by Hera August
“How was Vladimir today?" Judas asks, as they exit the roadhouse.
“Better... I guess...” Judas eyes the couple entering the bar when Luis asks, “Where you been the last few weeks, man? Ain't heard from you since you came by the penthouse."
“Met with Abruzzi. Cleaning things up before the next move."
“Don't like this. This shit’s getting dangerous."
Judas doesn’t like the panic that set off Luis's words. Panic makes people mess up.
“You need to calm the fuck down. The heats already off us."
“Vladimir’s a very suspicious man, Judas. The heats never gonna be off. Not today—not fucking ever. You forget this man can fucking sniff out a lie? I don't fuckin’ like this—"
“Hey.” The one word silences Luis in his place. “You trust me?"
“Yeah, man, that's got nothing to do with this, it's Vladimir I don't fucking trust,” Luis replies, his blue eyes bulging. “He knows something."
“Listen to me. Everything goes exactly as planned. Cops pushed things back a little but it's still going down just as before."
Nodding, Luis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, letting a shaky breath out, “I know, I know. I just… Vladimir—we don't exactly get along. Dunno whatever I did but—”
“Think he’s just had a gripe with you ever since you lost him that big fight but Vladimir is Vladimir. Forget him.”
Barking out a disbelieving snort, Luis ends the laugh with a sigh. “Easier said than done."
Standing there, almost as a bystander to Luis's nerves, Judas peers down at the man that’s had his back in the cage for years. A young man he picked up from the streets. A man he has come to trust. Or he hopes he can trust…
The smoothness of Judas’ voice counters the dull gleam in his eyes, “Need your head in the game, Luis."
“Man, c'mon”—Luis slaps Judas’ shoulder—“it's me. I'm here for you, man. You know that. And I owe you. A lot." Judas nods, but it falls way short of convinced.
Luis's phone rings then and it makes Luis jump. Taking it out of his pocket, he presses the answer button. “Boss?” Luis says, staring nervously at Judas. When Judas doesn’t avert his hard glare, Luis looks away. "Yeah... Okay… I’m about two hours away from you, sir… Yeah, on it, sir… Will do…" Luis hangs up and his eyes skitter around their surroundings, never falling onto Judas.
"What?" Judas grunts.
Luis finally looks his way, not quite reaching his eyes. "Boss wants me."
Judas rubs the back of his head. "Fine. Go. Just play it cool and remember what I told you."
"Yeah, sure, man."
Luis is halfway across the parking-lot when Judas calls out to him. Luis turns, the jumpy look still very much in place. Luis shuffles a bit forward when Judas doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at him. “Belle's life is on the line, so is her family.” When Luis automatically shakes his head, it only adds to Judas’ hidden anger. “Don't fuck with me."
Luis’s only reply is a shake of his head. From the blank look on his face, it appears to be the only thing Luis can manage. Judas’ eyes never leave Luis, they are unceasing as Luis mounts his Harley and rides off a little faster than necessary.
Judas has a lot of rethinking to do. About everything. Which means another sleepless night. He can’t afford any slip-ups, and if that means he doesn’t sleep till this is over—then so be it. His body and his mind can’t seem to stay in one place without thinking about what he has to do, what’s already been done, and what he’s forgotten.
He’s so goddamn restless, he feels ready to rip his fucking skin off. He watches Luis make the turn that leads to the exit for the highway.
Yeah, he’s gonna be up all goddamn night. But first he needs a good, stiff cup of coffee.
HAND IN MID AIR, Luis feels more than a little foolish.
Judas has given him very specific orders of what not to say. Tate and himself had gone over the mundane checklist at least a hundred times, but Luis still feels completely unprepared. He’s going to mess up somehow. He can feel it in his bones when he pictures Vladimir’s black stare dissecting his thin fortress of excuses.
Leaning his thick knuckles on the shiny wood, stalling time is over. This is life or death, and Luis has to step up.
His light wrap is heard instantly. It's almost as if Vladimir is waiting for him. “Yeah, come in," a disgruntled voice calls out.
