Leave Him in Pieces

by August Red

  “I can't,” she groans. ” Please…"

  He toys with the sensitive piece as it slips expertly in and out between his two fingers. Gentle strokes that eat away at her, has her mewling in pained pleasure. The slick movement vibrates between her legs, swelling up to her belly, her breasts, rising until she thinks she’ll choke. Then he speeds up, his hand shaking at a feral rate, the heel of his palm leaning into her.

  “Oh… God… Judas…” The orgasm spins over her, twirls, forces her body to fold inside out. She can’t think, understand, all she can comprehend is Judas and what he’s doing to her. Her eyes roll back from inside her lids as she licks her parched lips. “Ah...” she sighs, leaning back, thinking she’s falling onto Judas’ shoulder, when she realizes she’s on the pillow and he is over her.

  Wiping the lusty film from her eyes, taking in his face that looks like it will split into pieces, Belle feels a tickle of thrill, of impending excitement growing over her. Judas looks possessed—obsessed—with the raging need for her.

  “Belle,” he grinds out, when she widens her legs, welcoming him. “No—”

  “Judas.” Her throat closes off when she sees the small tinge of shame color his ravenous stare. Cupping the side of his face, she brings him closer as she rises up halfway to meet him. “I want you… I'll always want this… Always you.”

  And she kisses him, pulling his lips apart with her, forcing his body and his mouth to come and sink so deep into her—there’s no way he can go back. There is no strength inside her that can tear her body away from his.

  She is a part of him, and he is a part of her that can never be washed away.

  His tongue digs into her mouth like a man searching, half insane by her. She can’t breathe, he’s suffocating her with his infinite amount of energy that strings her along like a helpless victim. This time he doesn’t wait for her to know, entering her, desperately milling into her body like he’ll lose her if he stops, like she will vanish. His strokes heighten but she meets him, inch for inch. Each thrust bringing them deeper, striking against them like a chord. The sensations taunt her as he goes faster, until she feels her mind sever from the rest of her; a fevering jolt rides over her as he spills his sweet nectar into her. She can barely hear herself scream over his own roaring orgasm, his cock twitching for more.

  More. So much more of him.

  The hot eruption inside her subsides, but she continues to scream out his name as she spasms. She is so loud. He looks down. “You’re so fucking hot when you scream, babe.”

  Slowly, Judas withdraws, falls down on his back and breathes in deeply. Belle closes her eyes, trying to wipe away the residue of emotion that won’t stop rising inside her. She presses against him; her head resting in the middle of his chest, the rest of her body tangled in him, her leg over his, her torso almost over his. He squeezes his eyes shut when she rubs against his side, her wet juices sinking into him.

  “Judas."

  “Yeah?” He bends a little to kiss the top of her head. “You okay?"

  “Yeah… A little… sore." Instead of replying, he kisses her forehead, wiping away the small waves of hair that lay there.

  “Did I hurt you?"

  Belle doesn’t answer him, instead she leans forward, swinging one leg over his body and straddles him. She is completely helpless as she takes in the sight of his magnificent naked body, all flushed, pumped and worn, underneath hers. They kiss and stroke one another until she wants more of him. She climbs and drapes herself gently over him and arches over to kiss him. Her breathing is lazy and staggering as she sweeps her full lips against his.

  “Belle…" he moans, tortured with pleasure. She finds him hard and pulsating, his cock bobbing off his stomach. Her small fingers close around him, not even meeting halfway around his width. She begins to stroke him with tiny, short pumps, sending him crashing down a bottomless well, with no ending. She presses her head into his chest. His pelvis starts to move along with her and he stifles a groan into his mouth, as though it won’t end well if she doesn’t relieve his torture. “Belle,” he groans again, out of breath.

  She wants him to take over, make her forget; make this night—the moment and feeling—the only thing that matters.

