Judas Bane

by Hera August

  Getting up, Vladimir doesn’t filter his snicker and the amused sigh that follows as he makes his way over to the wet bar. Pouring himself a shot of brandy, he tips the crystal bottle Luis's way. Luis shakes his head and Vladimir wastes no time in offering it again, gulping the burning liquid down in one shot.

  “I underestimated you, Luis. You know the guys always said you're just street trash who shouldn't have been given a chance to be by my side. But I didn’t listen. Saw beyond your limited mental capacity."

  “I won't say another word, ” Luis says, stiff with fear. "Not unless you guarantee me I walk away alive."

  Appearing still in a state of amusement, like Luis's theatrics of terror are meant for the entertainment value of Vladimir’s benefit, the older man shakes his head. “I don't owe you shit, Luis."

  “I’ve been loyal to you for five years. Five fucking years!” Luis shoots up, but never moves an inch out of his spot. “I didn’t do this to go behind your back—I'm not Spencer fucking Cruz. Judas explained the problem, he trusted me and I agreed. Thought he was right. He asked for my help, I couldn’t say no—I owe him."

  “What about me?” Vladimir shifts, taking the hand away that’s leaning on the bar and resting it on his hip. “You could’ve come to me, asked me. I'm not a monster, Luis. No matter what those motherfuckers say, your fear of me is compromising the truth here. I am a reasonable man. Judas could’ve said something—he didn’t. He told me he was okay with this. The problem needed to be eliminated. I asked him if he’d issues with it and he fucking said no. What does that tell me? I'm not a fucking mind-reader." When Luis remains standing, stripped of words, his face a white sheet color, Vladimir asks in a low drawl, “You think you did what you thought was right? Is that what you're telling me?" He almost sounds wounded.

  The attempts Luis makes to recalculate his phrasing dies on spot in his need to act. Vladimir is mad enough; the truth can’t hurt anymore. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kulich. But I never meant to betray you. It isn’t like that."

  Vladimir’s stare blips into his like a radar that’s found its target. “I believe you."

  “You do?"

  “Like I said, I'm not the monster you think I am. Just like you're not the idiot I've been treating you like."

  Luis watches every step his boss takes, his eyes stalking Vladimir as he treads back and forth. Deserting himself of every thing that sums up the kind of pride a man basks in, Luis whispers, "Please."

  “Why should I? Whether you think you’re right or not makes no difference to me. You still went behind my back, deceived me—that alone deserves death.” Vladimir crosses over to where Roman's body lies bleeding, giving Luis a glimpse of the fate he will suffer at his boss’s hands when the timing seems fit.

  Mouth snapping open then shut, Luis goes on. “I did it for the right reasons, I—”

  “The right reasons…? This isn't some moral debate—we're not fucking politicians where you get impeached if you fuck-up, leave office, step down. You knew the rules going in, Luis. No-one forced you to join my organization. The money, the girls, the high-life I’ve given you—it all comes with a fucking price!” Vladimir’s head slants to the side, his eyes aligning in such a way that his face is a ghostly shadow, unreachably eerie. “My rules have been enforced time and time again. You’ve killed for me, killed men for less. Fuck, the things you did in your past didn’t exactly follow any fucking moral compass. So why should now be any damn different?"

  Ignoring his instinct to jump bail and run, Luis forces himself to finish. “I'll walk away. You can send me wherever you want. Ship me out of the damn country—just please, please don’t kill me. I don’t wanna die. Please."

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Vladimir’s head dips closer, his eyes vacant as he eyes Luis then leans back. The corners of his mouth pinch down. “Tell me what you know and I'll let you live."

  “But Judas—”

  “Everything.” Vladimir’s sharp demand is irrefutable.

  “You'll let me live?" Luis trembles.

  Vladimir nods. “I'll let you live."

  “Fuck… Judas came to me, told me he wanted to make it look like we’d carried out your orders just like you wanted. Make it look like a robbery and then we'd send them away."

  Vladimir covers his mouth, soaking in the information. “Why?"

  “The girl… he felt bad for her I guess.” Luis shrugs.

