by Hera August
She is trapped.
It’s always been her greatest fear. To be buried so far deep into something that there is no way out, no sign of a new beginning.
And that nagging sensation in her heart won’t subside. It’s relentless, tugging at her. The one person who she’s wanted, who had dared her to stop hiding, is the reason she’s slowly dying inside.
He’d slept with her.
He’d used her.
God, the truth, the lies—they’re all so mixed together, her head is spinning. If Belle really wants to come clean and brush away the clutter, the truth is: She wants to trust Judas. Believe there’s a reason he’s thrown her to the wolves. Even after all the bad done to her, she wants him so badly, it scares her. The pull to trust him is so strong; it's like a physical force drawing all her strengths, her weaknesses, her wants, desires, toward him, like a tornado scooping her up as if she’s made of tissue paper.
How can she feel any sort of connection to the man responsible for tearing her family apart? Tearing her soul apart?
When they’re alone, it’s the worst. The gravitational energy between them is so fierce, it scares and excites her. She just wants to be done with this insaneness going on inside her.
Judas Bane is a killer; she is his captive. He sees her as nothing else but a means-to-an-end, and something to play sick mind-games with. She sees him as a... as…
A blush scorches across her face despite the approaching autumn weather. She kicks at the leaves underneath her sneakers. Using the tip, she makes circles in the muddy dirt just outside the opening of the woods.
Belle doesn’t know what she feels anymore…
She hears the crunch of leaves. Leaning forward, Belle decides the time for silence is over. She then hears more rustling and the crack of wood. The small bark sounds-off over her left shoulder.
“Tate?” She peers over her left shoulder as she presses her chin onto the edge of the bone. “You can come out of hiding now.”
ROMAN TAKES A DEEP BREATH; filling his lungs with the crisp, cool evening air. No matter how many times he does this, his stomach still ties itself in knots, his heart hammers in his chest, and he can’t seem to stop himself from chewing at his bottom lip.
He'd landed the chopper a few miles away, following orders from Vladimir to cut through the woods and sneak up through the back entrance to Judas’ mansion. He’d been trekking for about an hour when he came across something.
A girl running through the woods.
He’d followed her, making sure not to be seen, and then hid behind a huge tree when she’d stopped in a clearing.
Watching her now, he draws a deep breath through his nose. He can smell her. She is so pretty and innocent looking, unlike the whores he often fucks back home. Her body is petite, tight, and curvaceous in all the right places, and he knows it's the innocent ones who are usually the most dirty in bed.
She calls out, “I caught you! Come out!”
Shit! The pretty young thing’s found him. The last guy who fucked-up an assignment was shot in the head by Vladimir. Roman can't let her get away. There’s only one thing he can do.
Kill her.
Maybe he’ll get to play with that tight body, after all.
Chapter Thirty-Three
THROWING HIS LEATHER JACKET on the couch, Judas shakes his head as he scans the living-room, then the dark hall to his left. He's been riding all night. He's tired, irritated his plan went south, and Luis's nerves have only just added to his problems. He just wants one good night’s sleep and then a good cup of real coffee.
“Wow, you must've flew. You're back early," Tate says.
“Where is she?"
“Dude, you must be hungry. Made your favorite. Honey turkey sandwich." Judas just stands, eyes stagnant. Tate shrugs. “Okay, turkeys out. How 'bout a drink? You must be thirsty after the long ride."
Judas doesn’t budge. “Where is she? Don’t make me ask you twice."
“She?"
“Tate!"
“Oh she… you mean Belle—Miss Dela Cruz, I mean… She... Right, well, uh, you see… it's all very complicated. Actually it's not complicated, more like she's complicated. Okay, complicated isn’t the word I'd use. More like complex... Belle—Miss Dela Cruz, she's ah… she's quite a girl, ya know?" Judas’ face, if possible, darkens. “I mean I don't know personally that is… Me and her, we’ve been like on opposite ends of the room the whole time. Never even paid attention to her—no, I mean I paid attention, obviously. Duh. I just didn't pay close attention like you would—" Judas practically jumps toward Tate, minimizing the distance between them in a flash. “Not that you would pay close attention. I mean… uh… What's the question?"
