by August Red
“I mean, look how far he went. Killed that girl… What's her name again?” Vladimir pretends to wait and remember. “Isabelle, right? Yeah, Isabelle, the girl with big fucking green eyes. He killed her just because I asked him to. Now that's—that's fucking loyalty right there. Who does that?" Luis shakes his head, stifling the spasm of nausea that barges into his stomach. “Must've been hard for him. I know he doesn't like talking about his feelings—but you were there. You saw it. Did he hesitate? 'Cos Judas isn’t big on hesitating. I mean, c'mon now, she was just a fucking girl. It had to bother him a little, no? You guys got it done smoothly, right? One, two, three? No problems?"
Gulping, Luis musters enough courage to look him straight in the eyes. “Yeah, Boss... just like I told you."
“So there were no problems? Nothing I need to know about?"
“No, sir."
“Good, good... That's what I like to hear.” Vladimir smirks, but it doesn’t reach the deadness that enters his eyes. “I got some venison left over in the fridge.” Vladimir stands and circles around Luis's chair, slowly. "You want me to heat you up some?"
“Uh, no thanks, Boss.” Luis shakes his head at him. He can’t see where he’s gone to and he doesn’t like the fact that Vladimir is roaming around like a hyena about to pounce. “I'm good. Got a few slices about an hour ago."
“Where?” he asks, from somewhere behind Luis. "Hope you didn't go to Marcello’s. Told you they make shit pieces. Tastes like a paper plate with ketchup."
“No.” Luis laughs, sure Vladimir will think he’s stroking his ego, when he’s really laughing because he’s so goddamn nervous. “No, tried this new place. Called Albertos… It, uh, just opened up on Main Side. The guys who own it are actually Italian. Can you believe it?"
“Today? No.” Vladimir chuckles a little too loud to be genuine. He feels the burn on his back from Vladimir’s stare webbing a trap. “Fucking everyone owns a goddamn pizza place. I gotta try it sometime." Luis finally locates Vladimir. He’s looking out the window.
“Yeah it's good."
“Good."
“Y-Yeah." Luis's voice breaks.
Quietness follows, trailing between them. Vladimir is using the deliberate silence to tear at Luis. And it's working.
“So, talked to Judas."
“Oh yeah?” Luis answers casually. His shoulders stiffen and his gaze drops to the floor.
“Yeah… he said he'll be back soon enough. He's having a good time riding though.” Vladimir pauses, purposefully. “But then again—that's Aston for you."
Aston... Why the fuck would Judas mention Aston to Vladimir?!
Luis hesitates, looks back. His boss is no longer at the window. “He said—"
“What?” Vladimir is on the other side of him, lingering near the kitchen entrance.
“Judas is in Aston?" Luis asks.
“Yeah.” His boss leans against the wall in a staged-like pose. “He said it's cold as hell up there. I tell you, I can definitely wait for next Summer."
“Yeah, Aston...” Luis gulps, desperately trying to reach for understanding that’s not there. "It's… cold."
Relaxed, Vladimir asks in a softer voice, "You've talked to Judas then?"
“Uh, not since he came here."
“You ever been to his big motherfuckin’ house there?” Vladimir questions lightly. “It’s fucking beautiful but he don’t let many people in there."
Luis fights for semblance, for control of a situation he never had power over. “Yeah well, Judas… he likes the space, I think mostly. It's so peaceful out there."
“Yeah? I'd go bat-shit crazy with all that fucking silence.” Vladimir moves closer, slow swaggering steps that embody the man who orchestrates them. “Prefer the noise of the city, myself.”
“Yeah, me too.” Luis agrees, his gut cramping.
Taking a seat next to Luis, Vladimir leans back in his chair. “You think Judas will be back in time for that fundraiser? He did say he was coming and I could use the extra security now that the great Abruzzi is part of my crew."
So close... Luis feels like he can’t breathe.
"Yeah, with the way Judas rides… give it four maybe five hours… He's a speed demon...” he trails off, seeing a weird look cross Vladimir’s face, and then eyes him with a challenge Luis isn’t sure how to interpret.
Vladimir waves his hand in the direction of the door, then. “Fuck off and don't bother me unless Judas calls."
Luis is already marching toward the door when he answers, “Okay."
"Oh and Luis?"
“Yeah?” Luis twists around, his hand never leaving the door knob, his one foot still remaining halfway out the door.
“Judas okay?"
“Like you said, Boss, you know Judas. Never really tell with him."
“He did the right thing. I know it's hard for him but in this business—it's the right thing."
Luis’ eyes remain glued to the marble floor. “Yep, you're right. Judas knows that."
