Judas Bane

by Hera August

  His eyes have gone nearly black, like they’ve seen something that it... wants. And by his own words, nothing will stop them from getting what they want.

  As if of their own volition, her hands slide up the front of his chest. Tentatively, she leans in. He lowers his mouth to hers, halting merely a breath away from her lips and murmurs, "What are you so afraid of?"

  With one last shuddering sigh, she breathes, "This..." and presses her lips against his.

  She is incredibly gentle, just brushing against his. He answers by parting his lips as he tenderly returns her kiss with the utmost care. Belle is astonished at how gentle he is. This is not the way he’s kissed her before; it’s far sweeter than anything she’s experienced with him. His full lips brush softly but imploringly against hers, gently coaxing her not to run away.

  As if she can.

  The feelings evoked by even so simple a kiss from him, rattle her to the very center of her being. A warm tingly contented feeling washes over her. There is something achingly familiar in his kiss, soothing and warm, which makes her a little bolder. She opens her mouth slightly as her arms go around his shoulders and tighten as she opens her mouth under his. Apparently, that’s all the encouragement he needs. Judas wraps his arms about her waist, crushing her against him as he starts to kiss her with fervor.

  Belle is drowning. He’s now kissing her with a passion that she full well knows is restrained. The very idea that he’s holding back, excites her like nothing ever has. It may be a reckless thing to wish for, but she suddenly wants to feel the brunt of that passion. She needs it just as much as the need to breathe.

  Belle deepens the kiss and when her tongue slips past his lips, it’s as though the last shred of sanity has been torn from his mind. And all that is left, is raw need, a longing so desperate, that for one troubled moment, it seems like he can’t contain it.

  Belle hears him groan against her mouth in response to her kiss before his arms tighten around her, his kiss suddenly becoming fierce and possessive. The power of the kiss strikes her like lightning, sending shockwaves through her that start to awaken her body in alarming ways. It’s so intense, it borders on the frightening... but the kind of fright that leaves you breathlessly exhilarated, and positively begging for more.

  If he can do this to her, with just a kiss, she’s terrified to think of what making love to him will be like. Will she even be able to handle such intense feelings? The thought alone leads her to kiss him back feverishly, which only feeds the fire that’s now blazing out of control.

  Belle isn’t sure how, but Judas’ hold on her keeps tightening, until she’s suddenly aware that he’s forcing her body to lie on the bed... with him on top of her.

  Oh God...what's he planning to do? And... will I stop him this time? Will I want him to stop?

  His large solid frame pushes down against her, hard, and that's when she feels it. His hard throbbing member pulsating against her, and the discovery floods her nether-regions with liquid fire. The kiss becomes more erotically-charged as he grinds his body against hers.

  But then the unthinkable happens.

  He wrenches his mouth away from hers. Panting hard, his eyes rake her body as though he’s about to pounce on her again. He’s lost complete and utter control. Belle watches him battling his emotions and she catches it.

  Judas... torn.

  Can it be...? Does Judas Bane, a heartless killer, the man sent to kill my father, my family, have... feelings for me?

  She can feel her taut peaks straining against the light fabric of her chemise in response. He tears his eyes away from her breasts, like it tortures him to look, letting his gaze drift back to her face.

  His face is so close, and in the firelight, he is so striking, that it makes every inch of her want to pull him back down to kiss her again. Every neuron in her brain knows that pulling him back for more is not a smart idea. Quite deadly and suicidal really.

  For all his darkness, there is something so beautiful and light about him. As he stares down at her, torn, she treasures the sight of him, secretly drinking in his beauty and letting it stir her.

  Judas Bane.

  Her very own wicked angel.

  She is dying to know what his lips will feel like in other places of her aching, yearning body. The mere thought sends a stab of desire through her tummy.

  I don't care about anything, anymore...

  It seems an eternity that their gazes are locked. What she sees there nearly makes her lose her self-control. There is wild desire in the way he looks at her. His blue eyes have nearly gone black as she looks up at him, and there’s the strained expression of barely contained longing on his face, like he’s struggling with his innermost demons.