“Boss.” Luis waves his hand in the air, nods again with a short greeting of a smile.
Vladimir is sitting by the fireplace in the corner chair. That’s odd. He never sits there. His back is to Luis, brandy in his hand, but it appears as if it hasn’t been touched. Vladimir is still wearing his burgundy silk robe. The ordinarily meticulous man's hair is disheveled and unkempt, his face weary and worried with lines and dark shadows.
He looks like shit.
Clearing the burn of nerves in his throat that usually accompany Luis when he’s in Vladimir’s presence, he makes his usual offering, “You need anything, Boss?" Vladimir responds with just a glare. “Boss?” Luis tries again, “Want me to get something?"
“Like what?” Vladimir asks, his voice shaky and hoarse, like it hasn’t been used in awhile.
“Whatever you need.” He hopes he doesn’t sound rehearsed.
“What I need… is answers." Vladimir's voice comes out even lower—deadlier—than before. “Sit down.”
Sitting on a chair nearby, the initial cramping of his gut subsides quicker than Luis hopes for. “Thought we’ve been through this, sir.”
“Answers.” The bite in Vladimir’s voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Things went well... Better than expected."
Vladimir fingers the stubble on his cheek, eyeing the glass of brandy between his fingers. “You said this already. Details."
Fuck. This is the part he's been dreading.
“Uh, well, we got there and they were on their way out. They had their things packed and everything but we got to them, executed them like you ordered, ransacked the house to make it look like a robbery and brought the bodies to the shop. Cut them up like normal and you know… local dumpster and shit."
“Who killed the girl?” Vladimir’s interest borders on the perverted.
“Er... Judas, obviously.” He shrugs when Vladimir scowls. “Well, I mean she trusted him the most so he told her to come out back and she listened. She got the family to stay together and not panic and then we, uh, got rid of them."
Vladimir downs the half-filled glass of liquor in one gulp, settles it on the edge of the ottoman. “Judas kill her first or last?"
Shit, shit, shit… Judas always kills the person most important… first. Last! No! Oh shit, which is it?
“Last... of course."
Vladimir’s chin slants down as he relaxes back into the sofa. “Must've been hard.” He clears his throat. “Can see he had a thing for the girl."
“He did what he had to. You know Judas.”
“Yeah I do know Judas—better than you.”
The room is silent and dark. Luis adjusts his collar. He can feel Vladimir’s eyes on him, black and wary as they fall over him in a dissecting manner. For the past several minutes, Luis tries everything but ripping his own arm off to stop from squirming or asking his boss if something is wrong. Luis has a guaranteed guess that he’s know the answer.
“You know you need to attain better listening skills, Luis. Maybe Judas can teach you a lesson or something. He hears, he doesn't speak, unless it's absolutely required of him. Judas trusts me; I trust him. And there's nothing he won’t do for me."
Luis isn’t sure what Vladimir wants him to say. Nothing will satisfy the man from continuing his berating marathon with him, so he prolongs the silence that he thinks Vladimir is seeking.
“I mean, look how far he went. Killed that girl… What's her name again?” Vladimir pretends to wait and remember. “Isabelle, right? Yeah, Isabelle, the girl with big fucking green
eyes. He killed her just because I asked him to. Now that's—that's fucking loyalty right there. Who does that?" Luis shakes his head, stifling the spasm of nausea that barges into his stomach. “Must've been hard for him. I know he doesn't like talking about his feelings—but you were there. You saw it. Did he hesitate? 'Cos Judas isn’t big on hesitating. I mean, c'mon now, she was just a fucking girl. It had to bother him a little, no? You guys got it done smoothly, right? One, two, three? No problems?"
Gulping, Luis musters enough courage to look him straight in the eyes. “Yeah, Boss... just like I told you."
“So there were no problems? Nothing I need to know about?"
“No, sir."
“Good, good... That's what I like to hear.” Vladimir smirks, but it doesn’t reach the deadness that enters his eyes. “I got some venison left over in the fridge.” Vladimir stands and circles around Luis's chair, slowly. "You want me to heat you up some?"
