Leave Him in Pieces

by August Red

  The strike is so powerful, Belle watches the world around her fall to darkness.

  Almost in slow motion, a pair of gigantic black boots, pound across the ground, shaking the very earth beneath her.

  And she’s right in the center of their path.

  Chapter Five

  “BELLE!” JUDAS SHOUTS from the top of his lungs.

  His head whips around the immediate vicinity as his legs carry him with the speed of a race-track horse on steroids. Not bothering to think, he just keeps moving, dodging around trees and bushes like a flash of lightning. He knows the area like the back of his hand. There’s no time to waste. Belle would have answered by now. Something’s wrong. The woods aren't that dense that she can’t hear his calls.

  Where are you?!

  Adrenaline shoots through him like a drug, sending him forward like an out-of-control missile. He’s sprinting so fast, his heart is beating somewhere between his throat and his stomach. His legs burn from the pressure of his rapid pace, but those are minor nothings compared to finding Belle.

  Did Vladimir see right through him? Did Luis fuck up? Did someone betray them? Does Vladimir have Belle?

  “Fuck... Tate!” He doesn’t waste time turning around or slowing down. The later it gets, the colder she will be, and the greater chance of her falling ill or… something worse. "Go back around the other way,” he barks at Tate, “toward the house. Now!"

  Tate's “Okay,” is a tiny vibration of sound next to the wind in Judas’ ears and the fear in his head.

  “Belle!” he roars.

  Fuck! Where the hell are you?

  “Answer me!"

  He sees something a few feet ahead. A shadow—movement… something had definitely shifted against the solid blackness of the trees. He sees it. He slows down a bit, close to where he saw the supposed sighting.

  “Belle?” he heaves into the air. No-one returns his answer.

  His head spins around but everything looks the same, blurring together like a mesh of nature. Judas can’t decipher tree from tree. Every area looks the same as the other, no matter which way his head turns. He feels like he’s in some sort of twisted funhouse, in search of a way out that doesn’t exist.

  Scurrying forward, Judas licks his cracked lips, beating down the panic that awakes and stretches inside him like a demon rising from Hell.

  She's okay… There’s nothing out here that can hurt her. She probably just…

  Branches crackle underneath him. His large puffs of breath the only noise in the woods. His fingers claw at his hair, digging through the top of his head. He steps closer to the edge of the small hill that drifts from the trail. His dark glare soaks in the details of the setting laid out in front of him, certain he’s missed something. The meadow is clear, clean. There’s no sign of life or a disturbance of any kind.

  “Belle!” he roars. His feet are moving forward but his head is darting in ten different directions, back and forth. He glances at the ground below the hill, his eyes skim the bushes below, meeting only pitch darkness and then…

  Pale, white flesh.

  He sprints down the steep hill, tripping a few times, but it only helps to hasten his pace. He passes one of her sneakers on the side but doesn’t pick it up. His single-minded attention only on her.

  He stops at the bottom, his body jolting into a fixed position as his brain wraps around the frightening sight in front of him.

  Belle. Unconscious.

  Her body L-shaped.

  There’s a jagged cut that starts at the corner of her bottom lip and squiggles out. He takes in the lump on the side of her head, the purple bruise on her cheek, but even those healable marks aren't what paralyzes him in place.

  Blood.

  From her head.

  The red substance trickles down the side of her face like a tiny river that never subsides its flow. The blood isn’t dry... That means it’s still very much oozing from some place on her head he can’t see.

  Jesus Christ, has she been shot?

  But he hadn't heard any gunfire. This is bad. Real bad. He crouches down over her body, scooping his arm under her fragile neck.

  “Tate!” he shouts, lifting her in his arms. She’s light as a feather in his heavy-set arms. He holds her against his chest as he takes his first cramped breath, inhaling her honey-scented hair. “It's okay,” he whispers, smelling her scent and kissing the top of her head. His heart pinches to life inside him. “You're gonna be okay, Belle. I promise."

  It’s the first promise that Judas isn’t sure he can deliver.

  LIKE A BODYGUARD at his post, Judas refuses to move from his spot.