  “Felt bad for her?” Vladimir’s angry whisper ripples through Luis's spine. “He went against me—I fucking saved him from that sick-fuck of a father!—all because of pity?”

  “Judas—”

  “Judas doesn't do pity, Luis! Judas has killed more people than...” he trails off, shaking his head. “What aren't you telling me?"

  “Sir, he didn’t get into specifics. Honestly, he said he didn’t want her family hurt, that he thought it was wrong to kill a baby and that’s all there is to it. If there’s more goin’ on between him and the girl, he never let on. Judas would never tell me shit like that or anyone else."

  Vladimir sits, lets out a heavy breath. “What else?"

  “We were gonna take them some place, hold them there for awhile and then send them away. You know, for good. But the fucking cops showed up so Judas took the girl as leverage for a while just in case the cops trailed us… and… that's where they've been ever since."

  Nodding as if Vladimir agrees, as if he’s being let in on a plan he hasn’t been purposefully excluded from, he asks, “And what does the next part of your plan entail?"

  “Getting them outta the country. That's it."

  “And Judas really thinks he can get away with this? That I’ll never know?"

  Luis sighs, exhausted, weary from the fear that’s paying a major toll on his body. “He thought it was best you didn’t... He wanted to do right by the girl… I guess because she helped him, saving his life and all… so—”

  “So he lied.” Vladimir stares at some space in front of himself.

  Luis can’t think to say or do anything but nod. “Yes, sir."

  “And who else is in on this?"

  “Sir?” Luis gulps.

  Vladimir’s authoritative stare comes to rest on his. “Who else, Luis?" Stumbling, Luis squeezes his eyes shut.

  Betraying the men who are more like his brothers than his real ones, the very men who’d saved his life, time and time again… the hate that rises and scatters is directed only at himself. But Luis needs to live. He’s petrified of death.

  “Me, Judas, and… Tate."

  “I see."

  Luis doesn’t like the conclusiveness of his boss’s tone. The way Vladimir seems to be preparing himself this whole time, waiting, and now he’s ready to execute the rest of his plan.

  “It wasn't like we were trying to go against you but—”

  “But you did anyway."

  “I'm sorry.” He watches in horror as Vladimir dusts his shirt then pants off; flicking a piece of fuzz from his collar like a man who has more imperative business to attend to than listening to Luis's nervous ramblings.

  The chill that goes up Luis's spine when Vladimir finally plants his glare on him, is one of cold, hard dread, unforgivable and unrelenting in its message.

  Whispering as he cocks his gun, Vladimir’s eyes blacken like two pieces of lint, remorseless and lifeless in their hold on him, “Sorry’s not good enough."

  "No! Don’t! I was… I thought… Judas—fuck—what was I supposed to say to him?! I owe him. You know I owe him! He saved my fucking life! Torro Azul would’ve killed me in that fight if Judas hadn’t entered the cage! And you think the Juárez Cartel were just gonna let that go? I was finished. A dead man. I was just fifteen, man, but Judas took me off the streets and he killed them! For me! Trained me to fight better to give me a fucking purpose to live when I had nothing!” His voice tears out, the burn of nausea grips his stomach and travels higher. "Wanted to make things fucking right for him. Like he did with me… He’s never asked anything of me�
��”

  “So his loyalty comes above mine?” Vladimir waves the gun as he speaks.

  Luis shakes his head as he eyes the gun, sweat beading across his brow, on the planes of his cheeks. His eyes bleed out the undeniable truth of his fate, and the tiny whisper that breaks from across his wobbly lips, is one of desperation, “No, that—that's not what I meant."

  “Then what do you mean?” Vladimir’s voice dares. “Tell me, Luis, how am I ever supposed to trust street-scum like you after this?"

  Eyes bulged, head quaking like a leaf, rattling in a hurricane, Luis falls to his knees, the tears falling from either sides of his face. His ashen face distorts, quivering underneath the blackened two-inch hole that holds his fate.

  “But you promised."

