Judas Bane

by Hera August

  “You will, I promise,” she replies, more softer than she intends to. “I don't think you'll have to be here much longer."

  “Good.” She casts her gaze down, twisting the ring on her finger when his face settles in on her. It’s like looking directly at the Sun. “I'm not a very good patient."

  He seems genuine, but Belle refuses to look back at him. “I kinda got that already."

  She feels him shift slightly. “I don't like people… taking care of me."

  She makes herself turn his way. “You could be dead."

  His eyes remain intense, but the corner of his mouth curves up. The smile is crooked but beautiful, which makes it all the more devastating to take in, without some kind of warning. And that dimple that emerges… it’s the Devil’s temptation. She frowns, all of a sudden conscious of her state of appearance.

  He leans closer. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her face is a hundred degrees warmer from his stare. She wants him to stop and go back to being the familiar brute. “I… The soup won’t take long to make."

  “I’ve offended you.” His eyes widen, almost childish, like he’s looking for some guidance. He continues to look up at her. The dark cloud of emotions vanishes, and what replaces them is far more unsettling than any monster he has been. His blue eyes radiate brooding intensity, making the outlining of him hard to look at, while at the same time, impossible to tear her gaze from. But behind that, brews a quiet vulnerability, a curtain of strength that rocks her off her axis.

  It’s an act. She just can’t believe how convincing it is. Belle has spent half her life pretending to be something she isn’t, and in a matter of one night, she’s being leveled by a couple of drops of charm and a few soft words. How disappointing.

  “No,” she finally responds.

  “Okay."

  “Fine. I'll be back with soup later. Don't move too much."

  With a cocky smile, he replies, “I think you already know I can’t.” He rests his head down on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.

  She shakes her head, replying, “Right,” and leaves before his magic completely takes over her senses.

  SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHERE TO LOOK.

  He won’t stop watching her. Unabashedly. She’s been fiddling with the end of her dress for the past five minutes, ever since he started eating her soup. She tries to keep occupied by rearranging her junk and paintings, but it still looks a mess. Sitting down is worse because her hands never stop moving, her knee bobs up and down, while her eyes latch on to every visible surface.

  Anything but him.

  And he keeps watching.

  Finishing his meal, he offers her the empty bowl. She clasps it in her hands, but when she pulls away, his fingers catch the ridge and he doesn’t let go.

  “Uh… Soup okay?”

  He still doesn’t relent on his grip. “It was fine."

  ‘Fine?’ Why did you have to use THAT word? Everyone loves my soup!

  She yanks on the bowl again, but it remains rooted in between them. The spoon falls, clattering on the wooden floor. She looks at it. Angling her head slightly to the right, she asks, “What’re you doing?”

  “Nothing.” His eyes reveal little except pure animal satisfaction as he watches her face blush. He waits, almost like he’s caging her into her nervousness. His eyes trail back to her profile, and they lower and darken just as her front teeth catch her bottom lip. All of a sudden, he drops his hand away as if the bowl had burned him. He wipes his hand on the comforter, turning away from her. “I'm done here."

  She draws the bowl to her tummy as she stands. “I'll be back to check on you… in a couple of hours—"

  He shakes his head before she can finish. “No. I'm fine,” he replies. He sounds mad, and she has no idea what made him switch.

  She makes a point to sound absolute in her tone, saying, “You're in my care. As long as you are, I am responsible for you."

  “Never asked you to."

  She leans her hand on her hip. “Would you rather the police because I can arrange that? But you should know—I hear their soup isn’t ‘fine’."

  He levels her with an impenetrable glare. “That a threat?"

  “That's your alternative to me.” She rests the bowl on the edge of the futon. Pursing her lips, she feels the temperature of the attic rise.

  “Calling the cops then?"

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Don't know."

  “You mind filling me in before you decide?"

  “How about you answer me a few questions?"

  “You like asking a lot of questions.”

  “And you like avoiding a lot of questions.”

  His cold eyes dart in between hers. “Like?” he asks, his voice like stone.