“Belle, Tate. Belle," Judas growls.
“Oh, she's, uh… just taking a little run out back. Getting a breather before—”
“The fuck, Tate? It's night."
“Yeah it is. I see that... She likes to run at night..."
“You let her go,” Judas says through clenched teeth, “for a run this time of night? Are you fucking crazy?!” he roars, turning to grab his jacket and head out the back doors.
“Judas, wait!” Tate shouts to stop him. “She's in sight. She’s fine. Look.” He shakes something in his hand. “Got binoculars. Can see her at the edge of the woods—she's fine, man."
Not relieved, Judas barks back, “You're not watching her now. Are you?"
“That is true,” Tate says, looking back out the garden through the binoculars.
Judas’ boots pound to Tate’s side, his breathing heavy. “Well?" he grits out.
Tate gulps. "Oh shit."
“What?” Judas rips the instrument from his hands.
Tate is making a leap for the back doors when he shouts, “She ain’t there, man!”
“TATE? COME OUT. YOU’VE BEEN CAUGHT.” Belle takes a few steps toward a group of trees, unsure of exactly where he’s hiding. “Tate?"
Why aren’t you coming out…?
Something doesn't feel right... Wait...
The wind is blowing something fierce now. The woods seem to grow denser.
Run.
Her instinct tells her to run.
Her footsteps halt, the crunch of leaves silencing around her, the mansion a mere speck over her shoulder now. Her breathing increases, her heart is pumping out of her chest, threatening to burst from the cold and strangling feelings. She turns, starts to walk away slowly, quietly, quickening her steps.
But when Belle thinks she hears the crunching of heavy footsteps, and still no reply, she starts to run.
What if Vladimir saw right through Judas’ lies…?
Oh God…
…They've found me.
The thought is enough to set her to a full-throttle run, her feet hitting dirt and hidden lumpy hills that spring from nowhere. She's too scared to look back. There’s the occasional jagged stone scattered among the trail, and just when a large looming shadow of a stranger starts to break apart from the crowding darkness, Belle's foot catches between two large protruding stones, jolting her body off-balance and pitching her off to the side. The fall comes so hard and fast, she has no time to shield her face or body.
One second she’s running, and the next, she’s face forward, stumbling out of control. Her body feels like it’s being thrown about by some invisible force. There is nothing she can do except wait until something forces the tumbling momentum to a stop. Her arms, her legs, every part of her is hitting a million different pieces of rock, woods and ground. She is somersaulting downhill, the speed increasing with every strike of her body into the ground.
Then, out of nowhere, a large rock cuts off the snowballing motion. Her body jerks forward, her shins bashing the rock first. The collision is so strong, it propels her upper body forward, and her forehead smacks into the center of the large obstruction.
The strike is so powerful, Belle watches the world around her fall to darkness.
Almost in slow motion, a pair of gigantic black
boots, pound across the ground, shaking the very earth beneath her.
And she’s right in the center of their path.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“BELLE!” JUDAS SHOUTS from the top of his lungs.
His head whips around the immediate vicinity as his legs carry him with the speed of a race-track horse on steroids. Not bothering to think, he just keeps moving, dodging around trees and bushes like a flash of lightning. He knows the area like the back of his hand. There’s no time to waste. Belle would have answered by now. Something’s wrong. The woods aren't that dense that she can’t hear his calls.
Where are you?!
Adrenaline shoots through him like a drug, sending him forward like an out-of-control missile. He’s sprinting so fast, his heart is beating somewhere between his throat and his stomach. His legs burn from the pressure of his rapid pace, but those are minor nothings compared to finding Belle.
Did Vladimir see right through him? Did Luis fuck up? Did someone betray them? Does Vladimir have Belle?