“Uh, no thanks, Boss.” Luis shakes his head at him. He can’t see where he’s gone to and he doesn’t like the fact that Vladimir is roaming around like a hyena about to pounce. “I'm good. Got a few slices about an hour ago."
“Where?” he asks, from somewhere behind Luis. "Hope you didn't go to Marcello’s. Told you they make shit pieces. Tastes like a paper plate with ketchup."
“No.” Luis laughs, sure Vladimir will think he’s stroking his ego, when he’s really laughing because he’s so goddamn nervous. “No, tried this new place. Called Albertos… It, uh, just opened up on Main Side. The guys who own it are actually Italian. Can you believe it?"
“Today? No.” Vladimir chuckles a little too loud to be genuine. He feels the burn on his back from Vladimir’s stare webbing a trap. “Fucking everyone owns a goddamn pizza place. I gotta try it sometime." Luis finally locates Vladimir. He’s looking out the window.
“Yeah it's good."
“Good."
“Y-Yeah." Luis's voice breaks.
Quietness follows, trailing between them. Vladimir is using the deliberate silence to tear at Luis. And it's working.
“So, talked to Judas."
“Oh yeah?” Luis answers casually. His shoulders stiffen and his gaze drops to the floor.
“Yeah… he said he'll be back soon enough. He's having a good time riding though.” Vladimir pauses, purposefully. “But then again—that's Aston for you."
Aston... Why the fuck would Judas mention Aston to Vladimir?!
Luis hesitates, looks back. His boss is no longer at the window. “He said—"
“What?” Vladimir is on the other side of him, lingering near the kitchen entrance.
“Judas is in Aston?" Luis asks.
“Yeah.” His boss leans against the wall in a staged-like pose. “He said it's cold as hell up there. I tell you, I can definitely wait for next Summer."
“Yeah, Aston...” Luis gulps, desperately trying to reach for understanding that’s not there. "It's… cold."
Relaxed, Vladimir asks in a softer voice, "You've talked to Judas then?"
“Uh, not since he came here."
“You ever been to his big motherfuckin’ house there?” Vladimir questions lightly. “It’s fucking beautiful but he don’t let many people in there."
Luis fights for semblance, for control of a situation he never had power over. “Yeah well, Judas… he likes the space, I think mostly. It's so peaceful out there."
“Yeah? I'd go bat-shit crazy with all that fucking silence.” Vladimir moves closer, slow swaggering steps that embody the man who orchestrates them. “Prefer the noise of the city, myself.”
“Yeah, me too.” Luis agrees, his gut cramping.
Taking a seat next to Luis, Vladimir leans back in his chair. “You think Judas will be back in time for that fundraiser? He did say he was coming and I could use the extra security now that the great Abruzzi is part of my crew."
So close... Luis feels like he can’t breathe.
"Yeah, with the way Judas rides… give it four maybe five hours… He's a speed demon...” he trails off, seeing a weird look cross Vladimir’s face, and then eyes him with a challenge Luis isn’t sure how to interpret.
Vladimir waves his hand in the direction of the door, then. “Fuck off and don't bother me unless Judas calls."
Luis is already marching toward the door when he answers, “Okay."
"Oh and Luis?"
“Yeah?” Luis twists around, his hand never leaving the door knob, his one foot still remaining halfway out the door.
“Judas okay?"
“Like you said, Boss, you know Judas. Never really tell with him."
“He did the right thing. I know it's hard for him but in this business—it's the right thing."
Luis’ eyes remain glued to the marble floor. “Yep, you're right. Judas knows that."
“Good.” Vladimir shakes his head, pleased. “Thanks, Luis. You've been a great help."
Luis makes his way outside the penthouse feeling like he’s messed-up, but not sure how. He’s still playing catch-up with the small landmines Vladimir had dropped on him.
He’s fucked-up big time.
He just isn’t sure how.
THE DOOR CLICKS SHUT and Vladimir is on the phone before the door has fully closed.
Those fucking assholes are lying! Judas always kills the hardest target first. What happened to him fucked him all kinds of shit... Always the first!