  He stands near Belle but doesn’t crowd her, watching her and nothing else. Besides for the small rise and fall of his chest, he hasn’t budged from place.

  Judas had undressed her, replacing the cold wet clothes with her warm sweater-vest and a clean pair of sweatpants he found in her room, and surrounded her body with as many cushions as possible, using one to lay her head on. By the time Tate returned with the warmest comforter he could find, Judas had already started a fire. Besides for the small incoherencies meant for Belle's ears only, Judas hasn’t spoken.

  This is all my fault...

  Belle had nearly been killed. And it seems everything he knows and believes in has been shaken. The thought of her being taken away, of her life being extinguished, with no hope of return, is... He can’t let that happen.

  Fuck, things are complicated.

  She hates him. For good reason. After what he’s done and said, he doesn’t deserve her. Or any part of her. He’s powerless in the situation and that’s not something he’s used to handling. With the blood drizzling down from her semi-deep head wound, Tate tries to reassure him that head wounds bleed a lot, but it doesn’t cease Judas’ worry.

  Her face is pale, her eyes are hollow, rimmed red, shadowed blue, her lips are bloodless and chapped, and her body is doing that trembling thing again.

  Judas washes the dirt and blood from her face, cupping her so gently, like she’s a breakable antique he doesn’t want to spoil. He works slowly and silently, only asking Tate once if he thinks a doctor is necessary because she hasn’t woken yet. Belle stirs in that precise moment, opening her eyes halfway and murmuring something unintelligible as her unfocused gaze shines on Judas.

  He smiles down at her, brushing his thumb over her smooth bruised cheek, and whispers a shsshing noise against her forehead. The sound must have held some magic to it because by the time his soft command reaches her, Belle's eyes close and her breathing levels. Judas’ features go back to stone again.

  “Judas,” Tate calls softly to his stiff back.

  Turning his head a fraction-of-an-inch, Judas replies, “She's sleeping. Lower your voice."

  “Can I…”

  Begrudgingly, Judas uproots himself from the place he’s been standing in for the past half-hour straight. Nudging his chin in the direction of the hallway, Tate backs up as Judas glances once more to Belle in front of the fire. She’s so beautiful when she sleeps, it almost takes his breath away.

  His… Sleeping Beauty.

  Her bruises look worse next to the flames—darker, more pronounced like the fire is drawing out the worst of her fall. The cut on her forehead is too deep into her thick hair to see, but the one on her lip has crusted over already. The small scratch looks like a tiny bolt of lightning.

  “What?” Judas' arms cross over his chest. He's ready to end the conversation that hasn’t even begun yet.

  Tate levels his gaze on him. “Sorry, man. I'm… I was wrong. I should've never let her go out."

  “You're right.” Judas doesn’t spare him an inch of relief. “You shouldn't have."

  Judas’ stare is colder than any blast of wind. All Tate can do is shrug. “I get it if you want another guy up here... For the next round I mean."

  “There won’t be a next time."

  “Judas, I—”

  “It's over, Tate.” Judas’ brow covers the ex
pression of his eyes like an awning. “I'm taking Belle to her family earlier than planned. Soon.”

  “Oh... so it will be over soon?"

  Judas sighs, the small breath holding the weight of his thoughts. “Yeah... soon."

  “Guess that's good then... Things can go back to normal, finally. Right?"

  Patting Tate's shoulder, Judas gives his friend a stiff smile. “Ride safe."

  Tate doesn’t move, even when Judas walks around him to open the front door.

  “Be careful,” Tate says.

  Judas peers out at the night Sky, scraping his chin as he overlooks Tate's words of advice. “I can take care of this."

  Tate turns and meets Judas’ face, not blinking. “I mean with her, Judas. Be careful with her."

  “What’d you think I've been doin’?” Judas mutters. “I'm protecting her. I'm making sure she stays alive until I can get her and her family out of this country safely. Told you it will be soon. Everything else is out of my control until then."

