Judas Bane

by Hera August

  “But what if—”

  His hand tightens around her. “Ever.” His jaw clenches hard, the bone juts out against the skin.

  Her eyes cast to the floor with a trembling sigh, “So this is it."

  “This is it."

  She looks straight into his eyes and whispers the words he’d uttered to her once before, “I believe you."

  “Hey…” He grips the back of her head tenderly, applying the slightest pressure for her to look at him. “I never wanted you hurt."

  His penetrating stare falls hard on her. Her breaths staggering inside her, turning over as she fights for semblance. “I know."

  “You need to be careful." She shakes off his concern with a nod, pinning him with a meaningful glare.

  “You need to be careful, Judas, or is getting shot a weekly hazard in your line of work?"

  “I'll be fine."

  “You always say that."

  He leans in. “Because it's true.” His eyes are set on her parted lips. “Be careful."

  “I always am—"

  “Promise me,” he demands.

  “Judas, please."

  “Belle. Don't make me ask again."

  Her hand comes up and touches the side of his face, reveling at the feel of his gruff skin under hers. Her thumb sweeps his cheek, her insides flipping at the sensation. Her eyes hold his. “I promise.”

  His eyes drop to her mouth again. His solemn face centers in her trembling lips, his eyes scorching as he comes within inches of kissing her. Cupping her face, he brings it up, right below his as he leans over. His eyes are glassy but he sounds determined. “Want you to do something for me."

  “I can't."

  “Shssh,” he whispers, his mouth against hers. “Listen to me.” She looks up at him, his eyes miserable, dangerously gorgeous in their temptation for her to get lost in them. “I want you to live, you hear me? Live for yourself. You've wasted so much time hiding away—change that.” He raises his hand to the base of his neck, as though reaching for something that isn’t there.

  His cross…

  “I… lost the only good in my world a long time ago… I died that day, Belle… She was my…” He closes his eyes as though a world of hurt just punctured his heart. Belle wonders if he’s referring to this ‘Olivia’ he has tattooed on his body. Just when she is about to ask him who Olivia is, he opens his eyes and Belle sees something she has never seen before in Judas.

  Hope.

  “If I know you’re out there somewhere happy…” He falters again, taking a deep breath. “…that's all I need. I'll be okay… For once, I’ll be okay."

  Her head twists to turn out of his grasp, but he won’t let her. “I don't know how…” she says, looking down. “Without you, I’m lost… God, Judas, I need you—”

  “No you don't. You don't. Let me tell you something. Look at me.” He forces her to look straight at him. “You’re fearless, Belle Dela Cruz. You know that? Look at all you've been through. What does that say…? I’ve never met anyone like you—anyone half-as-strong.” He grips her face harder. “You don't even know—"

  “Please stop—”

  “Do you know how much you have to give? You…” He sighs, falling short on words.

  She is watching him now. Moved to the point of pain from what he’s allowing her to see for the first time.

  The man he is inside.

  The man he never lets out.

  For anyone.

  She’s unable to say anything but his name, “Judas—"

  His mouth crashes into hers, his lips twisting with hers as they intertwine together. Their mouths, folds of flesh, gasping as they turn and dance over each other.

  “You're beautiful,” he confesses, pulling back, as if he’s enslaved by his emotion. "You're so goddamn beautiful. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you shy away, even the way you bite,” he grins. “Everything,” he whispers softly. “Everything about you fits perfectly in me. That will never change, Belle." His thumbs rest on the plane of her cheeks, wiping away the rest of her tears. “Promise me." His stare locks her in to the point and downfall of her distraction. The rest of his fingers rest behind the shell of her ears, rubbing the sensitive spot, drawing her out. He whispers again, this time firmer, ”Promise me you'll stop hiding."

  What else can she say? Belle is hopeless, fighting a losing battle. She’ll do anything for Judas. Anything.

  Her eyes close as she whispers, “I promise." His shoulders relax, his nose buries into her cheek as she whispers, “Promise me you'll be safe."

