by Hera August
“We need to go. We don't have time for this."
But Belle doesn’t hear him. All she hears is her own naivety taunting her. She pictures the hundreds of times she could have warned her parents, the hundreds of times she should have known something was off...
‘You have no idea who I am and the things I’m in to. There’s evil that has never touched you, Belle, and it flows in every vein of my body…’
So this is what you meant…
This all lays on Belle’s shoulders. It’s a burden that’s going to break her.
She’d been used.
Again.
She’d been foolish.
Again.
“This is all my fault..."
“Isabelle, get Toby from his bedroom," her father orders.
She moves on automatic, her feet pushing her forward up the stairs. She knocks the door open with her open hand and makes her limbs submit with every shaky step they refuse.
Toby is sitting up in his crib, a smile on his chubby face. “Juice.” His two little teeth peeks out. “Juice, Bee-bee."
She picks him up, hugging him to her side and inhaling his baby scent. His warm little body, innocent and beautiful, breathes against her, and her insides clench. Her baby brother could have been harmed—killed—because of her. Her Toby dead because of her stupidity and self-centeredness.
“I'm sorry,” she whispers into his hair, not being able to feel anything but remorse and regret. “I’ll protect you, I promise. Nothing will ever happen to you. You believe me, right?” Her teary expression faces him as he beams up at her. She caresses his cheek. “I swear on my life,” she says, kissing his forehead, “nothing bad will happen to you. I'll die first.”
“Isabelle, we're done. Come on!” her father yells from the living-room. She hears them rustling for their coats. She grabs Toby’s blanket and Mr. Bear with her free hand, adjusting Toby on her hip as his tiny fingers latch on to her pullover sweatshirt—
What was that?
Unfamiliar and booming, it tears her concentration from Toby. Every hair on her body stands up.
Sounding off in her small house like a shotgun, she hears her mother's muffled scream and her dad's yell echo something she can’t quite make out.
Footsteps, heavy in their march, stampede across the wooden floor. She pauses a second before reaching the doorway.
Oh no…
They’re here.
Men with guns.
They. Are. Everywhere.
She can only see two of them, but it may as well be an army. They’re big like giants, and they’re standing in her living-room like oak trees that have been uprooted and thrown into the middle of her... world.
She takes a step back. The floor creaks underneath her.
No, no, no… Did they hear that? Please, God, don’t let them find us…
She watches, closely. Their eyes are solely aimed on her parents.
If she can just get to a phone, call for the police, they may just make it out alive. Suddenly, she remembers the phone in her father's study.
If I can slip past the wall to the next room… maybe, just maybe…
She backpedals, covering Toby's mouth and muting his small gurgles as cold shakes possesses the rest of her. “Shssh,” she whispers soothingly into his hair. Backing up into the wall, she steps to her left.
Big mistake.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you."
Chapter Fifteen
AN ICY SHIVER SHOOTS down Belle’s spine.
She hears him shift, leather creak, followed by the whisper of his voice that may as well be thunder roaring, “Move. Now.” His command pierces her like a bullet.
She makes her body turn. Cupping Toby's head, she presses into his chest, shielding him from the gun. The weapon is close, maybe a foot away, but that isn’t what frightens her. Before she can convince herself of what to do, she braves herself and drags her eyes up.
The man is a stranger; someone she is sure she’s never seen before. Eyes that sting as cold-as-ice, they penetrate her will to remain composed. But she doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down.
No… This can’t be true… It can’t…
Belle frowns as instinct takes over. She won’t do anything that will jeopardize her family further. She suppresses the shiver that keeps whipping down her spine and stares straight into the blue, finally placing her sight onto the eyes of a killer.
Judas Bane.
Executioner for a crime lord.
“Move.”
Judas jerks his gun in the direction of her family. When her response doesn’t cooperate with his demand, he levels her with the same glare he’s been hitting her with for the past thirty seconds; a look that slaps across her face over and over, jerking her mind back inside her brain. She gulps, clutching Toby tighter, fighting the nausea that’s crippling her motoring functions. Belle doesn’t budge. She feels broken.
So he moves.
Abrupt, like an attack—only worse because it’s upfront, meant to scare her.
“I said move.” His blue eyes glint as they dart between hers, daring her to go against him.
How is it possible? How is it possible to care for someone so much, be almost consumed by them to the point of insanity, in one perfect moment, and hate them in the next breath? She doesn’t know how. All she knows is when she stares back at Judas, she hates him with every fiber of her being.
Belle steps back and watches closely, almost making sure she does it right, afraid if she stumbles he will have an excuse to use his gun. His glare makes her eyes water so she turns to break it.
Her parents sit huddled together on the floor in the middle of the living-room, clinging to one another. Sitting in front of them, her father wraps his free arm around Belle, and her mom presses against her so hard, she feels the line of her mother’s rib-bones.
“Isabelle,” her mother sobs, a new onslaught of tears replacing the others.
“It's okay,” Belle whispers.
She hates how petrified she sounds, but she has to be brave. She has to get them through this. She knows Judas. At least some small part of him. If she can reach him, negotiate some sort of bargain—anything to get her family out of the mess she created. She has no choice. If she hadn’t been so self-obsessed with the past, with herself, she would have acted like a normal person when she found an intruder in their home.
