by Hera August
In a fraction of a second, Diablo is flying at Judas. Judas jumps to the side, twisting in the air to avoid his swiping hand. But the knife rakes a deep line across Judas’ abdomen. Hot, searing pain folds through him, forcing him to clamp his elbow and upper arm against his body as he hisses with agony.
Diablo changes direction, moving quicker than Judas can read. A desperate duck and roll saves Judas, meeting Diablo head-on, but another cut rips across Judas’ back. For a second, his vision swims.
Gathering all his energy, Judas spins, whipping one foot up and out in a blur. He lets all his strength flow through his body, let it harden his leg like steel. Diablo runs directly onto Judas’s spinning kick, Judas’s heel connecting with the side of Diablo’s head with a sickening crack. Diablo staggers sideways.
Judas drives off from his grounded leg, sticking with Diablo as if he’s glued there. He draws his power up through his arms and hammers a flurry of punches into Diablo’s face. But the giant won’t fall that easily and he whips his elbow across, and knocks Judas’ head to one side. The elbow catches Judas across the cheekbone; a numb whine of injury sings through his mind, sends Judas stumbling to the side.
Judas swiftly shifts his weight and circles toward the raging devil again, just out of range of his hands. Tate said Diablo was heavy-handed. Despite his own strength, Judas knows taking his opponent down with punches and kicks to the torso or hips, isn’t going to win him the fight. He’ll have to target the knees or the face. The knees put him in range of the hands, unless Judas gets close. Real fucking close. And the face is out of his range unless Judas lands a high kick, but it’s a risky, difficult move that will leave him open. Which means real fucking close is his best option.
He slips forward quickly to test Diablo's speed. The big man is a little faster than Judas anticipates, Diablo’s fist almost colliding with Judas's head before he slides back. Tricky. But he notes the frustration in the other fighter’s face. He can use this to his advantage. Judas dances in and out of his range for a full minute, frustrating not only Diablo, but the watchers, and no doubt Vladimir as well.
And then Judas dodges forward and lands four swift punches to Diablo's midsection. As suspected, the man barely flinches and the muscles are unyielding. Unfortunately, the move proves to be a mistake, and before Judas can duck out, Diablo grabs a fistful of his hair and throws him to the ground.
Judas tastes copper as his head impacts with the hard stone, but his body automatically uses the momentum of his fall to roll back into a standing position, blocking a thundering punch with his forearm. But the force of it pushes Judas backward against the stone column behind him. His forearm stings and he mutters a curse under his breath. He draws his other arm across his face. His lips and nose are busted, and blood streaks across his arm.
When they face each other again, Judas and Diablo immediately move toward each other. Judas prepares himself for the hit, but the punch that drives him to the ground carries enough force to knock him out. Would've knocked him out if he had tensed instead of relaxed. He crumples on the platform, blood resuming its gush from his face, and then Diablo makes his fatal mistake. He moves in close, overconfident—thinking Judas is immobilized, surrendering—to deliver a knockout punch.
But Judas is prepared.
As soon as Diablo’s knees are in range, Judas twists up on his side, one arm planted firmly under him, chambering his right leg, before throwing his full weight off the ground and into a kick aimed straight at the right knee. He hears the snap as Diablo’s knee buckles, the pain forcing him to drop his knife.
Diablo falls to one knee, hands waving drunkenly. Judas sucks breath in as deep as he can, staying conscious by force of will alone. Judas’ vision crosses as he tries to focus on his opponent. He has to move first—fast. Has to finish this.
Judas drives himself forward with one pumping leg, gathering every last bit of strength he has, and drives his other knee up and out. As Diablo shifts his feet, trying to stand, Judas slams his knee up under the man’s chin. Diablo’s head flips up, his teeth snapping shut like a bear trap, and he keels over backward. Judas goes to him, blackness circling in at the edges of his mind.
