by Alex Grayson
Judge of Hell
Copyright © 2019 by Alex Grayson.
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by Cover Me Darling. Interior Formatting by Alex Grayson. Editing by Hot Tree Editing.
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Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.
All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincide.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
DISCLAIMER
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
OTHER BOOKS BY ALEX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
To Loafer. For always cleaning up my mess when I was too busy writing.
DISCLAIMER
This disclaimer is courtesy of my good friend Marie. This book is not suited for children or young adults. Warning, you will want to read this book in one sitting. Be prepared to need alcohol or Xanax or whatever your method of relaxation is!
P.S.-You’ll want to punch Alex, but please don’t, we still need Emo’s book.
Intended for readers 18 and older due to harsh language, sensitive subject matters, and sexual conduct.
Prologue
JUDGE
The Past
“WHAT’S GOING ON OUT THERE, MITCHELL?” I hear Mom ask as I slowly walk down the stairs. My whole body hurts, and I’m stiff from the brutal way I was treated tonight. My hair’s wet and dripping on my shirt from my recent shower, but I still feel dirty. I always feel dirty, no matter how much I wash away their disgusting scent.
When I round the corner to the living room, I come to a stop. It’s four in the morning, but it’s Hell Night, so it’s not unusual for my parents to still be up. Dad’s at the window, staring out into the dark night. Mom’s standing a few feet behind him, dressed in her nightclothes, her hand clutching her neck and her face pinched in concern.
Dad looks away from the window, darting his eyes first to me then to my mom. “I don’t know, dear, but whatever it is, it isn’t good.”
I know exactly what’s going on, and my nerves jump with excited anticipation. Mae and Dale warned us only yesterday what was going to happen, but it feels like I’ve been waiting years. I guess in a way, I have been. Fourteen years, to be exact. Since the day I was born.
Just then, a loud yell comes from outside. Dad turns back to the window, and I rush over to the other one. Across the street, there’s a man on his stomach, struggling with another man on top of him. They’re under the streetlight, so we’ve got a good view of them. The man on top digs his knee into the one beneath him, then pulls a pair of handcuffs from his side and cuffs the guy. Another man approaches them, and when he steps into the light, I see the gun he’s holding.
It’s started, and it’s about damn time.
I back away from the window and turn to leave the living room. I need to find the others so we can meet Mae and Dale at The Hill.
“Kayn, go up to your room,” Dad calls from behind me.
I turn back to him and lift my chin. “No.”
His brows lift. “Excuse me?”
“I’m leaving,” I say and spin back to the doorway. I’ve just passed through when I’m yanked around by my wrist.
“You’re not going anywhere, son. It’s not safe out there. Now do as I told you and go to your room.”
I jerk my arm from his hold. I can’t stand for him to touch me. It may not be safe for him and Mom, but even if the authorities find me, I wouldn’t be in trouble like they’ll be.
“I’m leaving,” I state again, my voice firm.
“And where are you going?” Mom asks, coming to stand beside Dad. “It’s four in the morning.”
“To find my brothers.”
Dad barks out a laugh. “Like hell you are. You’re aren’t leaving this house until we figure out what’s going on.”
There’s a gunshot outside, and Mom yelps in surprise. Her eyes slide to the window as she edges closer to Dad.
I take a step back and smirk at them both. “I know exactly what’s going on.”
Dad’s hand darts out and snags my wrist again. “What do you know?”
When I tug on my arm, his fingers tighten. I’ve grown a lot over the last year, but my dad is still bigger and stronger than me. Even so, my anger and determination are much more than his. Because of that and the pain still coursing through my body from Hell Night, when I rear back and clock him on his chin, he lets go and falls over the coffee table. I’ve never really hit anyone before, so I’m surprised at the pain in my hand. I shake it out and glower at Dad and Mom, who has rushed to her husband’s side.
“What in the world is wrong with you, Kayn?” Mom demands.
“I told you, I’m leaving and neither of you will stop me.”
I turn around and rush from the room. I need to leave and get to my brothers before it’s too late. I hear Mom and Dad yelling my name as I slip through the back door. I ignore them both. I don’t care what happens to them, as long as I get to my brothers and we all get to The Hill. Mae and Dale are supposed to help us leave Sweet Haven. The note they got yesterday said there was going to be a raid. Mae and Dale knew we would be separated if the cops found us. I can’t imagine not having my brothers around. The thought causes a weird feeling to form in my chest.
