeble protest as he yanks my tank top up over my head roughly, dragging my arms with it. He uses the material to secure my wrists in place, stretching the fabric until it starts to tear before he ties me in a knot so tight, I know I can’t escape.

I gulp in air, and he reaches behind him, shoving my shorts down to my ankles. When I buck up against him in resistance, he turns his fiery gaze back to me and pinches my nipple so hard I shriek from the shock of it.

“Enough,” he roars, slapping my breast with his palm. “Is this what you wanted? Is that it, Mercedes?”