  “You know what I mean, man. There's something going on with you two. Something more than just this damn situation." Sending Tate a glare, Judas breaks eye contact. “Not trying to pry, Judas. Know it's none of my business but—”

  “Goddamn right it's not."

  “—but I see it. From both of you. That girl carries something for you, man. Just the mention of your name makes her all jittery-and-shit—”

  “It's called hate, Tate. She hates me. With good fucking reason."

  “No you're wrong. That's why you're running scared shitless."

  “Don’t push me, Tate.”

  “Not trying to bust your balls, man. Known you since you were seven—I know you. You don’t think you deserve good things so you're not seeing what's going on right in fucking front of you.” Tate shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Judas, you need to let your guard down, man. Let her fucking in. God knows you deserve to be happy after what happened to you. It's been a long time coming, man."

  “When’d you become such an expert on life?"

  “When I saw and listened. Not that hard... But then again, I'm not the one falling for her."

  “Fuck you,” Judas tosses out, his curse light and casual as it falls from his mouth. “Falling for her...?” He repeats the words as if they taste bitter, as if the preposterous idea has never entered his mind.

  “You're such a stupid bastard—you know that?” Tate goes on, unhindered. He comes to stand in front of Judas who is leaning against the wall, his head down. “You think I don't know why you did what you did for her? Why you saved her family? It's a lot more than just gratitude. Gratitude is one thing. You're risking your fucking life for this girl—your job, Vladimir, everything. Because what?”

  “She saved my life. I owe her."

  “Bullshit.” Tate shakes his head. “That's bullshit and you know it. You wouldn't have done any of this, gone this far for her if you didn't feel something. And the other day, man, I interrupted something in your bedroom. You don’t get that angry over something that ain’t important. I mean, for fuck’s sakes, she smashed your goddamn mirror. There definitely—”

  “Tate."

  “What would've happened if I didn't come in, huh? You want her, you like her—it’s so fucking obvious, you just don't wanna like her. Isn't that right?” Judas shakes his head. “She’s special, Judas, I get it. The world ain’t made up much with girls like her. Don’t fuck this up... You ain’t your dad."

  Standing tall, Judas reaches his full height, his stare heavily armored. “You don’t wanna go there," Judas says through gritted teeth. But seconds later, he sighs, his shoulders lowering a little. "Just go. Know how scared you get when you ride at night."

  “Is that so, Judas?” Tate says with a grin, backing off before sighing. “Like I said, Judas, I'm not trying to piss you off. I just… I care about you, man, you’re like a brother to me—and Belle. She's sweet. Too fucking sweet for all this shit. You gotta be careful with her.” Tate glances at Belle’s sleeping form, then swings his eyes back to Judas who’s watching over her.

  “I'd never hurt her on purpose,” Judas admits, his voice, for the first time, defenseless. “I don't want her hurt... I'm trying... She means…"

  “I know, man. I know.” Tate pulls out his keys from his jacket, and gives Judas a smile before leaving. “I'll be in touch."

  “Yeah.”

  Judas doesn’t turn his sight from Belle.

  He isn't anything like his father.

  He isn't.

  WHEN SHE AWAKES, it’s to the sound of crackling fire and warm silence.

  For a second, Belle thinks she is dreaming. The smell of sweet coffee, the peaceful lull of quiet, invades her senses like a drug filling the crevasses of her insides that the cold has hollowed out.

  Her lashes blink up at the ceiling; fluttering and offbeat with her foggy mind. She searches to remember where she is and what’s happened to bring her here. Trying to move, she suddenly feels a shockwave of pain bolt up from her jaw to the center of her head. She stifles the painful cry in her throat; if it hurt just to speak now, then this short-lived twinge is just the warning pain of a migraine if she dares to move an inch out of place.

  Her eyes drift down to her body. A sea of pillows and blankets lay around her, and then she notices her clothes have been changed. Her attention is averted when the roaring fire beside her stokes higher; a gentle heat to her damp and bruised body. Belle feels like a rag doll that’s been gnarled on by a bunch of seething dogs. She attempts to move again, the vibration of pain just a slight introduction to God knows what.

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you."