With her mind made up, she turns to her father whose stare is battling between the two brutes fenced around them. He must have felt her gaze because he turns, meets her wide glassy eyes. He gives her the most reassuring smile a father can give then. She smiles back, holding him in place as she pleads for him to see her forgiveness, but she knows now is not the time. The time for such things will come later.
Belle has to believe there is a later… It’s the only way to find the courage to do what she needs to do next.
She nods finding her father's hand under the jumbled patches of flesh and bone that holds on to him. Toby has fallen asleep in her arms. His breathing is level and there is wet on her collarbone from his drool. She levels a breath, working the kinks out of her system, right when she meets Judas’ darkened eyes. They seem to never leave hers. She can feel him on her, tending to her actions, waiting for her to screw up, step out-of-line. She isn’t sure what for exactly, but he can watch her till his eyeballs drop out of his sockets. She is never going to let him get to her.
Never again.
She cases him out as well, stroking Toby's back, quieting her own fear with every move. Judas, half-lidded, enclosed in a mask that makes Fort Knox look like it was put together by straw and glue, smirks. The corner of his mouth pinches up right before it falls, even deeper and harder than it was before.
He nudges his head to the side, a small movement that translates a strict order when both behemoths jump to obey. She guesses they’re able to read his mind because one goes to lock the front door and the other goes to the back. Judas scans the area, leaves them for a second to
check the stairs, then comes back and inspects each one of them before landing back on Belle.
“Is there anyone else in the house?" Her answer is a flare of her nostrils and a blink of steel. “Answer the question."
Fuck you!
“No." Her answer is low, ringing in disgust. She has to swallow fast. Her mouth tastes so sour and dry, she thinks she’ll vomit right there on the spot.
The two henchmen return, one after the other. “The house is secure," one of them informs. He looks young. A few years younger than Judas at least, and has a knife scar running down his cheek. He’s well-built, but not as big as Judas and the other guy. His hair is shaved, but his stubble and eyebrows are blonde.
“Get their car. Bring it around the corner," Judas orders.
The other brute shakes his head, hesitates a bit. He’s heavily-built, with shoulder-length dark hair and a short neatly-trimmed beard. He’s older. Maybe mid-to-late-thirties.
Belle’s fear is clouding her; it has to end. She needs to do this now.
“Judas." He doesn’t seem to hear her, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans, just as the man with the beard draws his out from where it’s hidden at his side. “Judas,” she repeats, watching him disappear into the kitchen. She darts a look at the dark-haired thug, wondering if he will take her verbal liberty as a sign of conflict that needs immediate dealing with.
But his lethal glare isn’t on her...
Dad... They’re going to kill him. They’re going to kill him in front of us.
“Judas,” she says, her lungs squeezes in pain. “I need to speak to you."
“Isabelle. Keep quiet,” her father implores.
Judas comes back from the kitchen with a pen and pad, tosses the older guy a message with his eyes that she’s too frightened to read. He doesn’t consider her as he scribbles something down.
“What?” Judas finally asks Belle, after an eternity of silence.
“Can I…” She clenches her jaw together to fight the bite back. “…talk to you."
“No. Leave her alone,” her father pleads, and then looks to Belle. “Please, Isabelle, don’t. Leave this to me.”
“You,” the man with the shaved-head warns her father, “keep your mouth shut.”
Judas gives the piece of paper to the dark-haired man, who folds it, tucks it in his coat pocket, and leaves through the back door. The other thug still looms over them like a guard dog.
“Talk.” Judas puts the other piece of paper in his leather jacket, raises his head when she says nothing. “What’d you want?"
“Alone, please.” Belle hears her mother gasp through her sobs. God, this is going to be harder than she thought. She just hopes the strength to do it is in her.
“No."
“I need to ask—”
“Ask me."
“I'd rather if we were… Please… It's personal.” She tries her damnedest to soften her voice, to trigger a memory in Judas. To awaken the wounded beast who had taken refuge in her hiding place.
Return and end this living nightmare.
But nothing flickers within him; not even the subtlest of gestures pass through his features.
“You wanna ask me something, do it now.” He folds his hands over each other, placing them against his midsection, and remains that way, waiting. “Make it quick."
Now or never.
Belle represses the rise as more streams of nausea threaten to overcome. Her ability to speak is becoming more and more a challenge the longer she tries to think and rethink her plan. Her eyes skim the man with the scar before settling on Judas.
“Wh-Whatever you’re going to do,” she says, “do it to me. J-Just to me—”
“No!” her mother shrieks.
Belle’s teeth chatter, her nose burns, and she feels the first tear form in the corner of her eye. "L-Leave them out of this, Judas. Don't hurt them... Just take me…Do whatever you're going to do with me… Me only."
The tears are building up, blurring her sight, making her see things, because as she speaks, she thinks she sees a hint of something come and go in Judas. A shadow of something along the lines of feeling; warm, soft feeling, that can almost melt the cool, hard blue of his eyes. But it’s gone so fast, she is sure it’s a trick to play her.