“Good.” Vladimir shakes his head, pleased. “Thanks, Luis. You've been a great help."
Luis makes his way outside the penthouse feeling like he’s messed-up, but not sure how. He’s still playing catch-up with the small landmines Vladimir had dropped on him.
He’s fucked-up big time.
He just isn’t sure how.
THE DOOR CLICKS SHUT and Vladimir is on the phone before the door has fully closed.
Those fucking assholes are lying! Judas always kills the hardest target first. What happened to him fucked him all kinds of shit... Always the first!
There are two rings before the man on the other end picks up. “Change of plans, Roman. Take the chopper," Vladimir says, still seething with anger. “You're going to Aston instead.”
Chapter Three
THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT is eerie.
The room, the silence, the feel of her sneakers against the tiles of the foreign hallway, it surprises Belle that she hasn’t had a heart attack by now. There is little she can say or do that can comfort her. In fact, the very conditions she lives in propels her terror into overtime.
The rest of the mansion is dark, the Moon casting slight shadows on the living-room rug. She finds herself walking to the back of the room staring out through the large overwhelming windows, taking in the beauty of the woodsy ambiance at nightfall. The view is spectacular and seems to calm her split nerves, soothing the ascending panic that tends to come and go on its own accord.
Judas isn’t here. This is my only chance.
Her attic window was like a mouse-hole compared to this dreamy woodland fairytale. There is a small drift of fog peeking between the trees; the sprinkle of stars in the Sky splayed before her like glittering diamonds. All that is left to finish off the perfect picture is some enchanted fairy godmother riding on her white magical carriage with the sheer purpose to come and save her. To take her to her family who she misses so much. To take her away from this hell and the tricks her feelings are trying to play on her.
“Need anything, doll?"
She’s surprised she doesn’t jump from the sudden disturbance. “No… No, thank you, Tate.”
For the last six days, Tate has been an absolute gentlemen. When she first laid her eyes on him, she thought him a brainless violent ogre, albeit a fairly handsome one. And when Judas left her all alone with this heavily-built man with tattoos as a second skin, she’d been petrified. But he’s been nothing but a sweetheart. He’s even a pretty fantastic cook with a great sense of humor, trying to make her laugh¸ easing her anxieties. Belle has only known him for a short while, but she’s already warmed up to him.
“Well,” Tate shrugs, "I'll be in my room if you do."
“Oh... Judas still not coming back?"
“Uh, not sure, doll.”
Belle shouldn’t care if Judas never returns, but she does. “Oh..."
“Don't worry.” Tate catches her eye, smiling gently at her as if he’s waiting for her to fall to pieces in front of
him. “He'll be back soon. Don’t you worry now.”
She shakes him off, her attention back on the dark world outside. “It doesn't matter."
“Okay… well…"
"I'm going for a run.”
He steps a bit toward her, stumbling on the rug between them. “Not a good idea, Miss Dela Cruz."
Her brow lifts up, but the rest of her remains in place. “Miss?"
Tate's throat clears, resonating like a cranky bear being pulled out of hibernation. “Judas told me to be respectful.” He hesitates for a few seconds before saying with a grin, “Ma'am?"
She smiles despite herself. “Please, Tate, I’ve already told you to call me Belle like a million times."
“Either way, still not a good idea.” The hard edge of his tone is unavoidably clear.
“I’ll be fine—and less cranky if I go for a run. That way we both win. Honestly, I won’t be long. I just like to… run at night."
As she walks past the fireplace, she notices something on the table. “What's this?" she asks, picking up a paintbrush from a pile of brushes, oil paints and art books.
Tate comes to stand by her. “Found them in a box by the door.” He sounds as clueless as she is. When she looks up to him for an answer, he offers her a shrug. "He forgot to give it to you before he left, I guess.”
Her mouth opens for several seconds before she actually says anything. "Judas bought these for me?”
“Dunno," Tate shrugs. "You like to paint or somethin’?"
“Yeah…” She shakes her head, brushing her hand across her cheek. "Yeah... sometimes."
Belle settles the paintbrush back to where it had been, laying it on top of the rest, and backs away from the stack like they're about to eat her alive. She hurries even faster toward the back doors.
She definitely needs to run.
Belle is out of the mansion before Tate can stop her.
TATE IS REALLY BAD at hiding.
Belle guesses he's been following her for at least a good hour or two. She doesn’t turn though.
The run tonight has hit the spot. All Belle can do to not make herself go crazy, is run. There is no place to escape like at home in her attic. Her room here in Judas’ mansion has become too sterile, too abnormal. There’s no comfort in a place that reminds her, minute-after-minute, of her very real predicament.
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 Four
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 ri
ps 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.