As Diablo collapses onto his back, Judas lands over him, collapsing his own knees at the same time he curls his arm in front of himself, his elbow facing downward, and collides cruelly with Diablo's thick skull. Judas may not be as strong as Diablo, but he’s damn strong. Strong enough that a well-placed elbow-to-the-skull will knock any man out. Even a hulking bastard like Diablo. Judas watches the eyes roll back in Diablo’s skull and he knows he’s won the fight.
Drawing his elbow back, fist clenched, his knuckles like iron bolts, he smashes his hand through Diablo’s head. He hears Diablo’s bones crack as his head snaps to the side with the venomous blows Judas delivers in quick succession. The urge to kill surges inside Judas like a storm. His body, mind, and soul, calling out for murder.
Judas drives his fist down again and again. His knuckles pound into Diablo’s face and clear through, crushing the giant’s head to mince.
Game time is over. One more punch and Diablo will meet his maker. Victory and glory will be Judas’. The crowd is fanatical at his display and his eyes sweep over them dispassionately, feeling no pride, no remorse, none of the pain of his beaten-down body, and none of the fanfare or excitement of the swarming mass of irreverent bastards outside the arena.
He only seeks out one thing. One pair of eyes. One voice that screams to him.
Belle’s.
“No!” Belle’s voice lashes into the room like a whip crack, clear over the roaring crowd and the surging rage through Judas’s head. “Judas! No! Don’t kill him!”
“Kill him!” Vladimir’s cold voice orders. “Do as I say, boy!” Vladimir wants to see Diablo’s skull crush in Judas’ hands; he wants Belle to see the real Judas. The monster Vladimir and his own father had made him into. Vladimir wants death. Always wants death.
But it’s like Judas’ heart stops beating. Everything around him seems to turn to dust and nothing else matters. Not the fight, not Vladimir, not even his life. Just her.
Everything’s changing because of her.
Judas shakes his head slowly, his breathing heavy. Diablo’s just another man. Another body. Death is just a part of life. This is just a means-to-an-end. And this is who he is. He’s killed all his life. These fights were to the flesh and bone. Fight to the death. This place, his life, it all reeks of death. So why is he hesitating?
Judas has always felt dead inside. It’s how he kills with no remorse. But the fight feels different tonight. He feels more... alive.
His thoughts backpedal desperately in his head as he fights to remember how he ended up here. How he came to the decision that this is the only way to live. He has to kill Diablo, right? He came here on a mission to save Belle. To win the fight and then make the exchange, so he has to kill him. It’s the only way to complete his plan. But then why does he suddenly feel guilty?
His eyes dart to Belle, her eyes all worry and doubt, warning him, ‘Don't kill him. Please don’t kill him.’
‘You’re worth so much more...’
The sickening crunch of Diablo’s skull cracking underneath his fist had seemed alien to Judas despite its familiarity. It’s just never been like this before. It’s never... it’s never felt like this before. And in that moment, Judas realizes with horrifying clarity—there is no reason for this. Senseless killing for money and entertainment. It’s all wrong.
He... he can’t do it. He can’t kill.
Judas stares down in a slow, sick shock at the man waiting for Death to claim him. He watches as Diablo's chest somehow still draws laborious breaths, and in that shaky moment, Judas sees fit to do something he's never truly understood before.
He prays.
But it isn’t so much a prayer as it is begging. Truly remorseful, wretched, demoralizing, fucking begging, to some superior cosmic force to take away the decision over Diablo's life or
death. He begs the decision to be taken out of his bloodstained hands.
Maybe for once Judas doesn’t have to live with the consequences of his actions. He was just thirteen when he took a life. Thirteen. Just a boy. Just a stupid boy who didn’t know any better, a boy who could never grow up because he never had a childhood—just relentless training and hardcore conditioning he could never break. Training that would always draw him back, back to this, back to the fucking shit of his youth. He was just a boy...
But meeting Belle, he knows the truth. It isn’t his call to decide who lives and who dies anymore.
It isn’t my fucking call anymore!
“Noooo!” Belle’s scream swells through Judas as his fist charges downward with full force.
It has to end.