The backyard is dark as I sprint across the wet grass. I’m barefoot, so the blades stick to my feet. I was just getting out of the shower when I heard a loud bang outside. I rushed to put on my clothes and get downstairs. I’ve been anxious all day because we didn’t know when the town was going to be raided. I had hoped it would be before Hell Night began, so when it didn’t happen and we came back home, I thought something went wrong. Or the note was just some cruel joke.
I’ve never been more happy to be wrong.
I hide behind a tree when I see a couple of shadowed figures sneak around the side of Mr. and Mrs. Moore’s house. I stiffen when I feel someone come up behind me.
“Where are the others?” JW whispers, and I relax.
I keep my eyes on the house and watch the dark figures move inside as I answer JW. “I’m not sure, but I’ve got a guess.” I reach back, grab his shirt, and pull him behind me.
The plan was for me and JW to meet up and go to The Hill together. Trouble and Emo were to do the same. That was the plan, but I’m changing it. I’m not going to The Hill without making sure Trouble and Emo go as well. Trouble, I’m not worried about. It’s Emo that concerns me. He told us earlier today that he heard Rella, Trouble’s eight-year-old sister, screaming. It’s ridiculous and impossible. Rella died a week ago from slitting her own wrists. When my brothers and I found her, she was already dead, the wood floor beneath her soaked with her deep red blood. Emo won’t leave until he looks for her. Trouble and Rella’s house is where we’re headed.
I stop us when I see Noah Vincent come out of nowhere and run toward his car, only to be stopped by the cops.
“Halt! This is the FBI! Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”
I pull JW in another direction, away from the cops and Noah. I’m forced to stop again when JW digs in his heels. I turn and find him looking in the direction of his house. His mother’s screams pierce the night air.
“JW!” I hiss to grab his attention. “We gotta go.”
He turns back to me, a look of satisfaction on his face, and he nods.
We dodge a couple more dark figures slipping through the shadows, and I bring us to a halt behind another tree. Someone’s on the ground up ahead, moaning in pain. There’s a shout behind us, and I whip my head around. I move us both to another tree. Thank goodness for all the big trees in town or we’d be shit out of luck.
We both stay real still, holding our breath as a man in dark clothes approaches the person on the ground, his hand raised, holding a gun.
“Sandra Milton, you are under arrest for child sexual assault and abuse.”
JW and I watch in fascination as he handcuffs Sandra and pulls her to her feet. She’s crying; the sound pathetic. I don’t feel an ounce of pity for her. She and her husband have both participated in the horrors of Hell Night. Tonight, they both forced their eleven-year-old daughter, Regina, to touch them in disgusting ways.
Once they’re out of sight, JW and I are moving again. A couple of minutes later, we spot Trouble and Rella’s house. I want to slap both Trouble and Emo when I see them in the road facing the structure, out in the open.
JW and I race over to them.
“We gotta go, now,” I tell them, out of breath from all the running and the adrenaline pumping through me. “Shit’s going down fast, and if we don’t want the Petersons to get caught in the crosshairs, we have to leave. They’re waiting on us behind The Hill.”
Trouble nods and turns back to Emo, whose attention is still held captive by the house in front of him.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for him to look away and say darkly, “Let’s go.”
We dart through yards and across streets. I keep looking back to make sure the others are still behind me and we’re not being followed. There’s no way I’m leaving this horrible place without them.
I have to draw JW’s attention away when he stops at the Moores’ window and peers inside. We all hide behind a tree when shots are fired, followed by more yelling.
“I wonder if that was Mr. or Mrs. Sanders,” JW comments.
“Doesn’t matter. Either would be fine with me. Or better yet, both of them,” I say quietly. Once the figures are inside the Sanders’ house, I whisper, “It’s clear.”
Worry has me throwing looks all around us to make sure we’re still unseen. Any place would be better than the hell we’ve lived in our whole lives, but I’m still scared that we’ll be caught.
It’s not until we round the corner of The Hill and see Mae and Dale’s van up ahead that I start to breathe easier again. Excitement replaces the worry, making my heart race for an entirely different reason.
I briefly wonder what happened with Mom and Dad, but the thought isn’t important. For all I care, they could be among the people being shot. The only people I care about are my brothers, Mae, and Dale.
My brothers and I are finally going to be free of our living nightmare.
Chapter One
JUDGE
I SIT BEHIND THE BENCH and give a nervous Kevin Timmons a stern look. “Mr. Timmons, you know thievery is not tolerated in Malus, but since this is your first offense, I’ll go easy on you. You’ll spend one month in lockup.”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” Kevin grumbles. “I was only borrowing it.”