“Fuck... Tate!” He doesn’t waste time turning around or slowing down. The later it gets, the colder she will be, and the greater chance of her falling ill or… something worse. "Go back around the other way,” he barks at Tate, “toward the house. Now!"
Tate's “Okay,” is a tiny vibration of sound next to the wind in Judas’ ears and the fear in his head.
“Belle!” he roars.
Fuck! Where the hell are you?
“Answer me!"
He sees something a few feet ahead. A shadow—movement… something had definitely shifted against the solid blackness of the trees. He sees it. He slows down a bit, close to where he saw the supposed sighting.
“Belle?” he heaves into the air. No-one returns his answer.
His head spins around but everything looks the same, blurring together like a mesh of nature. Judas can’t decipher tree from tree. Every area looks the same as the other, no matter which way his head turns. He feels like he’s in some sort of twisted funhouse, in search of a way out that doesn’t exist.
Scurrying forward, Judas licks his cracked lips, beating down the panic that awakes and stretches inside him like a demon rising from Hell.
She's okay… There’s nothing out here that can hurt her. She probably just…
Branches crackle underneath him. His large puffs of breath the only noise in the woods. His fingers claw at his hair, digging through the top of his head. He steps closer to the edge of the small hill that drifts from the trail. His dark glare soaks in the details of the setting laid out in front of him, certain he’s missed something. The meadow is clear, clean. There’s no sign of life or a disturbance of any kind.
“Belle!” he roars. His feet are moving forward but his head is darting in ten different directions, back and forth. He glances at the ground below the hill, his eyes skim the bushes below, meeting only pitch darkness and then…
Pale, white flesh.
He sprints down the steep hill, tripping a few times, but it only helps to hasten his pace. He passes one of her sneakers on the side but doesn’t pick it up. His single-minded attention only on her.
He stops at the bottom, his body jolting into a fixed position as his brain wraps around the frightening sight in front of him.
Belle. Unconscious.
Her body L-shaped.
There’s a jagged cut that starts at the corner of her bottom lip and squiggles out. He takes in the lump on the side of her head, the purple bruise on her cheek, but even those healable marks aren't what paralyzes him in place.
Blood.
From her head.
The red substance trickles down the side of her face like a tiny river that never subsides its flow. The blood isn’t dry... That means it’s still very much oozing from some place on her head he can’t see.
Jesus Christ, has she been shot?
But he hadn't heard any gunfire. This is bad. Real bad. He crouches down over her body, scooping his arm under her fragile neck.
“Tate!” he shouts, lifting her in his arms. She’s light as a feather in his heavy-set arms. He holds her against his chest as he takes his first cramped breath, inhaling her honey-scented hair. “It's okay,” he whispers, smelling her scent and kissing the top of her head. His heart pinches to life inside him. “You're gonna be okay, Belle. I promise."
It’s the first promise that Judas isn’t sure he can deliver.
LIKE A BODYGUARD at his post, Judas refuses to move from his spot.
He stands near Belle but doesn’t crowd her, watching her and nothing else. Besides for the small rise and fall of his chest, he hasn’t budged from place.
Judas had undressed her, replacing the cold wet clothes with her warm sweater-vest and a clean pair of sweatpants he found in her room, and surrounded her body with as many cushions as possible, using one to lay her head on. By the time Tate returned with the warmest comforter he could find, Judas had already started a fire. Besides for the small incoherencies meant for Belle's ears only, Judas hasn’t spoken.
This is all my fault...
Belle had nearly been killed. And it seems everything he knows and believes in has been shaken. The thought of her being taken away, of her life being extinguished, with no hope of return, is... He can’t let that happen.
Fuck, things are complicated.
She hates him. For good reason. After what he’s done and said, he doesn’t deserve her. Or any part of her. He’s powerless in the situation and that’s not something he’s used to handling. With the blood drizzling down from her semi-deep head wound, Tate tries to reassure him that head wounds bleed a lot, but it doesn’t cease Judas’ worry.
