I truly feel fucking terrible, and Judge must see it because he doesn't scold me again. Instead, he comforts me, his hand rubbing circles into my back. It feels so good that I don't want it to end. I don't understand it. How can this man who infuriates me so often bring me this kind of peace as well? When I look at him, I wonder if he's questioning it too.

"Just don't try it again," he says, his voice absent of derision. "You don't ride unless you're with me, or I give you permission."

I could bite back, but I don't. There's something about when he shows me even an ounce of softness that makes me wish for more. After the hell of the last few weeks, I shouldn't want or need these moments from him, but I do. I know I told him I’d never forgive him for what he’d done, and a part of me still hasn’t, but right now, it’s overshadowed by my basic human need for comfort.

"I want you to tell me what happened with Miriam."

I lift my gaze to his, already prepared for a fight, but he stops me with a shake of his head.

"I'll listen this time. Please, tell me."

"I did tell you." My lip trembles, betrayal prickling my nerves all over again. “I’m not in the habit of repeating the truth when it only serves to earn me a punishment.”

I learned that the hard way long ago, with my father and even Santiago. The men in my life all have a tendency to believe what they want, regardless of what I say. When someone challenges your truth, it makes you start to question your own reality. It invalidates everything you experienced. And I’m not about to let Judge do that to me all over again.

“Mercedes.” He tries to coax more from me, but I shake my head.

“No. I’m not repeating it. You betrayed my trust. You accused me of lying when I wasn’t. I’m not going through that again.”

I’m not sure if I should expect a fight from him, but he doesn’t give me one. Instead, we fall into a tense silence until he finally breaks it with the touch of his hand. At first, I’m not sure what he’s doing as his fingers move over the skin at the nape of my neck. Then it occurs to me, that’s where my IVI tattoo is located. Like every other member, I have one. But that ink isn’t what Judge is quietly contemplating. He’s touching the empty space above it. The one reserved for my husband’s family crest when I marry.