“Typically, when you borrow something, you ask the owner first. And when you get done, you return it. How long did you have Mr. Syke’s Weed Eater?”
“Two weeks,” he admits, his eyes dropping from mine, embarrassment coating his cheeks red.
“And how did you get the Weed Eater?”
He blows out a breath before answering. “I picked the lock on his shed.”
“Why didn’t you just ask if you could use it?”
“Because I knew he wouldn’t let me borrow it. He’s a greedy bastard.”
I cock a brow. “That’s not helping your case, Mr. Timmons. In fact, it’s only pissing me off.” Wisely, he keeps quiet. “On top of your one month stay in jail, you’ll also mow Mr. Syke’s yard for a year, starting when you’re released.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it closed when I narrow my eyes at him. The very last thing anyone would think to call me is a pushover. What I say goes, and everyone who knows me recognizes that, including Kevin Timmons.
“Yes, Judge.”
I pick up my gavel and slam it down on the sound block, calling the session over. Grabbing the case file, I get up from my chair as Deputy Sanchez walks over to Kevin to escort him back to his cell.
I take a seat behind my desk once I’m in my office. Well, I guess it’s technically called my chambers, but I’ve never been one to follow proper protocol. Like the “Your Honor” shit people call most judges. It’s stupid as fuck and sounds high and mighty. Yes, I may be the one who decides a person’s future, but I’m no different than them. What right do I have to demand they call me something that suggests my status is above them? Pompous assholes. That’s what the government is.
I toss Kevin’s file on top of the only other file on my desk. It’s not often I have to hold court in Malus. Crime rarely happens here, and when it does, it’s petty shit like thievery or kids causing a ruckus or a dispute between neighbors. It’s the way I like it. It’s part of the reason why my brothers and I decided to rebuild Malus. To provide us and anyone who lives here a safe and comfortable place to live.
My phone dings on my desk, and I snatch it up. Excitement builds in my chest as I open the email I’ve been waiting a week to receive.
The package has been delivered. Below is the video confirmation.
No signature. Not that I need one. I know who it’s from and what I’m about to watch. I’ve got a collection of these videos I’ve been gathering the last few years. This one will be added to the same external disk drive as the others. After I watch it, of course.
I grab the bottle of bourbon and glass from my desk drawer and pour a couple of inches. I click on the link in the email and wait for the video to pop up. Sitting back in my chair, I bring the glass to my lips as I wait for it to load.
A smile spreads across my face when the screen turns from black to the view of an office. There’s an older man sitting behind a desk, much smaller than the one I’m at now. It’s a side view of him looking at his computer monitor. I can’t see what’s on the screen, but I don’t need to. Even if I didn’t know what he was watching, I could tell by the horror etched on the man’s face that it’s not something appealing.
Sweat slides down his rapidly paling cheeks. What I wouldn’t give to have been in the room with him as this was taking place. I bet I would ha
ve heard his heart beating from several feet away.
A couple of minutes later, the man slams the lid closed on his laptop and bends over the trash can beside his desk, emptying the contents of his stomach. I laugh at the sight and sound of his retching, more than pleased at the results. Once he’s finished, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sags back in his chair. He looks like shit. Each video I get of him, he looks worse than the one before.
The screen turns black. All I needed was a video of his reaction while looking at the pictures I sent him. More will come later. Much more. Building anticipation is a wonderful thing, and I’m damn sure enjoying it.
I pull out the external hard drive, hook it up to my computer, and transfer the video file. Once I’m finished, I delete the email.
Finished for the day, I shut down my computer, grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and lock the door behind me as I leave.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Beverly,” I call to the receptionist as I pass by her desk.
“Have a good night!” she says back.
A few minutes later, a damn good smell greets me when I walk into the house. My keys and phone get dumped onto the counter as I come up behind Layla and lay a kiss on the back of her neck.
“Something smells delicious,” I rumble and take a step back.
She tosses me a smile over her shoulder before turning back to stir whatever she’s cooking in a pot.
“It’s a recipe Remi gave me. Homemade beef stew.”
I yank at my tie and pull it from around my neck. “How was your day?” I ask, starting on the buttons of my dress shirt.
She taps the wooden spoon on the side of the pot before setting it down on the stove. “It was good.” Going to the fridge, she pulls out a bottle of beer for me and a bottle of wine for herself. I take the bottle of wine from her. As I take care of the cork, she continues. “I had a talk with Katelyn’s parents. They’re going to reconsider letting Katelyn apply to Parsons.”
“That’s great. The girl’s damn good. I’m sure she’ll have no problem getting in.”