  She has to bring him back to her...

  His arms are still around her, and she reaches up for another kiss. He twists his face to the side. “No,” he snarls, completely out of breath, like he’s pulled away for desperate need of some air. He seems angry. With her, or himself, she’s not sure. “Not like this... Not when you’re like this.” Looking back down at her, his breathing heavy, he hisses, “How do you do it?”

  “Do... Do what, Judas?” Her heartbeat seems to roar in her ears.

  “Fuck my head up,” he rasps in a ragged breath. “Throw my plans into disorder.”

  Belle barely hears him. All she knows is that his hot yielding mouth has been ripped away from her; his hard aching body has denied hers. The sudden withdrawal of his lust is jarring, and her lips and her body, rally against it. Inebriated, and high in the throws of her agonizing lust, she goes to drag him back to her. Raising her hand, she reaches to caress the side of his face.

  But he catches her wrist.

  His eyes hold hers as he tries to gain his breath before he growls throatily, "Don’t.” His deadly tone warns that she’s skating down the edge of a razorblade. Before she can utter a single word, he drops her wrist and straightens up, the cold hitting her instantly.

  His next words cut her so deep, she isn’t sure if she’ll survive the night. “Told you, Belle... you’d beg in the end.”

  The shiver that rages inside her then, sets her bones on fire. She swears her heart is pounding so hard that he can hear it when he gets up and stomps toward the door. Pushing up on her elbows, her body seems to protest his retreat, knowing full well it’s been cruelly denied the heavenly sensations that she knows he can give her. When Belle hears the door to her bedroom slam shut, she falls back onto the bed.

  She isn’t stupid; she clocked on long ago that he wanted to seduce her, but she didn’t know the reason behind it. And tonight has only confused her. He’d finally gotten what he wanted. She had been the one to kiss him. So why was Judas the one to pull away? And why did he look so torn? Belle doesn’t know anything anymore. Except one thing.

  You were right, Judas.

  I’ll be the one to beg.

  HE’S LOSING IT.

  Judas has everything he wants. Desires. He doesn’t need anyone. He likes his life the way it is, living each day as if it’s his last. That’s the way it’s always been.

  Until…

  Belle Dela Cruz.

  Angel-like, innocent, and pure.

  Everything.

  I.

  Hate.

  He hasn’t slept all night. He’s ready to drop. His body aches, his mind is paste, and his fingers won’t stop shaking. Even his side hurts.

  Taking a sip of the dark-brown liquid, the coffee tastes bitter. His sigh is harsh and unforgiving when it falls from his mouth. Already standing over the sink, he dumps the contents of what consisted of his breakfast. He needs a proper caffeine fix. Black, no sugar or cream, just one sixteen-ounce cup in the A.M. and he’ll be set for the day. Rubbing his temple, Judas braces one hand on the counter, making the skin redden under his kneading.

  If he's honest with himself, he’d spent the whole night avoiding the truth. His bad mood has nothing to do with lack of sleep or any other excuse. It has nothing to do with the p
ain in his head or the fatigue beating up his body.

  It's her.

  All her.

  He needs distance. Desperately. Being this close to her for such a long period of time is starting to gnaw at his insides, hitting his senses, dulling his strength and reserve. He spent half the night sitting in the dark of the living-room, the other half standing outside her bedroom door, listening to her cry.

  Listening to Belle…

  She’s so unaware of how erotic she can be and how clueless she is of her own power over him. All iron-will and fierce beauty. Her porcelain skin looks untouched, pure as snow, softer than silk. He wants to know what her naked body will feel like against his. Just thinking about it is nearly enough to drive him mad. Everything about her is intoxicating. Her innocence provokes him; it’s a seduction all by itself. Combined with her fiery spirit and natural beauty, it makes the temptation to ruin her even more agonizing. The need for her is overriding everything. He tries, he forces, but he always strays back. It's sick and not like him to be so distracted by such a small insignificant thing.