A shock runs up Judas’s shoulder as his hand cracks into the stone beneath, right next to Diablo’s head, throwing the killing blow. Diablo bucks underneath him, his eyes wide, knowing how close he was to kissing Death himself. The crowd go silent.
Vladimir shoots up from his seat, outrage and disbelief evident on his gnarled face. Judas struggles for breath, Belle’s cries blurring his senses, as he staggers up to his feet and locks his eyes onto Vladimir. “I won’t kill for you anymore,” Judas roars through heavy pants. “It. Ends. Now.”
Disgruntled noises and murmurs spread through the crowd. Vladimir walks into the arena. Makes a strange sound, part amusement, part annoyance. Judas knows he’s embarrassed Vladimir. Got him into a lot of trouble. Cost him millions for not playing by the rules. This had been a highly-exclusive fight to the death, attended by notables. Men who had paid millions to watch two of the greatest underground and highly sought-after fighters, beat one another to the death. Men who are very powerful, and very dangerous. They don’t look at all pleased with Vladimir Kulich.
Vladimir turns slowly, clears his throat before addressing the room. “Judas Bane. The man with balls of iron has won,” he says, with a nervous laugh. “But this is a fight to the death.” Vladimir pulls out a gun, aims the barrel at Judas.
“Go ahead. Shoot me,” Judas seethes, spitting blood. “But you’ll never get Spencer. Never get revenge.”
Vladimir smirks. “Now, what fun would that be?” Vladimir changes the direction of the gun and shoots Diablo in the head.
Judas closes his eyes for a second before he looks over at Belle. This is his chance. But five of Vladimir’s best guards surround Belle’s cage with guns.
“Don’t try and be the hero, Judas,” Vladimir sneers. “I will shoot you before you make it to her.” Vladimir walks over toward Belle, never taking the firing-line off Judas. “I want Spencer. Let’s end this.”
His breathing heavy, Judas watches as Belle is taken away. He’s helpless. There is nothing he can do to reach her. Not yet.
Moving out to the edges of the arena, Judas lets the shadows take him. He’s no longer a creature of violence in the darkness. He doesn’t know who he is anymore.
There is no going back.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
Chapter Forty
THE SKY IS JUST AS BLACK as his mood.
Judas’ body feels like it’s been run through a meat grinder. But he can’t be concerned with his injuries, just yet.
His blocked mind goes over the other avenues that will be just as risky as the plan he’s chosen. But there are none. There are too many roadblocks, too many ‘what ifs’ to take a bigger chance. And he refuses to endanger Belle further. This is the one time he has to play it safe. But if Vladimir gives him no choice… Judas is going to have to play his wild card whether he wants to or not.
“You don't move,” Judas orders. His face is still forward, watching, as he gives his directions.
The silence in the SUV is only broken by the small trembles of Spencer Dela Cruz's breathing.
“My Isabelle isn't a bargaining chip. She shouldn't be involved in this. At all," Spencer mutters.
“That's not something I can help now,” Judas replies. “Maybe you should've considered your children's safety before you started stealing from a crime lord."
Leather creaks. Spencer kneels closer. “I thought I was... I was only going to take a little."
“No.” Judas eyes his rearview mirror, then goes back to staring at the skyline. “I don't."
“I never meant for this to happen, you have to believe me… I was struggling... I had debts, Mr. Bane… A huge sum of money… The loan sharks were threatening me… They would have… my family… they needed..."
Judas sees the wink of headlights blur two-by-two down the busy street. His brow lowers, his jaw stiffening. “Everyone struggles. That's no fucking excuse."
“You're a self righteous bastard,” Spencer says, bravely.
“Yeah, like you tell your daughter everything, huh?”
“I bet you can’t wait to paint me as the bad man in this, like some monster. We'll you're no goddamn better. You kill people for a living. I stole some money—so what? The money isn’t legal and your boss isn’t exactly a nice guy."
Massaging his temple with the tips of his two fingers, Judas wants to relieve the ache, the noise building up inside him. He unlocks the door, puts his boot between the door and the ledge as he looks back to his unwanted guest.
“Whatever goes down, you stay here."
