The Ruthless Heir

Erica’s [POV]Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

Solana seems to sense the shift in my mood, and she takes it upon herself to fix it, the way she has a habit of doing it.

“Judge, you haven’t seen my shop yet.” She offers me a coy smile as she tosses her gym bag over her shoulder. “And I have it on good authority that we have one of the best coffee shops in the world right next door. The secret is chicory, of course.”

Judge moves his gaze to me, and though I’m silent, he can see that I’m hopeful. I don’t expect him to give in, honestly, but he does.

“I suppose we have some more time before we have to be home.”

I sneak my hand over to his and give it a gentle squeeze of gratitude even though it seems somewhat ridiculous. I don’t like requiring permission to do these things, but I’m used to it, and I’m also grateful that he’s giving me more small freedoms.

We don’t bother with the car when we exit onto the street. Instead, we walk the two blocks to Solana’s shop on foot. It feels good to be back among these familiar places, but I can feel the strain radiating from Judge as he scans the street the entire time, checking for threats.

When Zen Apothecary comes into view, a familiar warmth spreads through my chest. Everything looks the same from the window. Inside, the quaint little shop has shelves made of reclaimed wood and old oak floors that creak when you step over them. Baskets of lavender and racks of potted plants adorn the entrance. It smells just as I remember it too. Incense, loose-leaf teas, locally sourced herbal tinctures, essential oils, and Solana’s line of skin care all combine to flood my senses. It’s the scent of Solana. Of course, the aroma of coffee and beignets from next door doesn’t hurt either.

“Take a seat.” Solana gestures at the small bistro table in the corner. “I’ll get the coffee called in.”

Judge frowns, but before he can say anything, Madame Dubois enters the shop with a flourish, her long dress swishing around her feet. She’s heading toward her small private corner of the shop where she resides during business hours as the in-house fortune teller. But before she can make it that far, she comes to a dead halt, her features pinching in distaste, and then she turns. At first, her eyes move over me, filled with obvious relief, and then they take on a hard edge as she turns to examine Judge.

“You.” She points a steady finger at him as if she’s cursing him. “Your fear does not serve you.”

He arches an eyebrow at her, his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. That is until she speaks again.

“Let go of the past before it robs you of what was always meant to be yours.”

Something dark flashes through Judge’s eyes, and even I find myself frowning. Madame Dubois has been known to be a little out there, and I always found her predictions to be more amusing than anything, but what she said seems to have struck a chord with Judge as he shifts in his chair uncomfortably.

“Someone’s feeling feisty today,” Georgie murmurs.

“You can say that again.” I watch Madame Dubois take one more step before she pauses again and turns to me.

“It’s good to see you back, but you should take care not to be so reckless.”

And with that annoyingly accurate observation that Judge snorts at, she disappears behind her curtained area.

“Okay.” Solana returns to us with a small paper bag in hand. “I think this should do it.”

Judge stares at her in confusion as she hands it to him, and I smile at her. Even though she thinks he’s a beast, she can’t help herself.

“There’s sandalwood incense and soap,” she says. “And a mood elixir, well, for obvious reasons.”

“Thanks,” Judge grouses.

“Um, can you tell your guys to at least stand a little farther away from the shop door,” she huffs as she stares outside. “They’re scaring off all my patrons.”

Judge looks like he’s perfectly fine with the idea, and I don’t doubt he’s tempted to hand over his credit card and buy out the entire shop because right now, for whatever reason, he’s still on edge. His eyes move over everyone that comes through the door, and he’s checked my old phone twice since we’ve been here, which seems odd.

“What do you keep looking at on there?” I whisper as Georgie and Solana discuss the placement of her new air plant display.

“Nothing,” Judge grunts in response.

Before there’s any more time to argue, a guy wearing the familiar apron from the coffee shop next door enters. It’s not the usual delivery boy who has a mad crush on Solana, so his eyes move over the shop before settling on Judge and me.

“Oh, here.” Solana rushes over to greet him, taking the tray of coffees and the bag of beignets. “I was expecting Brady.”

The guy nods, but his eyes don’t move from Judge and me. “He’s out sick today.”

Solana frowns but shoves a few dollar bills into his hand for a tip and thanks him again. The guy lingers for another second, and I think he and Judge are having a silent pissing contest, which is weird, but then he disappears.

Solana sets the coffee down and opens the bag of pastries so we can all dig in. But before I can even reach for one, Judge glances at me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Okay, whatever has him worked up is making him overly paranoid.

“We order from them all the time,” I assure him as I reach out and grab a pastry anyway. “Don’t be so surly.”

He tries to grab the pastry from my hand, and I taunt him with a smile as I shake my head and hold it up in the air. Georgie rolls his eyes.

“We’ve checked the ingredients exhaustively,” he says dryly. “They are aware of Mercedes’s allergy, and they don’t use peanuts in any of their products.”

Those words don’t seem to pacify Judge, so I gesture to my purse. “Don’t worry, okay? I have my EpiPen if I ever need it, but I won’t.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but there are some battles he’s just going to have to get used to losing. I want my damned beignet, and I’ve eaten from this place a million times. It’s not even an issue.

Before he can protest further, I stuff the doughy, sugary concoction into my mouth and take a bite. When I moan, Judge eyes me again like that annoys him too. Almost as if… dare I say it… that sound should be just for him.

Amusement makes me laugh, and powdered sugar falls from my fingers like snow as I nod to the bag. “Just try it. Then you’ll understand.”

He ignores my suggestion, and I can see he’s just biding his time here, so I take the opportunity to take a couple more big bites and then follow it up with a drink of too-hot coffee. I’m sure he’s going to insist we leave soon, and it makes me wonder what’s next on our agenda. But as I’m considering it, something tickles my throat, and I cough a couple of times, trying to rid myself of the feeling. But it only intensifies, even as I drink more coffee and nearly choke on it.

“Mercedes?” Concern seeps into Judge’s voice as he reaches for my face. “What is it?”

My blood pressure seems to plummet as I try to shake my head, assuring him it’s nothing, but I know it’s not. A wave of dizziness moves over me, and my throat feels tight. Too tight.

I reach for my purse, recognizing the symptoms of an allergic reaction I assured him I wouldn’t have any Judge curses.

“Oh, God,” Georgie yelps at the same time Solana gasps. “Her face.”

I’m not getting enough oxygen. That much is obvious to anyone.

“Here, let me do it.” Solana tries to come around to help, but Judge seizes me and pulls me into his lap, tilting my head back.

“Get the goddamned EpiPen.”

My vision is blurry with tears, but I can see Solana’s trembling hand as she forks it over. “I can-”

Judge doesn’t listen. He grabs the pen, jams it against my thigh, and tries to inject it. But I don’t hear the telltale click, and he seems to be fighting with it as he digs it deeper, his voice betraying an edge of panic.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with this thing?”

“Let me try.” I hear Georgie’s voice fading like he’s underwater.

They both start fidgeting with it and then comes the thing I don’t want to hear.

“There’s something wrong with it,” Georgie says. “This isn’t right.”

“Fuck!” Judge roars. “I’m calling the goddamned ambulance now.”

He lays me on the shop’s floor, and I try to look up at him, try to move to tell him it’s okay, but I can’t. I’m too sluggish. My throat feels like it’s almost completely closed, and it’s all I can do to focus on trying to drag in tiny gasps of air.

“I have another one!” Solana yells. “I have one here! It’s behind the counter.”

“Get it,” Judge pleads. “Get it right now.”