  Vladimir chuckles again, this time not veiling the perverted delight in his laugh. “You should know better than anybody, Luis…” He aims the gun, right where he had aimed it at Roman. Vladimir’s eyes become possessed, scourging Luis with a fire only Hell can follow. “…First thing you learn in this business… everybody lies."

  Vladimir pulls the trigger and enjoys watching the blood pour out from Luis’s head.

  Judas has betrayed him. There's only one thing to do now. Vladimir leaves his penthouse.

  Nothing will stop him from reaching Aston.

  Nothing will stop him from getting payback.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  SHE FINDS JUDAS standing in the kitchen, over the counter. His back is to her. She can read the heaviness of his thoughts.

  He turns just as her bare foot grazes against the cold tile, and she takes a deep breath as her eyes drink him in. Wrinkled white t-shirt, wrinkled jeans that he hasn’t bothered to button, and his hair is recklessly mussed. His eyes dim only to brighten when they fall on her.

  She is going to miss him so much, it scares her to even contemplate the amount of anguish she’s going to be in. Eighteen years and she never missed or cared for one person enough to understand that emptiness. Until Judas. Her life before him is someone else's life, and Belle can’t deny that there’s no going back. She doesn’t want to even if she can.

  He watches her like he always does as she scoops herself onto the counter opposite him. His stare is captivating. He doesn’t hide the primal enjoyment that flexes in his sterling blues as he trails down her body with one heated sweep, only to go back up again even slower. She sees him lean his hip into the counter, his brow darkening.

  She wipes the corner of moisture from her mouth. “So… what comes next?” she asks.

  “Next?” His eyebrow slants at her question.

  “You said tomorrow is the end."

  Judas’ stare falls away from hers for a moment, only to find her again, this time giving her a more serious look. She knows he’s trying his hardest to remain detached while talking. He fails miserably. They’ve been intimate now, seen sides of one another that neither have shown before—to anyone. Probably never will again.

  Clearing the gravel in his throat, Judas says, “Tate’s gonna have your family. We'll meet up with them and then the airport."

  “Airport?”

  His gaze fixes on hers, his mouth barely moves when he replies, “Yeah."

  “Where—”it’s her turn to clear the mucky quality of her voice"—Where are you sending us to?"

  He steps closer. “Don't know. That's for you and your family to decide."

  His answer reminds her of the way he first was with her: distant, stoic. She doesn’t like it. “I don't understand."

  Sighing, Judas steps even closer, a foot between them as he eyes her reluctantly. “No-one’s gonna know where you are. It's better that way. We hired the pilot and plane under assumed names. They’re not connected to us and once you board you can tell them where you wanna go. We'll never know."

  She shakes her head, looking down at the frayed ends of her sweater cuffs. “Oh."

  He stays where he is, doesn’t move, but he feels closer. Belle tucks her bottom lip in her mouth. She doesn’t know what he’s waiting for and she has nothing to say. Nothing that he will want to hear anyway. He must have read her mind because he says exactly what she knows he will.

  His hand comes up, stills, then rests next to her knee on the counter as he murmurs, “Its better this way."

  “You keep saying that,” she whispers back, shakily.

  His head tilts sideways, his brow hooding over his eyes as he tries to read her. “Because it's true."

  “Yes... And the truth hurts.” She hears him sigh, harsher, fuller, like the weight of the world exists in that one breath.

  “It doesn't matter. Either way."

  Her head comes up. “What?"

  He blinks, but easily masquerades his feelings. “Either way, I could never be with you, Belle."

  Her lungs close off, but she squeezes by the pain to get the words out, “Because of the danger?"

  “Because of who I am,” he states matter-of-factly, standing straight and away from the huddle he’s created between them. “It doesn't fit with who you are."

  “How can you say that?” she says. “After everything that’s happened..."

  “It's not that.” He runs a hand through his hair, grips the ends in a tug. “Belle, I'm not trying to hurt you but it’s the truth."

  She goes to stand but he grips her thigh and keeps her in place. “I wanted to be with you because it's you, Judas. Don't you get that?”

  “No…" he breathes out, uncertain.

  She wipes the first tear with a hard flick of her finger. “Maybe it’s me, Judas. Maybe I'm not good enough for you."