There are two rings before the man on the other end picks up. “Change of plans, Roman. Take the chopper," Vladimir says, still seething with anger. “You're going to Aston instead.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT is eerie.
The room, the silence, the feel of her sneakers against the tiles of the foreign hallway, it surprises Belle that she hasn’t had a heart attack by now. There is little she can say or do that can comfort her. In fact, the very conditions she lives in propels her terror into overtime.
The rest of the mansion is dark, the Moon casting slight shadows on the living-room rug. She finds herself walking to the back of the room staring out through the large overwhelming windows, taking in the beauty of the woodsy ambiance at nightfall. The view is spectacular and seems to calm her split nerves, soothing the ascending panic that tends to come and go on its own accord.
Judas isn’t here. This is my only chance.
Her attic window was like a mouse-hole compared to this dreamy woodland fairytale. There is a small drift of fog peeking between the trees; the sprinkle of stars in the Sky splayed before her like glittering diamonds. All that is left to finish off the perfect picture is some enchanted fairy godmother riding on her white magical carriage with the sheer purpose to come and save her. To take her to her family who she misses so much. To take her away from this hell and the tricks her feelings are trying to play on her.
“Need anything, doll?"
She’s surprised she doesn’t jump from the sudden disturbance. “No… No, thank you, Tate.”
For the last six days, Tate has been an absolute gentlemen. When she first laid her eyes on him, she thought him a brainless violent ogre, albeit a fairly handsome one. And when Judas left her all alone with this heavily-built man with tattoos as a second skin, she’d been petrified. But he’s been nothing but a sweetheart. He’s even a pretty fantastic cook with a great sense of humor, trying to make her laugh, easing her anxieties. Belle has only known him for a short while, but she’s already warmed up to him.
“Well,” Tate shrugs, "I'll be in my room if you do."
“Oh... Judas still not coming back?"
“Uh, not sure, doll.”
Belle shouldn’t care if Judas never returns, but she does. “Oh..."
“Don't worry.” Tate catches her eye, smiling gently at her as if he’s waiting for her to fall to pieces in front of him. “He'll be back soon. Don’t you worry now.”
She shakes him off, her attention back on the dark world outside. “It doesn't matter."
“Okay… well…"
"I'm going for a run.”
He steps a bit toward her, stumbling on the rug between them. “Not a good idea, Miss Dela Cruz."
Her brow lifts up, but the rest of her remains in place. “Miss?"
Tate's throat clears, resonating like a cranky bear being pulled out of hibernation. “Judas told me to be respectful.” He hesitates for a few seconds before saying with a grin, “Ma'am?"
She smiles despite herself. “Please, Tate, I’ve already told you to call me Belle like a million times."
“Either way, still not a good idea.” The hard edge of his tone is unavoidably clear.
“I’ll be fine—and less cranky if I go for a run. That way we both win. Honestly, I won’t be long. I just like to… run at night."
As she walks past the fireplace, she notices something on the table. “What's this?" she asks, picking up a paintbrush from a pile of brushes, oil paints and art books.
Tate comes to stand by her. “Found them in a box by the door.” He sounds as clueless as she is. When she looks up to him for an answer, he offers her a shrug. "He forgot to give it to you before he left, I guess.”
Her mouth opens for several seconds before she actually says anything. "Judas bought these for me?”
“Dunno," Tate shrugs. "You like to paint or somethin’?"
“Yeah…” She shakes her head, brushing her hand across her cheek. "Yeah... sometimes."
Belle settles the paintbrush back to where it had been, laying it on top of the rest, and backs away from the stack like they're about to eat her alive. She hurries even faster toward the back doors.
She definitely needs to run.
Belle is out of the mansion before Tate can stop her.
TATE IS REALLY BAD at hiding.
Belle guesses he's been following her for at least a good hour or two. She doesn’t turn though.
The run tonight has hit the spot. All Belle can do to not make herself go crazy, is run. There is no place to escape like at home in her attic. Her room here in Judas’ mansion has become too sterile, too abnormal. There’s no comfort in a place that reminds her, minute-after-minute, of her very real predicament.
