by Hera August
"No. I think you should ‘just stop’.” She steps closer. He should step back. But he doesn’t. “It's not over,” she says, under his gaze. "I won’t let you do this."
“I told you—”his voice is the only thing that cracks as she moves a foot closer“—told you I couldn’t promise forever, Belle."
“I know… but after everything… I guess my heart made other plans… I thought you would too…"
“I'm sorry.” He hopes the ghostly void in his eyes will tell her to not push any further. But Belle doesn’t let it trample her course of action.
"I don't believe you."
“I... am...” There are small tremors in his speech.
“No. I don't believe you when you say it's over.” She forges ahead, latching on to the tiny ripple of emotion he’s been unable to shield from her probing eyes. “I know why you don’t want to fight for this—for us. I still see it in your eyes, Judas. You don’t think you deserve happiness—”
“I don’t.”
“You do.” She shakes her head, knowing she’s losing the battle. “This can’t be it."
“It has to,” he says, his voice determined to push her away. “This is the way it has to be. It's better. For both of us."
“Judas…” She raises her hand, presses the warmth inside of her palm into the side of his cold face. He should back away, leave, but it's too hard. Too fucking hard to leave her. "I know you don't believe that. You're lying. I can see it."
“Don’t.” His eyes close. He's doing the right thing. They can never be. She deserves so much more than a heartless killer like him.
The spawn of the Devil.
“You're lying,” she breathes out, in a hushed voice that wraps around his resolve.
“No.” Judas shakes her off, clears his throat and backs away, her words tempting him more than she will ever know, and which he will never admit. They blur him from thinking straight. “No I'm not."
“Who's the coward now, huh?” she dares.
The harder the fight he puts up, the more she seems to challenge him. The wall he’s erected around his heart is so well built, years of hurt and pain have made it indestructible.
Until now.
“You told me to stop hiding, to live. And I finally do, and now you're the one hiding."
“I'm not hiding. I'm facing the truth,” he bites out. His blue eyes glow down at her like the Moon on a starless night. “You're the one hiding if you think we've any sort of future, Belle. This, right here—this moment is our future. That's it."
"You won’t fight for us?"
“Yeah."
She’s angry. Good. This is for the best.
“All those times we were together…” Her voice slips lower, moving under his skin like a warm current. His steel reserve hardens on the outside. "I know what I felt. I know what you felt when you made love to me till neither of us could separate an inch without wanting each other! I know you want this—"
“I don’t." The clutter in his reply gathers and releases.
“Liar,” she spits out, tears dripping from the sides of her eyes, down her cheeks, like blood.
“I'm not lying.” He looks away, resting his gaze away from her. His eyes flutter shut again, squeezing just as his jawline convulses under the skin, tortured.
“No, you're just the biggest chicken-shit I've ever met,” she says, wiping the wet under her nose. “You're just going to walk away, leave—never look back? Pretend I don’t exist?"
“I’ve a job to do. A life waiting for me.” His whole body coils and tightens. If he moves, he'll break. He knows it. "One you can never be a part of, Belle."
“What life?” she chokes, wiping the tears.
There’s no reply from Judas. He doesn’t know the answer to her question. He just looks at her, taking her in for the last time.
“I want you to be happy.” His plea breaks the tense quiet that has fallen. “I can’t give you what you deserve.”
She shakes her head and sighs. “Do something for me.” She gulps down the remainder of her tears, wipes the ones that stay on her skin.
“Belle...” The string of tolerance he’s holding on to, tips over. His hands come up from his side, his blue ice glaciers unrepentantly staring down at her.
She falters a small second, and her eyes skid down to his lips, his dropping to hers. It's difficult to believe that they’re the same lips that he’s kissed, given and taken pleasure from him, ceaselessly. Their secretive time together will forever be engraved in him.
“Kiss me,” she says, drawing closer, her nails dragging a trail over his jaw. “One last time... Please."
She doesn’t give him an ounce, his rigid position never failing. On tip-toes, her lips graze him as she peers up with a doe-like seduction that clings to his bones. And then she kisses him. A gentle breeze of a touch that falls and waves back, rapt with hunger. Inexperienced at being the aggressor, Belle's hand fists in his hair, her nose flattening into his cheek as her mouth traps his.
She is sucking the last of his strength with every move. She rubs her lips against his, knowing damn-well he fucking loves that, and traces his mouth with hers as he feels the staccato quiver of her breathing melt the last of his restraint.
Judas uses his hands to scoop her head in his hold and bring her closer, quickly dominating the kiss. His tongue plunders through her shaky actions and she instantly finds the rhythm his need is directing him toward. Her generous mouth opens up against his and he devours her, his lips suckling on the plump flesh, famished as his tongue works hers at a fevered pace. He nips her bottom lip, likes what he tastes so bad, his skin grows hot under him and he nips harder, growing desperate for the feel of her.
And then he realizes suddenly where he is and what he’s doing. The desperation wakes him, the rampaging necessity her kiss alters in him, shifting his priorities so effortlessly, it makes his head spin to think about how easily his enemies can use her against him.