  Belle stiffens. Her eyes travel right; her body lays still on its back. Judas is on the couch. And he looks like he’s been there for some time, watching her.

  Watching over her.

  “I'm… I’m fine.” She clears her throat. It burns. “I… could use some Motrin or something."

  Judas is in and out of the living-room before the last word utters from her mouth. As he makes his way back to her, she gets a full head-to-toe view of him.

  He looks… good. Better than good. His complexion has held on to its golden-brown color, while his eyes are diamond bright and piercing. Whatever weight he lost from the gunshot wound has been filled in his face and upper body, giving him an all-around healthy male glow. He’s all in black: shirt, pants, shoes, even his watch is black. Something about the monotony of the one-color attire dramatizes the edge of Judas’ already lethal appeal.

  “What happened?” he asks, concerned.

  His cold persona seems to be missing and is instead replaced with warmth. Care. It unnerves her as she tries to remember. “There… I thought I heard something in the woods…”

  His eyes darken. “Was someone there?”

  Her head aches as she tries to think back. “I… I remember hearing something… seeing boots, then… nothing.”

  “Boots? Like those?” he asks, looking over to a pair of muddy black boots by the fire. She follows his line of vision and closes her eyes, feeling like a complete idiot. Everything from before is a blur and all she remembers is being paranoid because she heard something shuffle. In the woods. At night. Of course there’d be noises in the woods at night, and the boots traipsing after her were probably Judas’. Coming to save her. Again. Her skin peeks in temperature. She can’t even run ten feet without being paranoid that the world is out to get her; running for no reason.

  Hiding.

  “Here," he says, sitting next to her. He is so close, she involuntarily inhales his essence. His large body casts a shadow over her, and gives him an ominous presence she isn’t quite comfortable with in her weakened position. She wets her lips, realizing he had been the one to undress her into her comfy sweater-vest. Suddenly she wonders how long she’s been out, and for how much time he’s been sitting there, looking over her while she’s been sleeping, completely unaware of his trained eyes on her.

  The two sm
all pills lay flat and tiny in the palm of his hand, and the glass of water stretches out in his other palm. Ignoring the thundering pain that shoots out in her head, Belle swallows, sits up off-balance, and skitters a bit away from his huge form. She doesn’t know why, but he seems so much bigger than she remembers. Like there is so much of him, her brain can't take it all in at once; his mere presence starkly overwhelming.

  She ingests the pills, handing him back the glass, and making sure her skin doesn’t touch his. Judas may act like nothing happened, but she hasn’t forgotten. When he doesn’t oblige the space she is seeking, she forces a smile. Even that hurts. “I'm fine,” she lies. “Really."

  “You don't look good."

  “Thanks a lot.” She presses her finger into the sore spot on her cheek. He continues staring, his eyes eclipsing black when he sees her flinch at her own touch.

  God, how can you sit there and look so cut-up, when you’re the one to cause me so much pain…

  “I'm being serious," he says.

  Her head falls forward as her fingers travel up, finding and rubbing the sore spot just above the crown of her forehead. Her reply is muffled and dry, “Well, if you fell down a hill and were knocked unconscious, maybe you wouldn't look so good either."

  “Don’t know about that but you're in pain, Belle.”

  “I'm fine." She glares at him through the small opening of her fallen hair. Why is he suddenly acting like he gives a damn? After the way he behaved. After what he said...

  "This doesn't exactly fit you, you know. Pretending to care. I don't need it. So Stop pretending," she mutters.

  “Let me help you—"

  “Help? Is that part of some training course you take before you do your first kidnapping job,” she scoffs. “I don’t want your help. I can take care of myself.” Her chin rises, along with the temperature in her face. “I don't need a babysitter.”

  He pins her with a hard glare. "Belle." His eyes root to some place on her face. “Are you hungry?" he asks, changing the subject.

  “I can get it myself.” She shifts under his caging watch, licking her lips and wincing at the small sting. “I'm too tired to do anything else but sleep right now. So just go... No, wait. I’ll go." When he remains bent over her, his stare still pervasive, her frustration gets the better of her pain. “What?"