by Hera August
His hands come up and cup the sides of her face, directing her head, turning it sideways as he seeks to deepen the kiss. His face slants as his lips pull from hers, opening slightly wider before consuming her again. Their mouths mate, opening and closing together, slowly at first, then the pace quickens, fervently, when her tongue darts out tenderly. His tongue meets hers, massages it agonizingly in slow maneuvering circles, before taking over completely and leading her into her mouth.
His nose bumps hers, turns the other way as though to get even deeper, demanding every inch of her. His hands fist in her hair, dragging her closer, and all she can do is go to him, steadying herself by placing her small hands on his wide chest. He rolls his tongue over hers, caressing the sides of her mouth, then pulls away, only to start the assault all over again.
Her hot mouth yields under his dominating possession as he roughly nips her chin, then grazes the corners of her mouth. He rubs his lips against hers as he waits for her to catch her breath, pressing small chaste, but pleading kisses, over every small curve of her lips.
“What the hell’re you doing to me, Belle?” He’s breathing hard, and looking at her with heavy-lidded eyes. His fingers latch harder into her hair, lost from sight in her curls. Her eyes close, her mouth is red and swollen, exhausted from his ministrations but begging for more. Her dark lashes shake as he continues touching her skin, experiencing the feel of his mouth under hers…
She hears him swallow hard. His forehead is still pressed against hers, his thumb sweeping across the small indent in the corner of her mouth.
“Why can’t I think straight when I’m with you?” she hears him say, and suddenly, he tears his head away from hers. His head shakes slowly, every movement heavy with dread, and his gaze drops down to the side. His eyes seem to stare through a dark void when he mutters, “This isn’t me… It isn’t."
“Judas…” she says, breathless, and only then realizes she’s been holding her breath. “Whatever you’re caught up in... there has to be a way out... There has to be… You’re better than that world, Judas…” She nearly chokes on her next words, “I know you are…”
She licks her upper lip, then follows with her bottom, grazing his hand slowly along the way when her eyes find his in their aroused, tormented haze.
But Belle could never have predicted what happens next.
“You think you know me?” His voice is guttural, rough, almost tortured. And as if all the light vanishes from her world, she can only watch as something switches in Judas’ bright eyes. Something darker.
“Maybe it’s time I show you who I really am...”
She unconsciously steps back, frightened, but at the same time, her body begs to feel his touch again. He keeps right on coming until she bumps the hard edge of the bed corner. He positions himself so close to her body, that she can feel his body-heat enter her. “J-Judas—”
“I’ve never wanted for any thing, Belle. And you know why?” His tone is sadistic, ravenous; it cuts deep into her heart. He’s staring down at her, licking his lips, drinking her in, like he’s the Devil, toying with her before he damns her soul for eternity. “Because I have had every thing—any woman—I’ve wanted. Needed. Lusted for. Always have. Always will.” His eyes burn into hers. “Nothing has been denied. To. Me.”
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he yanks her head back in his fists as he buries his mouth in her neck. The smell of musk envelops her lungs, drugging all her senses when he crushes his body further against hers, forcing her to lie down onto the bed behind her.
Raw need takes over her as Judas forces both her arms up, and pins them down over her head, with all his strength. When his tongue licks a wet trail up her neck, her whole body shudders. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth, and then sinks them down, hard, the pain searing into her darkest memories.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, his tone low and fierce. The undeniable sight of lust in his darkened eyes makes her insides quiver.
His tongue delves hard into her mouth, and she gasps into his kiss as he continues his arousing assault. She can feel his solid chest rub against the sensitive tips of her nipples, and the world seems to turn in on itself then. His touch. His body. His primal lust. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She just wants him. All of him. Her senses are doused in his toxic ministrations, and she’s lost control, maddened by what his tongue is doing to her, crazed by the feel of his heat seeping into hers.
He shifts his body until his leg thrusts between her thighs, a soft whimper skimming the surface of her aching lips. “You think you know me, Belle,” he says gruffly, dragging his tongue up her neck, along her jaw. His heavy hot breath coats her ear as he delivers his hoarse whisper, “But I don’t do heart. I fuck girls, then leave them to rot. Is that what you want? Is that what good men do?” Her eyes sting and her chest heaves as his unexpected words penetrate her heart, and extinguish the fire her soul is burning in.
This doesn’t feel right…
Judas isn’t... right.
A thousand emotions plague her heart; she can’t let this happen.
Not again.
“No…” But before she can regain her composure, her mind, her sanity—his hands burrow underneath the hem of her sweater, and she cries out in ecstasy, feeling his flesh scorch her center. Drowning in his fiery torment, his chest crushing against her breasts, his hot mouth biting and sucking her neck, his fingers delve inside the top of her jeans and rub her hip bone with fervor. Her head swims as her hips jolt against his hand, uncontrollably.
Things are spiraling out of control. It’s going too fast. This isn’t the reason she came to find him.
Feeling his hand hunt for more pleasure farther below, Belle feels like she’s on a rollercoaster fated to crash, and the only way out is…
…to jump.
“I can’t… Stop. Stop, Judas!”