  “I'll be fine."

  “Judas.” She arches a brow, pulling back a smidge to fully look at him.

  The slight crooked grin he gifts her with is marred from the ache that saturates his eyes. “I promise,” he vows, his voice husky and quiet.

  She licks the residual tears that have plopped on her cheeks. She gulps them down, fixated on erasing the heaviness that lays in the air. If this is the last of their time together, she doesn’t want to spend it like this.

  “You know you're going to end up giving-in one day. You're going to find some gorgeous woman, make her your wife… get a house in the suburbs… I can see it,” she jokes, half-heartedly, placing the flat of her palm on the warm expanse of his chest, right where his heart rests.

  Judas is still as he lets out, “That can't happen."

  “Because of your job?”

  There is a silence, a heartbeat of a moment, where she has no idea what will come next. Judas seems on the edge of something, not breathing, a frozen statue under her.

  He licks his lips. “Because it won't be you."

  When she doesn’t say or even blink to counter his words, he looks down, scrapes his bottom lip with his teeth. He swallows like it hurts to do it, then locks his stare back on hers.

  “You, right here—this… this is the closest I'll ever come to that wish. And it isn’t even something I knew I’d wished for."

  ‘Stop’ she wants to yell, scream for a stop to this. It’s torture hearing words like that, knowing they can never be brought to reality. Judas reads her instantly, wiping his hand down the side of her face, nudging her chin up with his thumb.

  “You're unwell.”

  “I'm okay,” she says weakly, too worn to fight the stubbornness she sees set in his jaw.

  “No. You're not. You need more than Motrin. I’ll be gone for five minutes."

  She smiles, her eyes drowsy, her body shrugs into a hunch position, spent from their conversation. “Okay."

  He leans closer. “Okay?"

  “Yes,” she giggles. He is so cute sometimes. She pushes at his chest. "Go. I'll be fine."

  “Thirty, tops, Little Bit."

  “I know."

  “First, do me a favor."

  “What?” She glances from under her lashes.

  “Kiss me.”

  “Judas."

  “Do it.”

  He cups the back of her knee, massaging the skin with the tips of his fingers, his mouth already halfway down to hers.

  And she obeys, willingly.

  HIS PHONE IS RINGING.

  It's hard to hear over the thoughts of his heart. Over the last framed image of Belle in his mind.

  Beautiful.

  Bare in her beauty, reckless in her want for him. Judas still can’t understand how a sweet-hearted woman like Belle can see anything good in him.

  The emotion grips him in the aisle. He needs to get back there. He needs to have all the time he can with Belle. He’s never felt… good in his life. Never felt right. And he never will when Belle is gone.

  Everything is running out between them. Soon there will be nothing left, and memories will only serve to screw with him. Judas will die from the distraction she’ll most likely bulldoze through him.

  His life will never be the same.

  He will never be the same.

  He squeezes the medicine bottle in his hand, slicing his hand through the air to grab the phone and bring it
to his ear.

  “What?” he barks, his strides long as he makes his way to the line of the counter.

  “Judas! Fuck! Judas, Luis is dead," Tate yells.

  Judas stops in his place, almost tipping forward. “The fuck?"

  “Went to Vladimir's, no-one was picking up the phone and Luis said he'd be there. Fuck, Judas. He's dead, man… so is Roman."

  Judas’ mind goes numbly void, like a nuclear blast eradicating every inch of thought from him. “Where's Vladimir?"

  “Dunno, man, no-one knows where the fuck he is. He never came down the elevators, everyone’s in their place. We don't know where the hell he went to. Judas. I think he knows. I think he knows everything."

  SHE DOESN’T LIKE BEING WITHOUT HIM.

  Belle doesn’t care if she has pneumonia. As long as Judas is with her, she can handle the pain.

  He’s her drug.

  Her escape.

  Belle halts the avenue her thinking is going down. She can’t go on like this. She isn’t going to be able to handle the rest of her life if she can’t even make it five minutes without Judas.