“But if—”
“But nothing. You listen to what I say, show yourself only when I say to.” The dark roll of his order falls on Spencer’s shoulders. “We clear?"
Understanding crackles in Spencer's worn gray eyes as they bob between Judas’ icy ones. “You care for her.” There is no question in his words.
Posed like a block of granite, Judas replies, “I asked—are we clear?"
Spencer's head shakes. “Yes. We are clear."
Judas holds his stare for a hard minute, then gets the rest of the way out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Just as he steps out from the driver's seat, he sees the black Bentley creep up in the small alley.
There is nothing but the sounds of the city surrounding the small dark corner. The echoes of shouts from drunken passers-by fills the air. Vladimir doesn’t wait for the Bentley to roll to a complete stop. That's a bad sign. Vladimir’s dark eyes searches and finds Judas instantly. Leaning against the brick wall opposite the Bentley, Judas tries to decipher how delicately to play this. He doesn’t want this to turn into a bloodshed.
Not for his or Vladimir’s sake. But for Belle's.
Judas clears his mind; his glare a furnace of contained fury as he meets Vladimir’s dark, imposing figure. Breaking contact for a second, Judas flicks a look at his surroundings, his face hardening as he quickly finds Vladimir again. He glances at the tinted window of the car, knowing she’s only a few feet away and halting the jump in his bones to get to her.
“You don’t look so good, Buddy,” Vladimir sneers.
“Where is she?” Judas asks, his voice rough.
Tilting his head, Vladimir opens his arms. “Show me Spencer."
“Show me her first."
Vladimir's head shakes, throwing the idea away with a huff. “Not until we talk."
Judas shrugs, the blue in his eyes sedating. "Nothing to talk about."
“I beg to differ,” Vladimir spits, nothing but hate in his eyes. “You lied to me, Judas. You lied to me."
Judas barely moves to breathe as he replies in a low voice, “You gave me no choice."
“You could've told me how you felt!"
“She’s a means-to-an-end to you, Vladimir,” Judas states, matter-of-factly. “You never planned to let her live. The second I told you what happened—you wanted her dead."
“And you agreed."
“I went along,” Judas corrects.
“Because that's what you do. You trust me,” Vladimir points out, waving his hands around before settling them into his pant pockets. “I've been in this business longer than you've been alive, Judas. In the past there's been no second-guessing between us."<
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“I know. You were there for me when I had nothing. And yeah, I looked up to you… But things are different now,” Judas informs, lowly. He steps in the middle to bridge the difference, glaring at Vladimir head on.
“Because of this fucking bitch?” Vladimir's words hold no malice, but there’s a spark of a test in his black gaze. “Huh?”
Nostrils flaring, Judas whispers the warning, knowing full well how dirty Vladimir likes to play, “Don't."
Vladimir chuckles, his chest rises as he scratches the corner of his mouth, and for a second, he reminds Judas of the man he’d once idolized. But that man no longer exists to Judas.
“Judas, come on. How did this happen? What changed? You were like a son to me."
“I won’t ask for forgiveness.”
“That's right."
Judas sighs. It’s time to face the man he betrayed.
“I finally realized you and me are nothing alike. We both know my inheritance had a lot to do with what you did—taking me in. How much have I given into the business—you?” Judas shakes his head. “I don’t care about the money. This has never been about money. I looked up to you, Vladimir. You're the family I never had. You welcomed me into your world and showed me what I thought was the true meaning of life—power. But underneath all that I figured we’d a common goal. Stay powerful, in control, do what we love to do." Judas speaks from under hooded eyes, guarded and at war with whether to continue making this personal, or to get on with the business-end of things.
Judas can’t ignore their past though and Vladimir knows that.
“But we're not alike,” Judas goes on. “I might've killed on your orders and worked the system to your advantage but there's a big difference between you and me. I was forced into this world, unlike you. Was never given a fucking choice. Forced by my father not to care, feel. Forced by you to fight and kill… But that isn’t me… I get it now… I couldn't let Belle die anymore than I can let her now."