  Judas grips her hips, guides them to where her fingers still encase him, and let her sink into him, get the feel of him. It isn’t long before they both begin to rotate. He watches her as the plane of her stomach rolls along with her body's movements, the sweat beads off her flesh as she rides him. His fingers dig into the cushiony flesh of her crescent hips as the friction of their bodies undulate up against each other.

  Her back arches as her pelvis works him, propelling him in so deep, he is buried to the hilt, completely surrounded and lovingly wrapped up in her.

  The only thing she feels and understands is… Judas.

  He is already seared in her body's memory. Every part of him is permanently sewn into the fabric of her thoughts now, melding into the fire of her mind and so she feasts on the reveling sensations he and his body cause her to experience.

  Because soon… they will be gone.

  But not now. Right now is all either of them have, and that is all she’s going to live for. Breathe for. The rest can wait till sunrise.

  They become so wrapped up in one another, their bodies their only attention, their mouths and limbs the reason for their next breath, their next thought, even before they are fully awake.

  To Belle, it feels like the night has never left them. From the moment they kissed, time had frozen, time and space outside these four walls had stopped. In her mind, it’s still last night. And they still have a whole day to make themselves forget.

  Nothing else matters.

  He’s the only one who has ever done that to her. Made her forget.

  “Judas.” She nuzzles her nose into his chest.

  “Yeah?"

  She smiles despite her sadness. He sounds like he’s trying not to be roused by her and he’s failing, willingly, wonderfully. But that doesn’t stop her. She needs to say this. “I just want to…” She lays back on his chest. For some reason, she can’t look at him when she tells him, “Thank you."

  She hears him halt under him, even his breathing seems to die in place. “For what?"

  “All my life… I didn’t know… but I was waiting for someone to understand me—get me. I thought my hiding place at home was enough, would be enough for me because I never thought there was really someone out there who could make me forget about my problems and just… want me for me." She licks her lips, tastes the flavor of his kisses that are now an immoveable part of her being. “You just… see me. And that seems to be enough for you.”

  “Because it is."

  “I've never felt this way before. Never. I don't need to hide anymore."

  He tugs gently on the loose ends of her hair that are spread over his chest. “Never hide from me, Little Bit." Her heart kicks. He hasn’t called her ‘Little Bit’ since her first day here. Somehow… it fits right.

  “Never with you, Judas.”

  “TALK.”

  It’s the serene calmness of Vladimir’s demand that scares Luis, terrifies him down to the very marrow of his bones. Vladimir’s glare sends out a clear warning: This meeting will not end well.

  He has to think. Think fast. Vladimir, all-in-all, is a business man. He loves to bargain, loves to play with people's heads as long as he has the upper hand. He likes the idea of mixing personal involvements and business setups. Vladimir plays dirty, and if Luis wants to survive and leave this room alive, he’s going to have to do the same.

  “Don’t make me wait."

  Vladimir hovers over him like a blood-thirsty Doberman. Finally deciding to sit, Vladimir takes a seat next to him, releasing some of the blocking pressure in Luis's skull. Vladimir’s black eyes are trained on him, never wavering, pinning Luis to his seat—the power of his stare emanates like steel darts, and Luis is the damn dartboard.

  The cold metal of the gun refl
ects off the corner of Luis’s eye, magnifying the deathly presence. The gun is the only thing Luis can see now, the only thing he can feel and taste when he tries to speak. It’s pointed indirectly his way… kinda sideways.

  If Vladimir decides at that moment to put him out of his misery, cut short this sadistic game, the bullet will hit him somewhere in the range between his heart and liver.

  A place only death can come and cure.

  Burning nausea travels through him, drenching his insides with fear, landing and festering in one and all places, leaving in its wake, violent shakes and sweats. The silence is not helping matters. It serves only to further wet the murderous appetite of the man sitting next to him as Vladimir brews in his reserved state, waiting to attack.

  The time for second thoughts is over. Luis needs to act.

