All Chapters of Mummies and their Badboys: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Kneeling at the Foot of the Bed💦🫦😜I left the bedroom door open on purpose.From the top of the stairs, I listened to the quiet sounds below, the soft drag of fabric, the careful movement of someone whose wrists were still bound, the low hiss of a paper towel against hardwood. Jax was doing exactly what I had told him. Cleaning the mess. Preparing to climb the stairs.I stepped into my bedroom, turned on the single low lamp on the nightstand, and waited.Five minutes later I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Careful. He appeared in the doorway with his jeans still open, cock soft and shiny, the black silk cords still tight around his wrists behind his back. His eyes found me immediately. I sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but the open robe, legs crossed, the baseball bat leaning against the wall within easy reach.“On your knees,” I said. “Right there. Foot of the bed.”He crossed the room and dropped to his knees on the rug, spine straight, shoulders back. The position

Chambers After Hours💧💦🫦“Sit down, Mr. Kane.”I didn’t look up from the file when the door to my chambers opened. The courthouse had emptied an hour ago. The hallway lights were already on night mode. Only the brass desk lamp and the city glow through the blinds lit the room.Roman Kane closed the door behind him. Twenty-three. Black suit that didn’t quite fit the way expensive suits fit. A thin scar through his left eyebrow. The same young man I had sentenced that afternoon to eighteen months suspended and three hundred hours of community service for a string of car thefts that stopped just short of grand. He should have been on his way to the probation office. Instead, he was standing in front of my desk like he had every right to be there.“Judge Voss.” His voice was low, controlled. “You said to report directly to you for the first check-in.”“I did.” I closed the file and finally met his eyes. “Most defendants report to the probation officer on the second floor. You report to

Open Door, Closed Case💦🫦😜The text sat on my personal phone like a live wire.Unknown: Judicial privilege only protects you until someone decides it doesn’t. The basement cameras are not under the same seal. Tomorrow when he signs in, leave the chambers door open three inches. I want a clearer view of the check-in. Or the archived footage gets a formal request attached to a complaint by Friday.I did not leave the door open three inches.At 7:55 a.m. I stood at my desk with the community-service log open and the chambers door locked. Roman arrived at 7:58, rain still on his shoulders, the same controlled stillness in his face. He signed in. I initialed. Neither of us mentioned the message I had not shown him.“Basement,” I said. “Sign out at five. Do not come up early.”“Yes, Your Honor.”He left. I spent the morning on the bench with a docket that felt longer than usual. Every time the courtroom door opened I expected a clerk with a formal complaint in hand. None came. At lunch I

Unlocked Bay, Recorded Shift💦🫦💧The message stayed on my phone through the rest of the night and into the next afternoon.Unknown: Trauma Bay 3 has excellent acoustics. The cart rattling was a nice touch. Next shift, leave the side door unlocked. I want a better angle. Or the audio from the bay mic goes straight to the medical staff office and the hospital board.I deleted it. Then I recovered it from recently deleted and stared at it again while the day-shift noise of the emergency department washed around me. Fourteen hours off had not been enough. My body still carried the memory of Cole, the stretch of him, the sound he made when he came, the way the nursing supervisor’s eyes had lingered a second too long.I did not leave the side door unlocked.My next stretch of nights began at 7 p.m. Cole’s name was already on the board for the matching paramedic shift. We crossed paths twice in the first four hours, once over a multi-system trauma, once over a simple transfer. Both times h

After Midnight in the Gallery💦💧🫦 The motion sensor light in the east wing clicked on at 12:17 a.m. I stood perfectly still in the center of the main gallery, the alarm panel’s soft green glow the only other illumination. I had come back for the insurance binder I left on my desk. The building should have been empty. The night guard had signed out at eleven. The backup system was set to silent-alert-only, my preference after too many false alarms from the old wiring. Someone was moving between the white walls and the suspended canvases. I did not call out. I walked barefoot across the polished concrete, the hem of my black dress whispering against my legs, until I reached the partial wall that separated the emerging-artists wing from the rest of the space. A figure stood in front of the largest piece, my newest acquisition, still wrapped in protective paper from the afternoon delivery. Black hoodie. Dark jeans. A messenger bag slung across one shoulder. He was cutting the pap