  He's right. She has to stop hiding. If not for herself, then for him. She owes him her life. He’s risked everything, the least she can do is make something of herself. If she can manage not to mess up what she’s been given.

  Knowing her…

  She feels his hands snake around her waist. As usual, the jump of her skin runs its course and she chuckles lightly. His hot breath fans her ear, drops to the pulse point that Judas knows drives her wild.

  “That was quick,” she murmurs, leafing through the tea bags, relishing in the pleasure he stimulates inside her.

  “Turn around, sweetheart. I’ve missed those beautiful fuckin’ green eyes of yours."

  The foreign tone, the bitter scent—hits her. She whips around only to be jerked back against the body of a stranger. Her eyes widen, then slit in recognition, as the black orbs staring over her pulses and dilates.

  Her bones feel like they break from the terror, and she clutches onto the lapel of his suit jacket. The birth of terror expands, locking her jaw in place, stirring her stomach up as a fire trail of bile rises fiercely.

  “Mr.—”

  “Kulich,” he finishes pleasantly, soothingly. The menacing black holes of his stare claw at her; a deathly silent exchange between them. “I told you we’d meet again, Isabelle."

  Part Three

  Judas

  I’m not afraid to love.

  I’m just afraid that she’ll love me back.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  JUDAS ALREADY KNOWS she isn’t there.

  Even before his bike screeches to a stop, his boots smack the ground, his legs sprint to his mansion like a crazed man, Judas doesn’t have to be inside to know Belle is gone. His eyes sweep the front doors, taking in that it isn’t ajar or broken in any way.

  Vladimir is gone.

  Judas should have never left. What the fuck was he thinking leaving her?

  Thirty minutes. Thirty fucking minutes!

  He draws his gun from under his shirt, pops the safety off with a slight graze from the pad of his thumb. He lets it lay at his side as he makes his way in. Vladimir is unpredictable at best. Who knows what lays in his leave to intercept Judas’ attempt to rescue Belle...

  He does a quick but diligent sweep of the foyer before making his way gingerly into the main living-room. The stillness bothers him. It’s too quiet, too silent for his liking. Especially with all the thunder crashing around in his head.

  Belle, her face, her angelic eyes, keep playing through his mind, repeating through him. And every time her features grow darker, more distant.

  The past hits him like a torpedo. He failed once before; it cost him his soul. He’d become a merciless killer because it was the only way to survive the demons that haunt his mind.

  Belle had been his redemption.

  He can’t lose her.

  He has to find her.

  Save her.

  He searches the bedrooms, gun drawn, as he goes through each room. He isn’t expecting to find anyone, but maybe he’ll find a clue, a message she might have left when Vladimir wasn't paying attention. He scans the basement last, sees nothing. The kitchen is the last place he hits since it's too open to provide any leads.

  Judas jolts to a stop when he notices the jar of tea bags scattered on the counter, the teapot humming on the stove and on the verge of whistling. Judas feels like his heart has been stabbed with a scolding hot poker. He slams his gun onto the counter, gripping the edge, making his skin redden as his knuckles whiten.

  The anger that runs through him takes control, crushes against him for release. Head down, he tries to push the image haunting his mind. Her snow-white skin is bathed in blood, raining down her face. The gruesome picture almost knocks him off-balance. The countertop creaks under him and he realizes he’s been holding his breath, searching for strength where there is none. The pain ricochets throughout him, doesn’t deter from making his vision whiten and his stomach knot.

  Judas rips off his jacket, feeling suffocated by the leather. He wants to destroy something… kill something.

  How can the man who’s been the only real father he's ever had, be on the other end of the bloodlust that's overcoming him?

  His cell rings.

  He grabs it from his pocket, sees his hand shake, and curses himself for the weakness. He needs to be strong.

  He clicks the button, stays silent as his stare searches for some peace in the scenic view through the window ahead. He needs to stay neutral. Calm. But right now, even he can’t quell the demonic rage that rushes into his bloodstream because of the man on the other end.