  “Stop.” His eyes close tight.

  “I'm broken inside, damaged goods—”

  “Stop!” he yells, letting go, only to crowd her in her seat on the counter. “Stop it,” he orders lowly, into her face.

  Their breathing hushes, hushes to silence, only to rise, deeper and darker, like the rhythm of their bodies together, inside one another. His eyes fall to her mouth, swirl liquid-blue as blaring desire unfolds. Judas leans in, licking his lips, as though tasting the flavor of her. His breathing hitches as his neck strains and his Adam's apple bobs.

  The fuzzy sensation is coming at her in small doses. She wants to give in… give in and let him do what he wants to her. But she can’t. A very conscious part of her knows the bleeding feeling her soul has been punctured with, isn’t going to end. It’s just beginning. And Judas can only subside it for a moment and then it will be back again. Stronger than ever.

  Belle has already lost.

  “No… No.” She pushes at his chest and he withdraws. "You… Don't think you can just kiss me, take it away… I get it now."

  “Get what?” He drives his hand through his hair. “That you drive me fucking crazy?"

  “You know I dislike that word."

  His features are fixed, deliciously arrogant and unapologetic as he eyes her straight on. “Too bad."

  “Fine."

  “Good."

  “Good."

  “I'm going to go pack.” She goes to move but his hand is back on her thigh, this time there is no caress in his touch. His hold dares her to move.

  “No,” Judas murmurs, his mouth barely moves. “No you're not."

  “You're an asshole.”

  Nothing stirs behind his eyes. “I've been called worse.” He sounds slightly amused.

  “Is that supposed to surprise me? Because it doesn't,” she says, with a little less fervor when she notices there isn’t a trace left of pleasure in his face now.

  “Little Bit,” he whispers, hoarse, "don't hate me."

  “I can’t… hate you.” She plays with the end of her cuff again. He tips her chin up with his finger. "This is better… like you said."

  “I never said it was better, Belle, I'm trying to do what's right. And what's right, is for you to be away from me. For good."

  “Right. Right, so this doesn't have to go on. This can end. That's better, right? What the hell is so better?"<
br />
  ”That you'll be safe,” he mutters, breathless. “Don't you get that?"

  Belle sits and suddenly his agony becomes hers. One tear, just one, slips from the corner of her eye.

  “‘Safe’…” she whispers.

  “You think I can walk around, doing my fucking job if I knew you were in danger? You think I can live like that?"

  “Judas—”

  “No. You listen to me. I can’t. I won’t have you in danger like before…” he says sternly, but it’s like he’s speaking to himself. “There's no two-ways about it. You need to be alive, Belle. I need to know you’re safe. That you’re living, breathing—”

  “But what if—”

  “There are no what ifs.” His hand slices in the air. “You think I haven't thought about this? Haven't thought about any other options…? There aren’t any."

  Her chest aches, it heaves in and out, and she lets herself be overcome. Crying, she wipes her soaked cheeks, barely mumbling out her words that are clogged with tears, “I'm not strong enough to take this… I thought I was… but I can't do this."

  “Belle."

  God, he sounds so wrecked up. “Judas, I can’t lose you. Not when I've just found you again."

  “I don’t wanna lose you either,” he reveals, his voice low and guttural as though he’s defeated. “I want you so much but I can’t have what I want."

  “Judas—”

  “Shssh.” His finger touches the center of her mouth. “Listen to me."

  She nods and a small smile breaks his firm pout as though pleased that it’s the first time she’s ever willingly listening to him. “You don't know me or what I do and that's how it has to be. You can’t be a part of my world."

  “I'll never see you again?” Belle asks, her voice desperate and breathy. She knows the truth, but she hopes that he will tell her the impossible. He’s already shaking his head. He hasn’t moved away from her. He hasn’t turned to ice. In fact, he can’t stop touching her. The fingers buried in her hair are working softly against her scalp. His chest bumps hers as he takes a preparatory breath.

  “I’m dangerous, Belle. I can’t have you or anyone in it. There's too much at stake and you can't be a part of it. Ever."