Judge strained to hear.
“I still don’t think he’s right for us,” she said.
“He’ll work out fine. His shooting skills are better than most, even after we train them.” He paused. “Augustus has tasked us with standing up an army in a hurry. We can’t pass on this one.”
“He’s too belligerent,” she argued. “Too volatile.”
Judge could swear he recognized that voice. He just couldn’t put his finger on it right away. Whomever it was invoked good vibes, not feelings of trepidation.
“If he’s volatile,” Wiley said, “it’s because he needs training.”
“He’ll be stubborn and hard to mold into the TCW way of thinking.”
“That’s why he has to have one of our best train him.”
“I still say we turn him loose,” the woman said.
“We don’t turn people loose,” Wiley said in a stone-cold tone.
“He doesn’t know where we are, so he can’t lead anyone back here,” she said. “We just have to take him out the way we brought him in.”
“You know that’s not possible,” Wiley said. “It’s train him or…”
Judge could fill in the blank himself. Either the two weren’t aware that their voices were carrying enough for him to overhear their conversation, or they wanted him to know the only alternatives.
Although he worked at the bindings on his wrists, they were firmly in place. His upper torso was wrapped in duct tape, which was secured to the back of a chair. He might be able to break the chair, but he doubted he’d be fast enough to evade recapture.
And they might decide to eliminate him rather than deal with him before he got away.
“Fine,” the woman said. “We’ll keep him.”
Judge released the breath he’d been holding.
“Glad you finally agree,” Wiley said. “As we’ve lost so many of our best people, this now makes it pretty obvious why you will be the best one of us to conduct his training.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said.
“Besides, Augustus specifically asked for you.”
PJ’s eyes narrowed. “So you say.”
“You can ask him yourself when he pays us a visit.”
PJ’s expression remained unchanged. “And when will that be?” she asked, her tone flat and her words lazy as if she were bored.
“When he decides the time is right,” Wiley clapped his hands together. “In the meantime, we have work to do.”
PJ nodded, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Footsteps sounded behind Judge, and Wiley emerged from the shadows into the light. “Welcome New Recruit Judge. You’ve been accepted, in a probationary status, into The Chosen Way. You’ll undergo training with one of our best.” He waved a hand to his side and took a step backward. “Judge, this is your trainer, PJ.” He grinned. “I believe you know her from the tavern.”
Judge’s breath caught in his lungs as if he’d been sucker punched as the waitress from the tavern stepped into the light, all of her sandy-blond hair tucked beneath a black ball cap. She wore dark jeans and a dark jacket. The only things she wore that were the same as when she’d worked in the tavern were the black combat boots.
She stood with her legs slightly parted, her chin held high and her face stony cold. She met his gaze. “I don’t tolerate insubordination. We have a job to do. I don’t expect pushback on anything I have you do.” Her eyebrows dipped into a V over her nose. “Do you have a problem working with a female?”
“Not in the least,” Judge answered immediately. “I have sisters. They can be just as mean as any guy, sometimes meaner. And my mother wore the pants in the family.” He had to hold back a laugh at the way she stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
PJ’s lips curled back in a snarl. “Let’s get one thing perfectly clear: I. Am. Not. Your. Mother.”
He let go of a grin. “Trust me when I say I’m in 100% agreement with you. You don’t act, sound or look like my mother. I will not get the two of you confused.”
She stared at him a moment longer as if trying to determine whether she could believe a word he was saying or not. Finally, she nodded. “Good. Let’s get to work.” PJ pulled a knife out of the scabbard on her belt and came toward him, holding it in front of her with the tip pointing toward his chest.
Judge didn’t look at the knife. Instead, he held her gaze. He was completely at her mercy. She could plunge that knife into him if she wanted. At the last moment, her face softened just a hair. She pressed the tip of the knife gently against his chest, then drew it upward, slicing through the duct tape.
As she leaned close to him, he could smell that light citrusy scent.
A rush of heat pushed through his veins.
Bending over him, she cut through the tape holding each ankle to a chair leg.
Judge inhaled a deep breath of her, his nostrils flaring.
PJ straightened and stared down at him, her eyes narrowing. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she rounded the chair, positioned the knife between his wrists and sliced through the tape binding them.
Once freed, Judge pushed to his feet, fighting away the dizziness, the lingering effect of the drug they’d injected into him. He peeled off the tape still clinging to his skin and clothes, wadded it into a ball and tossed it to the corner. Then he stretched his arms over his head to work the kinks out of his muscles. When he looked around for PJ, he found her standing in the shadows.
“Follow me,” she said and pushed open a door. She led the way out of the shack he’d been confined in and out into the darkness of what he assumed was the wee hours of the morning.
“How long was I unconscious,” he asked.
“Long enough,” she answered.
“My truck and my belongings?” he prompted.
“Will be returned to you when we know we can trust you.” She kept walking, not waiting for him to keep up.
He lengthened his stride and fell in step beside her. “What does PJ stand for?”
“PJ,” was her clipped response. “While you’re here, you’ll go by Judge. You won’t share your given name with anybody. If you do, you will be punished.”
“Why?”
“When you’re a part of The Chosen Way, you’ll go by the name assigned, releasing you from the name and burdens of your past. That way, there’s only the present and future.”
“I thought TCW was a kind of militia, not a cult,” he said as he walked past several metal buildings.
“Call it what you will,” she said. “It’s what we make of you and what you make of the training we provide.”
“And what kind of training is that?” he asked.
“You’ll see soon enough.” PJ stopped in front of a small building that wasn’t much more than a shack. She pulled a set of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. “For the safety of the other recruits as well as your own well-being, you’ll be confined to this building except for training, meals and hygiene.”
“And how long will this confinement last?”
“For your probationary period or until you’ve proven you can be trusted.”