“Good for you.” I glare at him. “You want a fucking gold star?”

“Police, politicians, government officials. The district attorney is one of my biggest admirers,” he goes on. “We have an understanding between us that keeps things simple.”

“What’s your point?” I ask.

He shows me a photo on his phone, and I swallow, my resistance dying in my throat. It’s a snapshot of Georgie outside of his work. But that isn’t all. Judge swipes, and another one pops up. Georgie at his apartment. And then at the studio with Solana. At the police station, presumably trying to figure out where I am. There’s an entire reel of their lives right here. Which means Judge knows where they live and work. He probably knows everything about them.

I drag my eyes up to his face, noting the tension in his jaw. The vein in his neck is pulsing too, and I want to believe that means he doesn’t want to do this. But the truth is, I don’t know.

“I can make their lives very difficult,” he tells me. “You know I can make them absolute hell.”

Tears prick my eyes because I do. I really fucking do. Judge is in the unique position of working in the court system, where corruption runs deep. I’d venture a guess that probably half if not more of his connections are Society. They have a power outsiders couldn’t possibly understand. I’ve heard the stories. They can complicate anyone’s life. They can have them arrested for bogus charges. They can have them sentenced to lengthy prison terms because they looked at someone the wrong way. They could even make them disappear with a simple phone call if they really wanted to.

I don’t think Judge would ever go that far, but does it really matter? Any consequences he decides to throw at Solana and Georgie aren’t acceptable. I can’t allow them to be punished because of my mess.

“You can’t hurt them,” I answer in a brittle voice. “Please.”

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and reaches for the collar. “Then do as you’re told.”

17

Mercedes

Judge finishes securing the collar around my neck and then attaches the leash. He can barely look at me. I know because I’ve been staring at him for the last two minutes. There must be some level of contrition in his heart for doing this, but if there is, he’s not caving to it.

“Ready?” he asks gruffly.

I stare up at him, silently pleading with my eyes. Searching for one scrap of humanity, one ounce of the comfort I know he’s capable of providing. But I come up empty.

“I meant what I said,” I whisper. “If you make me do this, I’ll never forgive you.”