  But he is.

  Kissing her, tasting her… anything less now will be torture. Something gripped him when they kissed last night. Something that’s beyond his control, and it’s shaken him to the core. The ultra femininity of her body has left a paralyzing image that’s forever seared in his memory. The feel of her soft plump mouth on his, her creamy vanilla-scented body rubbing against his… much more of this and he’ll snap. He fucking hates it. Hates these feelings screwing with his mind. His life.

  This is not part of his goddamn plan.

  She's just a woman. An eighteen-year-old girl, for fuck’s sakes!

  Through the storm of fury and anguish that muddles his mind, only one simple thought rises above the din. And it’s loud and clear.

  Belle will pay.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  HE’S STILL IN THERE.

  Belle paces the corridor, occasionally stopping to look at the orange light that seeps out from under Judas’ living-room door. It’s getting on into the evening. She hadn’t seen him the whole day and Belle is torn between leaving him alone or intruding.

  They haven’t seen each other since the kiss, five days ago, and her nerves are eating away at her. Her thoughts keep drifting back to the intoxicating kiss and the intimate moment they had shared, making the hours feel like an eternity.

  She’d been too tired to go for a run this morning—from all the sleepless nights—and too distracted all day to study. It’s time to confront Judas, and she’ll get her answers under the guise of bringing him some soup for dinner.

  With a deep breath, she works up her nerve, and heads over to the door, bowl of soup in hand. Easing the door open, she winces as it groans on its hinges. She pokes her head in, just as Judas looks up at her. He’s on the phone.

  “I’ll handle Vladimir,” he mutters, ending the call. "What?" he grunts. His voice sounds tired.

  “I... I made you some soup,” she replies. Judas brushes past her, heads into the corridor. She turns to look at his retreating form. “Judas—”

  “Not now,” he snarls, heading down the corridor. She follows behind and is led toward the main set of the front doors. “I’m leaving,” he says, putting his leather jacket on. “Won’t be back till tomorrow evening.”

  His eyes look sunken in and his face is pale. Belle wonders if it has something to do with her. Something to do with their kiss.

  When he opens the door, she asks, “When... when will you be back?” She hates how needy she sounds.

  His eyes meet hers and darken. “You don’t get to ask me that.” The cold satisfaction in his reply almost rips her apart at the seams.

  “But—”

  “Belle,” he warns, his boots crunching on the leaves outside. He regards her with icy precision as he continues, “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  Belle's insides knot. He’s very good at making her feel small, just as good as he is at angering her. A sickening feeling creeps over her. The intimacy they’d briefly experienced is long forgotten, and his warmth is now a distant memory. His lack of compassion causes a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. How can he run so hot and cold? Then she remembers. He’s Judas Bane, that's why. She won’t forget it again.

  Her gaze strays to the outside patio as she replies with a degree of bitterness, "Fine... I'll leave you to it." Her eyes rise to meet his, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides. Despite her anger, her outer expression remains as emotionally devoid as his when she turns to leave. She may look guarded and unaffected on the outside, but inside, a storm of volatile emotions brew.

  But just when Belle is about to escape his cruelty, Judas stops her. "Is there a problem?"

  She halts, turns slowly, and lies, "No. No problem."

  “Good,” he says, taking a set of keys out from his pocket. "I’ve locked all the doors and windows.”

  “What? Why?” Belle’s body tenses. “We had a deal, Judas. You said I could go running outside.”

  “You can.”

  “How can I if I can’t get out?” she snaps.

  “It’s for your own good. I can't have you wandering outside on your own. It’s dangerous.” Looking down, he zips up his jacket and mutters under his breath, “I don’t fucking need this right now.” Looking back at her, he sighs. “It’s only one day. You can run when I get back."

  Belle could kill him. How can he do this?

  “I see. How chivalrous of you to just lock me in," she sneers.

  She doesn’t like the idea of being confined at his whim, and she most definitely detests the fact that he can be so smug about it. But what else can she do?

  Judas reigns, after all.