  “Like…” The incessant need to know if he really doesn’t remember her from the past has been weighing on her mind since she discovered who he is. “…Why you chose my house, my window, and why this ‘gang’ shot you in the first place?"

  His lips pucker out and he assesses her with one thorough sweep. “The less you know the better."

  “I saved your life. I think I'm entitled to a few answers." His eyes bore through hers like lasers. Belle knows she’s dancing on the edge of a cliff, but she just can’t help tipping herself over.

  “Didn’t ask you to save me,” he says, indifferent. She opens her mouth but he continues, “When I'm well enough I'll be out of your hair."

  “Listen—"

  “Judas. Call me Judas. It’s my name. Not ‘Listen’ or ‘You’. Judas. Use it."

  Her eyebrow slants up. “I don't think so.”

  “Whatever. I'm not answering any questions. It’s for your own good.”

  “Because of this ‘gang’?”

  He doesn’t bother to respond with words, just a nod of his head. She clutches the bowl from the edge, so hard, she nearly breaks it. “Has anyone told you that you're a real jerk sometimes?"

  “Yeah.” He smirks as though she has just complimented him.

  “Done anything to remedy it?” Her blood simmers in her veins, but the piercing color of his eyes dance around, shifting her insides, and her tummy twists and turns.

  “Do I look like I care what people think?"

  “That's too bad,” she answers, lowly.

  “Why?” His interest seems almost genuine.

  “Nothing... it's just… if you don't care… I mean...” Her words stumble around in her mouth, never quite fitting into a coherent phrase. His head angles up. “I mean… who cares about you then?"

  Something flickers across his face, but he conceals it too quickly to discern what it is. A casual shrug masks whatever she had seen.

  “Why’d you care?"

  “I don't,” Belle answers, a little too quickly.

  I don’t care… I don’t… It’s just this horrible situation giving me a bad case of anxiety.

  He stares across to the end of the futon, a weary sigh escaping the hard line of his mouth. Belle has been so preoccupied with the magnetic aura that flows around him, that she’s forgotten how tiring her questioning may be to his recuperation.

  “You should sleep… I'm sorry.” She can’t stop her voice from carrying a soothing quality to it.

  He keeps his attention on the ceiling above when he replies, “No you're not.” The quiet rumble of his voice is soothing to her ears. “Don’t worry. Nothing bothers me."

  His words ring truth and instinct kicks her in the gut, but she fights it down with every bone inside her. “I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything..."

  His stare strays back to hers. “And how will that work? ESP or something?"

  She ignores his subtle sarcasm. “My room’s right under yours. If you fall or anything, I’ll hear it."

  “Good to know.” He scratches at his scruff, his eyes lighting a bit. “What if someone else hears?"

  “My room is the highest room in the house so the noise will never reach past my floor."

  He nod
s. "Okay."

  “If you're worried or if you need anything just knock twice on the floor. I should hear you... I'm a light sleeper anyway."

  “So this is some Morse code or something. Knock twice for food, one for bathroom.” He seems displeased, but his features remain soft.

  “Would you like a bell to ring me instead?"

  He snorts and shakes his head. “Whatever.” He wipes his hand over his face.

  “Okay then. Well, get some rest."

  “You say that a lot."

  “What?” She can’t stop the self-consciousness from creeping in her pose. He continues watching her and her delicate composure starts to crumble. She clenches her insides, his dark inspection casting cold shivers through her.

  “Nothing,” he replies. She catches a twinkle in his eyes, as though he’s just won a game, before he looks away.

  Quickly she turns, mad again. “‘Night,” she clips out, and slams the door with enough force to make the old walls rattle.

  IT’S ALL AN INNOCENT GAME.

  No harm. Judas is used to intimidating grown men, not little girls with an anxious edge. He’s only teasing her to fill the boredom. Her quick blushes are an easy distraction, and since getting under her skin is effortless, the entertainment is harmless.

  It’s wrong that it’s so easy.