In a flash, he tears his hand away from inside her jeans. His eyes are two dark pools of black oblivion as his body lifts from hers. He’s on his feet, away from the bed, away from her, faster than she can understand what’s happening. She watches his hot breath pant wildly as she pulls her sweater down, willing her body to stand on legs that are crumbling.
Fighting back the sob that threatens to consume her, she moves as far away as possible from the bed. From Judas. But she fails to hide the few tears that spill down her cheeks.
“I left without saying goodbye for a reason,” he grits out, breathless. “I’m not a sweet fucking angel, Belle. I’m not Prince fucking Charming. You think I care about you—but I don’t do feelings. I only need women for one thing. So either you give it to me or quit playin’.”
Before her head drops down, she notes his face is tight with some strong emotion. Her sobs grow, her body shakes. Her whole center is breaking into pieces.
‘You’re a kid…’
Belle needs to pretend. She needs to cover the pain rotting inside her heart. Clearing her throat, she presses her hands over the ridges of her body. Her composure gathers together so rapidly, Judas almost looks surprised at the sudden change in her. Her shoulders square under her baby-blue cashmere sweater. Her hip-hugger jeans straighten along with her stance. With a hurried wipe, the evidence of her tears are gone. Her cheeks, drained of color, are taut along with the rigid set of her jaw. And her eyes—her eyes are black like two lumps of coal.
“I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was wrong about you. About everything.” Her face twists, threatening to crumble. “You’ll never see me again.” She hurries over to the door, her hand a turn away from losing him. “I…” She fumbles inside her pocket and latches on to her car keys like glue. “Goodbye, Judas—”
So close to escape, his large fingers wrap over her tiny elbow, pulling her back into the room. The door stays opened; the light from the Sun setting over the horizon, glares over them, even with the shadow of the room on top. Her chest collides with his and her forehead bumps his chest just as a sob escapes her mouth.
“Don't e
ver think I’ll forget what you did for me."
“It doesn't matter,” she mumbles. Moving to run out the room this time, he catches her arm before she can place an inch of distance from him.
“It matters.” His words are hard as though set in stone. She raises her eyes to meet his, unwillingly captured by the overwhelming gaze he’s giving her. Twilight seems to penetrate the darkness she’d seen before in his eyes. “It matters more than you'll ever know," he mutters, like he’s still angry with her.
“But not enough—”
“You saved my life!” His roar unsettles her very core, and her body trembles. “If it wasn’t for you I'd be dead. Don't you understand? That's not something I can forget."
Her head shakes, her loose curls rippling. “Judas, you’re confusing me. I don't understand you at all. I just don’t understand."
He nods, his chest heaving in hard restraint. “Maybe I don't either,” he answers softly. “All I know is I'm alive because of you, Belle.” His hand comes up fisting in the air and comes back down, the veins in his wrist protruding. “It means something.”
The air feels heavy with things unsaid. Her heart flutters at his words, but she needs to leave before she falls apart. Belle steps out from under the door, and the light makes her eyes water—or at least that's the excuse she wants to believe. She’s in denial about everything. She won’t make it to her car if she knows that this is real—so real—and she still can’t have it.
“Belle.” Her shoulders shudder. She stops, turning halfway around. “I would have never hurt you like that. Ever."
“I know...” Stepping farther away from the motel door, she feels the loss acutely. The sight of Judas standing tall in the light of the sunset, steals her breath. “For some reason… I know."
And then she runs. Runs harder and faster than she has ever done. Belle is so fast, everything is a blur. She doesn’t remember buckling her seat or turning on to the small highway that leads home. She finds herself on the road, her brain on automatic as she steers herself in the right direction, not being able to pay attention to anything but the brokenness burning a hole inside her. She is crying so hard, she can’t control the sobs that come wrenching from her mouth. Her side hurts, her eyes ache, but nothing will subside the torment.
She is in Hell.
“MONEY’S ON THE TABLE. Now fuck off.”
The prostitute Emmett picked up a few hours ago, vacates the room, muttering some expletive under her breath.
Being beaten up had hurt his pride. He needed something, someone, to take his humiliation out on. He’d even bought a wig and an outfit to make the hooker look like his Isabelle.
Sitting on the old beaten mattress, staring at the cellphone in his hands, Emmett knows he’s finally struck gold.
Isabelle needs his help.
She needs saving.
She acts like she’s better than everyone—everything—living above the standing of her peers. She acts like a goddamn saint, when in reality, she’s anything but.
The little slut is sneaking behind her parents back with some stranger—some fuck with a major James Dean complex.
Isabelle needs him.
She needs him to find her way again.
You need to pay for your sins before I can redeem you, Petal…
He leans forward, fingering the stained white transparent curtain. A small frown plays against his lips as he watches the man who’s just fucked his Isabelle slam the door to his motel room.
Leaning back onto the bed, he flips his cell in his hand, gripping it for good measure. He has the proof right here, and it’s time people know that Isabelle Dela Cruz isn’t the sweet little angel she pretends to be.
Yes, today, Luck is on his side.
“YOU’RE LATE.”