Her face is pale, her eyes are hollow, rimmed red, shadowed blue, her lips are bloodless and chapped, and her body is doing that trembling thing again.
Judas washes the dirt and blood from her face, cupping her so gently, like she’s a breakable antique he doesn’t want to spoil. He works slowly and silently, only asking Tate once if he thinks a doctor is necessary because she hasn’t woken yet. Belle stirs in that precise moment, opening her eyes halfway and murmuring something unintelligible as her unfocused gaze shines on Judas.
He smiles down at her, brushing his thumb over her smooth bruised cheek, and whispers a shsshing noise against her forehead. The sound must have held some magic to it because by the time his soft command reaches her, Belle's eyes close and her breathing levels. Judas’ features go back to stone again.
“Judas,” Tate calls softly to his stiff back.
Turning his head a fraction-of-an-inch, Judas replies, “She's sleeping. Lower your voice."
“Can I…”
Begrudgingly, Judas uproots himself from the place he’s been standing in for the past half-hour straight. Nudging his chin in the direction of the hallway, Tate backs up as Judas glances once more to Belle in front of the fire. She’s so beautiful when she sleeps, it almost takes his breath away.
His… Sleeping Beauty.
Her bruises look worse next to the flames—darker, more pronounced like the fire is drawing out the worst of her fall. The cut on her forehead is too deep into her thick hair to see, but the one on her lip has crusted over already. The small scratch looks like a tiny bolt of lightning.
“What?” Judas' arms cross over his chest. He's ready to end the conversation that hasn’t even begun yet.
Tate levels his gaze on him. “Sorry, man. I'm… I was wrong. I should've never let her go out."
“You're right.” Judas doesn’t spare him an inch of relief. “You shouldn't have."
Judas’ stare is colder than any blast of wind. All Tate can do is shrug. “I get it if you want another guy up here... For the next round I mean."
“There won’t be a next time."
“Judas, I—”
“It's over, Tate.” Judas’ brow covers the expression of his eyes like an awning. “I'm taking Belle to her family earlier than planned. Soon.”
“Oh... so it will be over soon?"
>
Judas sighs, the small breath holding the weight of his thoughts. “Yeah... soon."
“Guess that's good then... Things can go back to normal, finally. Right?"
Patting Tate's shoulder, Judas gives his friend a stiff smile. “Ride safe."
Tate doesn’t move, even when Judas walks around him to open the front door.
“Be careful,” Tate says.
Judas peers out at the night Sky, scraping his chin as he overlooks Tate's words of advice. “I can take care of this."
Tate turns and meets Judas’ face, not blinking. “I mean with her, Judas. Be careful with her."
“What’d you think I've been doin’?” Judas mutters. “I'm protecting her. I'm making sure she stays alive until I can get her and her family out of this country safely. Told you it will be soon. Everything else is out of my control until then."
“You know what I mean, man. There's something going on with you two. Something more than just this damn situation." Sending Tate a glare, Judas breaks eye contact. “Not trying to pry, Judas. Know it's none of my business but—”
“Goddamn right it's not."
“—but I see it. From both of you. That girl carries something for you, man. Just the mention of your name makes her all jittery-and-shit—”
“It's called hate, Tate. She hates me. With good fucking reason."
“No you're wrong. That's why you're running scared shitless."
“Don’t push me, Tate.”
“Not trying to bust your balls, man. Known you since you were seven—I know you. You don’t think you deserve good things so you're not seeing what's going on right in fucking front of you.” Tate shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Judas, you need to let your guard down, man. Let her fucking in. God knows you deserve to be happy after what happened to you. It's been a long time coming, man."
“When’d you become such an expert on life?"
“When I saw and listened. Not that hard... But then again, I'm not the one falling for her."
“Fuck you,” Judas tosses out, his curse light and casual as it falls from his mouth. “Falling for her...?” He repeats the words as if they taste bitter, as if the preposterous idea has never entered his mind.