Judas appraises her, his gaze undeterred in its pursuit. Like always, he does what she least expects and comes next to her. “Why’d you think we’re here?"
He’s goading me; he has to be.
She won’t rise to the bait. “I know why you're here."
“Do you?” His eyes glance at her father, holds, then comes back to her.
“Yes.” Her hand comes up on its own accord, but Judas dodges her grasp, moving away. “Please, I'm begging you."
“Enough.” The one word silences her. Her heart feels like it has a race-horse galloping in it. “Give the child to your mother."
“Mr. Bane, take me,” her father implores. “Please, leave my family out of this."
Judas casts him a scowl, dark enough to make the Devil blush. “I think that’s something you should’ve considered a long time ago, Mr. Dela Cruz."
“Mr. Bane, we both work for the same man. I’ve been loyal to Mr. Kulich for years. You have to know the great services I have provided for him. This shouldn't be... P-Please,” his voice cracks, “please, there has to be another way."
Judas’ face hardens. His cheeks tighten and spread as his jawline locks. “I guess you and I have two different definitions of the word: loyalty."
Her father's face strains as he stifles a groan. Belle doesn’t ever want to be witness to the sound of that sort of agony coming from her father again. It rips at her gut, stretching her own fear and pain wider, deeper.
“If you think you’re innocent of what we have come here to rectify, then you have no worries now, do you?"
When her father remains motionless at her side, his small whimpers burning her ears, she realizes her tolerance has about run out. “Leave. Him. Alone."
Judas doesn’t appear to hear her. “Consider me your priest. Confess, Mr. Dela Cruz." He couldn’t have sounded more practiced and peaceful in his suggestion if he’d been rehearsing it at a monastery. He is answered only with her father's silence. Raising a dark brow, Judas’ head tilts slightly. “No?” He nods, finding his gun at his back without having to turn. “Do you consider yourself right with God then?
No!
“Judas,” Belle breathes out, this time gulping for air. She shifts, handing Toby over to her mother. She stumbles when she stands, not prepared for how rubbery her legs are under her, and pushes herself in front of him, protecting her family. She can hear her parents’ pleas for her to sit back down, but this is the only way.
Now he will have to pay attention.
“Judas, wait, please. What’re you doing? Why are you doing this?" Belle chokes.
He slants her a gaze, then directs himself fully on her, only for a few seconds at a time, as if he’s bothered by her, as if it annoys him to have to stare at her for too long. His eyes are sharp as they envelop her and her words.
“Don't do this," she pleads.
“This,” he hisses, “is my job."
“And this is my family! I'm asking you—I'm begging you, Judas,” she urges, her voice rising, “to not do your job. Walk away, whatever it is, just forget it. I promise we'll leave, you won't ever hear from us again. Turn your heads and let us walk out of here like we were going to do anyway."
Blue sparkles as he sneers. “Begging really doesn't suit you."
“I saved your goddamn life! Do you remember that?” The words carry themselves as she watches his pupils dilate, his lids blink in a slow drift as if he’s forcing himself not to remember. “You said you’d never forget. That it meant something. Was it all just an act? Was what happened between us part of your master plan all along…? You made me trust you and you trusted me to take care of you. If it wasn’t for me you'd be dead! Dead, Judas. Dead! You owe me."
He shif
ts his feet, dismissing her with a clear of his throat. “This has nothing to do with you."
She steps closer. “Like hell it doesn't! This has everything to do with me!” She points to her dad. “That is my father. My father who you're going to kill.” She jabs at her chest. “How can you stand there and do this…? No. I won’t let you. You hear me? You’ll have to go through me first!" Her parents’ pleas become louder, harsher to her ears as she watches Judas’ breathing stagger.
The fleeting emotion on his face paces like a dreamed phase. “You should’ve never been involved.” His words are soft, lingering in regret. Her hand comes up and finds his forearm without breaking eye contact. The leather is slick and cool under her sweaty palm.
“I saved you. It's your turn now, Judas." She picks up on the jump of muscles under her touch. "Save me.”
SOME PEOPLE DON’T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT.
Sometimes people have to be pushed a little toward the truth. You have to make them face the mirror—smash them into it even—force them to see they're wrong, even if they hate you at first.
In the end, they will thank you. They'll be damn grateful if they know what’s good for them. He just hopes he isn’t too late.
When he had first seen the motorcycle parked in front of the Dela Cruzes’ house, he’d felt the first stir of anger, recognizing it from the motel. It’s parked on their corner like it’s been there a hundred times before.
Emmett can’t ignore the enticing opportunity that’s fallen flat on top of him, like it’s raining fortunes from the heavens.
He presses the end button. He will do whatever it takes to make Isabelle see that this man, this Neanderthal, is no good for her. She deserves better. And then after he saves her from the bad man, she will see where her true feelings lie.
In his heart.
She will be thankful, very thankful. And he will be there, like before, to help pick up the pieces, make her see she is always meant to be with him. He will finally have what is rightfully his.
Isabelle Dela Cruz.
In love with him.
His wife.
The mother of his future heir.
This couldn’t have worked out for the better.