  He enjoys watching the pinkness vanish, highlighting the surface of her creamy, vanilla skin. How her big green eyes sparkle whenever he makes her tremble—

  The vibration on his hip breaks through his thoughts. He throws aside his comforter, wincing slightly when his arm jerks out too fast, but he doesn’t break stride, pressing the button before it touches his ear. “Vladimir?"

  “Judas! Where the fuck are you?!"

  Judas swallows, rubbing his eyes. It feels like days ago since everything went to shit. “There was a complication."

  “No shit, Sherlock. Figured that when we got a call from our friend." The tension in the call wavers.

  “He called?"

  “Yeah. What went wrong?"

  “Extra guard on the east side. He drew his gun before I could talk—not that I would have. Got him before he could get a second shot though."

  “You’ll live?"

  “Yeah," Judas sighs.

  "Spencer thinks it’s a burglary."

  “I guess he's not as bright as we thought."

  “Where’re you now?”

  Judas’ eyes close, pinching down hard when he thinks about the irony of the situation. “The Dela Cruzes."

  “You—”Vladimir’s chuckle is harsh, cold“—You wanna repeat that again?"

  “That's the complication,” he answers, in a low voice.

  “So there's more than one?"

  “Besides me being shot? Yeah."

  “Judas, spit it out!” Vladimir yells.

  “His daughter,” he whispers. “She found me before I could get the job done and I passed out. Now she's hiding me in her attic till I'm well enough to get out of here…"

  Silence haunts the line between them.

  “She suspect anything?"

  “No," he says, not hesitating to answer. “Fed her a lie.”

  “Get out of there, Judas."

  “Yeah, I’m trying. Don't have a choice right now. I'll be gone soon. Trust me.” His eyes drop to the floor knowing she’s just underneath him. “She'll never know I’m here to kill her father."

  Chapter Six

  “YOU SURE?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers. The old walls around him creak like their spying on him. “She’s got no idea."

  Vladimir sighs. “I don't like this, Judas. Get out when everyone is asleep."

  “I can't,” Judas huffs. “Fuck, I can barely walk right now."

  “You think her hiding you is gonna stop her from spilling her guts to her family?”

  “Vladimir, relax, will you. She thinks I’m involved in a gang and if she squeals, her family’s in the shits. She won’t say anything.” Judas’ hushed voice remains steady. “Besides she would’ve done it by now if she thought I’m a real threat. I’m getting her to trust me. Using my charms. She’ll be putty in my hands soon."

  “Parents home?” Vladimir asks, his voice demanding.

  Judas, clouded in thought, answers automatically, “No—”

  “Wait, does she know your name?"

  “No."

  “What's hers?"

  Isabelle…

  “Don't know, don't want to. I’ll be gone soon."

  He’s lied.

  Twice.

  “Then what?” Vladimir’s voice rises. “She's still gonna know what the fuck you look like. We can’t trust this bitch isn’t gonna say anything just because she’s taking care of your weak ass right now and can’t resist your fucking bulging biceps—fuck! She can panic and once Daddy dearest realizes what’s happened at the factory and starts telling her to be aware of such and such man, she's gonna put two-and-two together and this whole fucking thing is gonna blow sky high."

  Judas looks up at the small octagon-shaped window. “What’d you suggest?"

  His boss waits before replying in a voice barely audible, but dead in tone, “Get rid of her."

  “Vladimir…” Judas’ eyes close, his voice staggers, and he smacks his head against the armrest behind him. “You're kidding, right?" he mutters.

  “What other option do I have?”

  “A girl? Fuck that, Vladimir."

  “She's a fucking witness, Judas, a witness. She can blow this whole fucking thing wide open especially if dear ol' Daddy starts getting wise to last night’s events."

  Judas’ head shakes, his chest tightens. “Vladimir… killing her is not an option. You hear me?"

  When Vladimir speaks again, his voice is silky and smooth, the faintest hint of calculation burrowing underneath. “Let's just take one step at a time. Right now I want you outta there. Then we meet, decide what’s next."