Vladimir smirks, his slippers hitting the slick surface with a slight imbalance. He rubs his eyes, looking at the clock on the wall. “We said 10:30.” He ties the belt of his silk robe.
Not looking up, Judas continues to fish through the newspaper on the coffee table. “Yeah... This place is a mess, Vladimir."
“Good to have you back, man. You my nanny now?” Vladimir leans his hand over the back of the couch. Judas takes it immediately, gripping it and flashing an even quicker smile his way before returning his attention to the newspaper in front of him.
“Just stating the obvious.” His legs propped up, Judas plops the paper onto the table next to them. He sees Vladimir glance there before turning to the wet bar.
“You know I hate it when you do that,” Vladimir mumbles. He’s already pouring himself a stiff drink when Judas finally meets him at his side.
“Yeah I know."
Vladimir eyes him from the corner of his eye, shaking his head. “Only you, man."
He walks around Judas, sitting at the end of the extended white leather couch. Exhaling a long breath, Vladimir pats the seat next to him. “Tell me what's going on."
Judas instead comes opposite him, sitting in the lone chair beside the grand fireplace. Shrugging his shoulders, he leans into the cushion. “You probably know more than me."
“True.” Vladimir takes another swallow of the dark liquid in his glass. “But I wasn’t the one stuck in my target's basement."
“Attic,” Judas corrects, looking down.
“Whatever—how's the side?"
“Hardly feel it.” Judas presses into the healing flesh and feels the padded gauze. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing that. It’s an unconscious move, but he can’t stop himself from feeling the presence of the wound every couple of hours.
“Doc’s coming over to give you a once over.” Vladimir turns his head toward the door and Judas brings his hand up to silence him from calling a guard.
“Vladimir.” His boss glances over at him. “I'm fine."
“Don’t argue." Vladimir sets the empty glass down. “You look like shit. When's the last time you saw the inside of a shower? Or sunlight for that matter?"
“Came straight from the road—gimme a break."
“That Isabelle Dela Cruz didn’t do such a great fucking job of taking care of you, I guess."
How do you know her name?
Judas shifts in his seat, his mouth twisting. “It's fine. Can we cut this girly-shit and talk business or what?"
Vladimir straightens, pulling the robe tighter around his hairy naked chest as he crosses his legs. “Isabelle Dela Cruz is a part of this mission now. You understand that, right?"
“I understand she saved my life,” Judas says, his voice low.
“She certainly did and I'm sure your fucking cock is grateful, Judas.” Vladimir’s dark eyes stare at him, peeling back a layer of Judas’ stoic features. “What went on between the two of you up there, anyway?” Judas makes sure not to tense up and waits as silence stretches between them.
“Don't think I like what you're implying."
Chuckling, Vladimir smoothes his hand down the silk material of his leg. “Chill, man. Isabelle’s a kid, I know.” He shakes his head. "I know you won’t go there."
Stretching out his legs, Judas fingers the line of his brow. He doesn’t like her name coming from Vladimir’s mouth. It makes him angry, uncomfortable. But he can’t show his emotions. So he tries again to change the subject. “How’ve things been here?"
Vladimir lingers a beat before answering, “Good. Business is the same but good. Abruzzi’s playing nice. No trouble but Spencer fucking Cruz.”
Judas feels icy awareness quake below the flesh of his body. He ignores it. He’s beginning to do that a lot lately.
“What’d you want me to do?"
Vladimir scratches the side of his face. “Finish what you started."
“Kill him?"
Vladimir doesn’t blink as he grants Judas a dark look. “And his family."
Judas takes a deep breath. He’d known this was coming. He’d kept repeating the words in his head all the way home, thinking of a million different answers, but none of them fitted.
“Don't think that's possible."
“Why the fuck not?” Vladimir’s words sound quieter than his thundering black eyes.
Judas’ thumb swipes across the arm of the chair. “It's sloppy. They might be expecting it."
“Right… Aren’t you curious how I know her first name?” Judas shrugs his shoulders, feigning indifference. “Yeah… thought as much… So I had a nice little visit at Spencer and his family’s by the way. Isabelle—oh, sweet, green-eyed Isabelle—she’s got extraordinary eyes, don’t you think?" Judas squeezes his hand into a fist. “That fucker is arrogant enough to think I’ve no idea."
Judas leans a bit forward. “You threatened them?” he asks, keeping his voice and face neutral.
“Just Spencer. He's a bit slow but he got the general message. The little shit is an accountant, Judas. He's gonna try and suck up to me to make this right. He doesn't have a fucking clue."
“Why the family?"
“The girl saw you. She knows—”
“Doesn't know who I am. Never told her,” Judas informs, his voice rising.
Vladimir nods, seeming to agree, but on a completely different train of thought. “When that piece-of-shit father of hers is dead, it won’t be long before she puts two-and-two together. I’m not taking that chance—no fucking way."
Jaw clenched, Judas looks away. His voice is harsh and hoarse when he speaks, “How’d you want it?"
Vladimir stands adjusting his robe again, then plays with the gold ring on his finger. When he finally decides to meet Judas’ hard glare, Vladimir looks colder, more unforgiving and ruthless than Judas remembers him to be.