Her hands tremble as she tries to touch his face again, but he darts away, wiping his mouth. “Tell me that didn't mean anything,” she rasps.
He glares down at her. "You trying to hurt yourself on purpose?" he growls.
“Tell me!"
“It's over. You understand—over!” he tears out, internally struggling as he grapples for a stronghold that had dissolved the second her lips touched his. Feeling bled out to his bones, he orders under his breath, “Don’t do this. It’s over. You know we can’t be together." Her head is already shaking. “Belle," he warns.
“Thank you,” she half smiles. When he can’t find the words to express his confusion, she continues, “For everything. I don't think I can ever repay the debt I owe you for what you've done for me and my family—"
“Don't. I'm the one that owes you," he cuts in, struggling with what he has to say to her. "You saved my life."
“I guess we evened out somewhere along the way."
“It's over. That's all that matters."
“Over, yes...” she concludes, with a softness that resounds lost in memory. A lone tear streaks down her face and she wipes it away immediately, but it's too slow for him not to see. “We can both finally go back to a normal life. Whatever that is now.” She laughs miserably.
“Stay away from Wentworth Creek,” he says, knowing the end is coming. “People might get suspicious and start asking questions.”
"I'll let my father know,” she complies, without argument. That’s a first. A first he doesn’t particularly like, because when she’s like that, it means she’s letting herself get beaten by whatever she's feeling. He hates it when she does that. Tiny prickles scurry through him, itching to eradicate the mess he’s just made.
Instead, he curls his fists at his side and with his chest tight, his tone tighter, he says, “Take care of yourself."
She bites her lower lip, the small flesh skipping under her teeth. “You too."
“If there's any kind of trouble that involves—”
“I'll let my
father know,” she interrupts, backing away, looking at her family whom are waiting in the car. “I don't want to burden you more than I already have.”
He holds her there. “That's not how it is and you know it."
“Be safe.” Her dull eyes are lifeless as they teeter between his. “I know Mr. Kulich has a lot of enemies."
“I'll be fine."
Her mouth clenches down. “You always say that."
“Because it's true. I can take care of myself."
“I know you don't like people caring about you,” she says, remembering with a soft laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“It doesn't bother me as much anymore,” he reveals, in an aching whisper, not breaking connection with her. “Promise me you'll be safe,” he asks again, softer.
“Judas, I'm… you know I'm going to be fine. I wouldn't be—”
“Promise me." He locks her in place with his commanding stare.
”I promise, Judas. I promise,” she whispers, drawing farther away when the car horn honks behind them. “Goodbye, Judas.” Her hand comes up in a short wave. Her nose is as red as her eyes, and she smiles, but it ends in sorrow as her face falls.
It can’t end like this.
He doesn’t know where it comes from and why he needs to do it, but in that moment, nothing can stop him.
He takes several long strides toward her, leans in, brushes his mouth against her ear, and whisper soft he reveals everything.
The part he’s kept hidden from the world.
Even from himself.
“I love you, Isabelle Dela Cruz.”
He only sees the sterling burnish of her green eyes widen for a second, before he steps back and turns to walk away from the only woman he has ever loved. Will ever love.
She doesn’t call out to him, doesn’t beg for him to come back to her. She understands. And he loves her even more for it.
Judas can taste a tear on his lip. Something he's not tasted in seventeen years. And here he thought he’s a man who can do anything, execute any mission with preciseness and perfection. There is no job too dirty, no plan too impossible that he can’t undertake without breaking a sweat.
He was wrong.
Yes he did what he set out to do, but he takes no pleasure in the success. The only thing that brings him any sort of peace is knowing she’s safe and that no-one—including him—will ever hurt her again.
And he did that for Belle. Because of her. Because her life—precious with so much left to accomplish—is more important than anything else. Because her happiness matters more to him than his own. Because, in the end, she is going to survive this and be okay, and that knowledge alone allows him to go on.
Because—Judas closes his eyes—he is in love with her. And if he loves her half as much as his heart is screaming to him that he does, he'll keep her protected. Which means away from him.
Even at the cost of his own life.
Chapter Forty-Three
JUDAS WILL KILL HER, if he ever finds out.
But Belle has to risk coming back here. She must have it. How can she risk allowing herself to forget the man who broke into her hiding place and changed her world forever?
She can’t. She won’t. She needs something of him to carry with her till the day she dies.
To have something to hold on to when the darkness returns.
She steps into her attic and almost feels like she’s warped back through time. Into the past. Her and Judas, alone, in her place. She remembers how scared she had been back then, but now, now all she feels for Judas is love.
She looks across over to the windowsill. It shines like a beacon, almost the same twinkle, the same glint she would see in those pools of blue heaven.
Belle pads over to the windowsill. Her whole body tingles when she reaches it. How can something so small evoke so much emotion inside of her? But nothing about Judas had been small. And this object is the only link to her past. A link to Judas.
His silver cross.
She binds the cross around her neck and vows to never take it off. Never. She grips it hard between her fingers, caressing it, as though it will magically bring him back to her.