  A burning sensation in Judas’ lungs flag when he tries to swallow. “Call before I head back to the city?"

  “No. When you’re man enough to escape that shithole, find the nearest hotel—motel—or whatever those hillbillies have and notify me ASAP. You got that?"

  “Thought you wanted me back down there? Isn't staying kind of pushing it?"

  “The job ain’t finished. If we wait for routine to kick in again, they’ll double security. They’re gonna be expecting another hit. Since none of my guys know about this except you and Nestor, I want everyone to think it’s from the outside even after that son-of-bitch Spencer is floating face down in the river. No-one will be expecting us to strike now. Spencer’s probably in a fucking frenzy trying to cover his ass. This gets done now."

  “Whatever you want." Judas never disobeys.

  “Kid, trust me. You know I know what's best, right?"

  Judas breathes out hard into the phone, “Yeah."

  “Remember that. Don't turn into pussy on me."

  He squeezes the ends of his forehead. “I'm not, Vladimir,” he says, his reply more irritated than he intends. “I just—I don't like the way this is working out, that's it."

  “Trust me."

  “I do. That's not the issue."

  “Well, what then? What’d I tell you when I took you in? Told you in this business to do what you’re told, never ask questions, never think you know better. If you know your place, show fear and respect to your boss—you are infallible. I need to know you trust me to handle this, Judas. You’ve never second-guessed me. Now is not the fucking time to start."

  The angelic face of the girl emerges suddenly when Judas squeezes his eyes shut. “I know,” he says, his voice surrendering. “I trust you, Vladimir."

  “Good. Then call me when you’re outta there and not a minute before or after. In fact I'd rather you keep the fucking phone somewhere where she can't find it."

  Judas bites down on his lower lip. “Done... She won’t find it.”

  “Good. Got this fucking gala thing tonight. If th
ere's an emergency, call my cell. Otherwise I don't wanna hear from you till you’re outta that fucking house."

  “Right."

  The call goes dead. Judas squeezes the ends of his forehead again. He has done something he’s never done before.

  He lied to Vladimir Kulich. His boss. The man who’s like a father to him.

  For a stranger.

  A girl.

  He has to get out of here.

  It takes all his remaining strength to push himself to his feet. The pain is like an earthquake wracking his body, and before he can take a second footstep, his eyes close as a black pool surrounds his vision, his knees give way, and his body slams onto the floor.

  It feels like Hell itself has opened up underneath him.

  “BOSS?”

  Vladimir Kulich dashes his signature at the end of the contract on his desk. “What, Luis?"

  “Uh, Marco told me you wanted me, Mr. Kulich.”

  “Get the car ready by tonight."

  “Why?"

  Vladimir rises. “Do I need a reason? Get the fucking car!" Luis backs away, nodding instead of answering. Vladimir’s eyes stalk him, even after Luis has closed the door.

  Vladimir’s temper is out of control. He’s getting fucked from all sides. He presses speed-dial on his phone, listens to the numbers beep in his ear. The voice on the other line clears its way through a cough before there is any greeting. “Mr. Kulich."

  “Nestor. I'm going out of town."

  “Mr. Kulich, I don't think that's a good idea, sir. We got negotiations with Abruzzi coming up."

  “Don't give a shit. I'm telling you to watch the factories while I'm gone."

  “Can I ask, sir, what’s so urgent you need to leave so suddenly?"

  Vladimir smoothes his hand down his silk tie, plays with the end. He licks his lips like a jungle animal preying for a good hunt.

  “I think it's time I pay Mr. Dela Cruz a visit."

  Chapter Seven

  THE CLOCK STARTS NOW.

  Twenty-four hours. That’s what I’m giving him. The bullet obviously hasn’t hit any major arteries... I hope...

  Belle expels a breath that’s been bottled deep in her chest. She can’t stop thinking about him. The edges of his sharp features never buff down. The brow over his eyes always roof protectively over the crystal colors that stare back at her with such potency, it makes her insides dance in fear—