  “Where is she?” The steady timbre of Judas’ voice vibrates.

  Vladimir snickers. “Safe. With me."

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  “Judas. Come on,” Vladimir says, as if they’re discussing the weather, “you know I can't do that."

  Judas’ voice doesn’t stray from its calm tone, but it deepens as he says, “I'm not asking again, Vladimir. Let her go."

  “Not an option. Besides, you have something I want."

  Judas bites down on the tip of his tongue, tastes the pain and blood. Fuck the games. He wants her back. That's it. But Vladimir doesn’t do simple. Vladimir has to play games, drag the other person out until they submit themselves—body, mind and soul.

  “What's that?”

  “You can have this bitch, just give me her family in return. All of them.”

  There is no second-guessing his immediate response, “No."

  “Then I guess we're at an impasse.” Vladimir actually sounds pleased at the conclusion.

  “I guess so,” Judas agrees, lowly. “I want Belle and her family."

  “Well so do I.”

  "You want them dead, Vladimir. There's a difference,” Judas points out, his voice rising.

  Judas hears the other man's stall-tactic come into effect. Perfect timing. “How much is it gonna take, Judas?” The challenge in Vladimir’s words makes Judas’ hand curl into a tight fist. “How much?” Each word is like the stab of a spear in Judas’ side.

  “You know money’s not an issue for me,” Judas says, just as ice-cool and impartial as is his approach.

  “Oh? Isn’t it?” Vladimir makes no effort to hide his sarcasm.

  Suddenly, something clicks in Judas’ head. Vladimir wants to play games? Fine. Vladimir had dragged him into this business when he was just a kid. Forced him to fight when he’d just turned thirteen. And taught him everything he knows for the last seventeen years since. Judas has to be wise and use that to his advantage. It's the only weapon at his disposal that may be able to save Belle.

  “Where're you?" Judas asks.

  Vladimir ignores his question, showing Judas who has control. Power. “You think I’m gonna make this easy? You need to do something for me first.”

  “Just say it,” Judas says gruffly.

  “
You. Diablo. Private fight.”

  Judas sighs. Diablo has never been beaten. And he only participates in private fights. And those fights only end one way.

  To the death.

  “If you lose—”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  Vladimir sniggers. “If you lose, Judas, I get Spencer and the girl.”

  “Fine.”

  “If you win—”

  “Which I will.”

  “Yeah. Then we meet at the Monday corner-drop on the lower east side—after the fight. We'll exchange then."

  “Yeah."

  “Come alone,” Vladimir says, his anger cracking through his tone. “If I even catch a whiff of another guy with you—I'll fucking kill her. If she’s lucky."

  Judas consumes the sting of Vladimir’s threat along with the fear and anger inside him. He fights to control the storm of rage and death that is his instinctual gut reaction, taunting him to kill and uncage the beast inside him.

  But he holds it all under a thin wrap of control as he answers coolly, “Done."

  “See ya then,” Vladimir says, accenting the last word before he hangs up, "Son.”

  Judas has no time to think. Panic. This is what he does best. Stay in control. In the game.

  He heads out immediately and gets straight back on his bike, hitting One on speed-dial. “Tate."

  “Judas. Fuck, man, what the hell is goin' on?"

  “Listen. Get Spencer and his family. Bring them down to where you usually pick up the merchandise. Now."

  “Okay, okay—but what's goin' on?” Tate asks.

  “Do it,” Judas barks, his mind like a missile aimed only on getting Belle back. His voice wavers for a fraction of a second before he says, “Vladimir’s got Belle.”

  “Shit. Judas—"

  “Just get him there ASAP,” he orders. “Call me when you arrive."

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  “I'll instruct you once you get there. Be careful."

  “On it,” Tate replies, hesitating a moment before speaking up again, “Judas, you know what you're doing?"

  “Yeah. Whatever it takes to save Belle.” Judas’ voice hitches up when he says her name.

  “All right, man. Done."

  “Good."