Judas... I miss you…
She lets the tear that flows down her face plummet to the floor. He had told her that he loved her. Only yesterday… but it feels like a lifetime ago. A lifetime without Judas.
‘I love you, Isabelle Dela Cruz…’
Why didn’t she beg for him to turn around, to come back to her? Why didn’t she scream to him that she loved him also? She remembers shock locking her voice away, but she should have tried harder. But it’s too late now. It's over. They had their chance.
The truth in her heart will always remain hidden.
She cried herself to sleep last night knowing she will never see Judas again. But it was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it? Their lives are so very different. And being with a man who’s linked to a powerful criminal organization will only put her family’s life in danger. She couldn’t be that selfish. Not again. She just wants Judas to be happy, to be safe.
Belle wants to stay here all night, reminiscing on every moment she’d spent with Judas, here in the attic, but her family are waiting for her at the edge of town. Her parents tried to stop her from coming back, but she was too fast for them, giving them little choice.
Her father has arranged for them to stay with his sister for a short while, until they sort themselves out as a family. He’s insisting Belle goes to another college to become a doctor. But she doesn’t know what she wants to do—
What’s that noise?
She hears a loud thump coming from beneath her...
Trembling, she descends the stairs one step at a time. The noises get louder. Why would someone be in her home—her bedroom? A small part of her hopes it's Judas, but the thought dies instantly.
She needs to leave.
Immediately.
Leave without alerting her presence. Whoever it is, her instinct screams it isn’t someone she wants to discover her. If they’d seen her come in, wouldn’t they have confronted her by now? Maybe she can just slip away…
But the thick scent of cologne is too familiar to her, and terror grips her in place.
No... No it can’t be…
Her bedroom door is open and the back of the intruder is in plain sight. He stands tall, still facing away from her when he smirks, “I know you’re watching me.”
“You…” Belle gasps. “What do you want? Why’re you here?”
When he turns around, he smiles the cruelest smile she’ll ever see. Belle makes a run for it down the stairs. But he’s faster. He yanks her by the hair and pulls her up, shoving her into her old bedroom.
A single noise. A single noise changes her world in less than a second.
The lock clunks shut.
His cologne seems to intensify. She scampers to the window, hoping to scream for help, but like a cobra he strikes, lunging for her face with something white and toxic.
Chloroform.
The last thing Belle remembers, looking out of the window, is her neighbor walking down the street, morphing into a tiny black dot.
But, by then, it’s too late for anyone to hear her scream.
BELLE WAKES FROM A START. Her head feels like a jackhammer has been bouncing around inside her skull.
Where am I? What happened?
Belle’s eyes dart around the room. Candlelight casts menacing shadows all over her surroundings. They seem to be tumbling or... is it her head spinning? She feels sick, disorientated, not remembering what happened or where she is. But it only takes a few seconds for reality to come crashing down on her.
The attic.
Where is he?
She can hear thunder in the distance, it echoes off the walls and into her beating heart. There is a faint smell persistent in the air around her, a smell that she can’t quite place.
She tries to raise her hand to soothe her pounding skull but it doesn’t comply. She goes
to stand but can’t, and she doesn’t immediately understand why, until she realizes she can’t move her arms or her legs. She’s been tied to a chair. The corners of her lips feel weird and rubbery. She’s been gagged too.
She looks around, searching for something to help her, some way to get out of her restraints. It’s mostly dark but there are a few scattered patches of light from the candles to see she has been stripped down to just her panties.
Belle closes her eyes tightly, trying to drive away the tears that threaten to escape. Judas’ face fills her mind as she tries to fight back the nausea.
He had undressed her... His fingers, his hands, they would have brushed against her breasts, her legs, her whole body…
He’s going to rape me.
And Judas won't be coming to save her this time. He doesn’t even know she’s in Wentworth Creek, let alone back in her attic with a psychotic rapist.
This has to be a bad dream. Panic grips inside her and she begins to thrash about, moaning through the gag. The chair starts rocking, harder and harder—then it falls, sideways, taking her with it and smacking her head on the floor.
The light in her world goes out again.
When she wakes up she wastes no time in forcing her weight back hard against the chair, straining into a kneeling position, putting as much pressure on her restraints as possible. The pain in her wrists is so extreme that she begins to see spots in front of her eyes. She continues to pull and twist, feeling her wrists begin to slip through the ropes.
She can do this. She’s a survivor. She will escape, run to her neighbors and get to safety. Soon. She just needs to keep going, ignore the wrenching pain that controls her every move.
But then her body stops. Freezes.
She isn’t alone.
A deep rumbling chuckle erupts from the surrounding darkness. Somehow, it seems to vibrate through her body twice-as-hard than the thunder from outside does.
A shadow flicks in the corner of her eye and forces her body to jerk. The sound of the door creaks open. She hears footsteps coming closer until something looms over her. Her head is throbbing and she thinks she’s going to hurl when he pulls her chair upright, bringing her back to an upright position. He strips off the gag.