  Her eyes dart to his face as she boldly challenges, "So, basically, what you're saying is—I’m your prisoner."

  His eyes bore into hers as he closes the distance between them. He looks down at her. "Believe me, Belle, if I wanted to make you my prisoner—you'd know. There's more to misery than stone walls."

  Her entire body stiffens and her breath hitches as she stammers, "Is-Is, that a threat?"

  "Keep testing me, Belle, and I'll show you what it means to be a prisoner here. So to answer your question—no, it's not a threat. It’s a promise."

  A chill settles into her spine as he turns away and heads out, slamming the door on her. A few seconds later, she hears the clunk of the door being locked from the outside. Belle can only stare at the front doors as she wonders what in the hell is going on. She’s come to expect a certain amount of cool indifference from him, but the grim man that had just shut the door on her, is too far removed. It frightens her.

  This unkind Judas is a façade… It must be…

  She hears the engine to his motorbike gun to life and her heart sinks. Returning to her room, Belle goes to bed feeling terrible. She had dropped her guard, lost her senses, and had done the unthinkable.

  She has kissed him.

  It had been heavenly while it lasted, but reality invades now, as it always does. And now she’s left feeling conflicted, unsure, and very confused.

  She’s almost certain that he is hiding something. And it’s more than just wanting to seduce her.

  Crying herself to sleep, Belle knows she has only herself to blame.

  THE PENTHOUSE is barely lit when Judas enters.

  There are a few low lights and a dwindling fire that appears ready to die out when he steps inside, closing the door behind him. When he begins to proceed farther into the room, he hears something crunch underneath his boots. He can’t make out what it is, but it looks like the glass vase that usually sits on the fireplace mantle.

  Moving deeper into the room, the dim lighting finally gives him some use. His eyes scan the couch and find Vladimir slumped over, partially sitting, partially lying down, with three naked girls. Cocaine litters the glass table in front of them. Judas sighs into the darkness.

  Throwing his leather jacket onto the
table behind him, Judas stands, taking in the not-so-unfamiliar setting and shakes his head.

  He’s so fucking beat right now. All he wants to do is check-in, get a good eight hours of sleep—if his body will let him—and get some normalcy back into his life. Maybe even get a few hours of boxing in, get drunk, get laid—anything to make him feel like the man he was before.

  Before… Belle.

  He makes his way over to the wall, flips the switch on. The stark arrival of light makes his eyes squint as they travel back to the couch. He watches, waiting, knowing any second his boss is going to start murmuring curses for being forced to join the living. Vladimir’s body stirs for a few minutes before he slowly drags his body up from its sleeping position, pushing two of the girls away from him. Rubbing his eyes, Vladimir yawns, arching his back. It takes several more seconds before he looks lucid enough to recognize his surroundings to even realize Judas is there.

  Vladimir’s eyes are drooped, three layers of lines bagged with tiredness. His receding hair is scruffy and wild. His skin is pale and off-colored, like he hasn’t seen sunlight in days.

  “Judas,” Vladimir says, in a rough voice.

  Forcing his feet to walk toward the older man, Judas gives him a tight smile. “Hey."

  "What took you so long, man? I know you like getting air but it’s been weeks, man… I've been dying here. Even got you some pussy to celebrate, now that that fucker is dead.” Vladimir rubs the thigh on the naked brunette next to him, leaning back into the seat, taking a greedy breath like it's his first in days.

  “Had things that needed done. And I'm not in the mood.”

  Vladimir eyes him. "Ladies man Judas fucking Bane not in the mood? Shit. Thought I'd never see the day."

  "We need to talk." Judas looks over at the girls who are taking another hit off the table.

  "You sure now?" Vladimir says. He clutches the brunette’s chin in his hand and yanks her toward his hairy chest with a grin. She winces in pain but makes sure to look like she’s loving every second of it. "This one here fucking lives for sucking cock," Vladimir chuckles. "Is into all kinds of kinky shit. Aren’t you, baby?" The girl nods, licking her lips at Judas.