  “Sir… please… we… I thought that...” He twists less than an inch in Vladimir’s direction. "I was just tryin’ to the do the right thing here. Please, Mr. Kulich, I beg you—”

  “Beg me?” Vladimir’s voice shoots up, his dark brows curve. “You go behind my back and you have the fucking nerve to insult me in thinking you can beg for my mercy? That I would even fucking grant you it—you lying piece-of-shit." He still sounds so calm. Like today is any other day and Vladimir is talking about an order he wants Luis to carry out.

  Luis commands his voice not to shake as he continues his plea, “Sir… you're right, sir. What I did was wrong. I-I was trying to do the right thing. Judas didn’t want the girl to die so I thought—”

  “Tell me everything," Vladimir says, calmly.

  Luis doesn’t hesitate this time. “Promise me you'll spare me."

  “Wow.” Vladimir chuckles, full on, disbursing the morbid awareness that shakes between them.

  Getting up, Vladimir doesn’t filter his snicker and the amused sigh that follows as he makes his way over to the wet bar. Pouring himself a shot of brandy, he tips the crystal bottle Luis's way. Luis shakes his head and Vladimir wastes no time in offering it again, gulping the burning liquid down in one shot.

  “I underestimated you, Luis. You know the guys always said you're just street trash who shouldn't have been given a chance to be by my side. But I didn’t listen. Saw beyond your limited mental capacity."

  “I won't say another word, ” Luis says, stiff with fear. "Not unless you guarantee me I walk away alive."

  Appearing still in a state of amusement, like Luis's theatrics of terror are meant for the entertainment value of Vladimir’s benefit, the older man shakes his head. “I don't owe you shit, Luis."

  “I’ve been loyal to you for five years. Five fucking years!” Luis shoots up, but never moves an inch out of his spot. “I didn’t do this to go behind your back—I'm not Spencer fucking Cruz. Judas explained the problem, he trusted me and I agreed. Thought he was right. He asked for my help, I couldn’t say no—I owe him."

  “What about me?” Vladimir shifts, taking the hand away that’s leaning on the bar and resting it on his hip. “You could’ve come to me, asked me. I'm not a monster, Luis. No matter what those motherfuckers say, your fear of me is compromising the truth here. I am a reasonable man. Judas could’ve said something—he didn’t. He told me he was okay with this. The problem needed to be eliminated. I asked him if he’d issues with it and he fucking said no. What does that tell me? I'm not a fucking mind-reader." When Luis remains standing, stripped of words, his face a white sheet color, Vladimir asks in a low drawl, “You think you did what you thought was right? Is that what you're telling me?" He almost sounds wounded.

  The attempts Luis makes to recalculate his phrasing dies on spot in his need to act. Vladimir is mad enough; the truth can’t hurt anymore. “Yes, sir. Mr. Kulich. But I never meant to betray you. It isn’t like that."

  Vladimir’s stare blips into his like a radar that’s found its target. “I believe you."

  “You do?"

  “Like I said, I'm not the monster you think I am. Just like you're not the idiot I've been treating you like."

  Luis watches every step his boss takes, his eyes stalking Vladimir as he treads back and forth. Deserting himself of every thing that sums up the kind of pride a man basks in, Luis whispers, "Please."

  “Why should I? Whether you think you’re right or not makes no difference to me. You still went behind my back, deceived me—that alone deserves death.” Vladimir crosses over to where Roman's body lies bleeding, giving Luis a glimpse of the fate he will suffer at his boss’s hands when the timing seems fit.

  Mouth snapping open then shut, Luis goes on. “I did it for the right reasons, I—”

  “The right reasons…? This isn't some moral debate—we're not fucking politicians where you get impeached if you fuck-up, leave office, step down. You knew the rules going in, Luis. No-one forced you to join my organization. The money, the girls, the high-life I’ve given you—it all comes with a fucking price!” Vladimir’s head slants to the side, his eyes aligning in such a way that his face is a ghostly shadow, unreachably eerie. “My rules have been enforced time and time again. You’ve killed for me, killed men for less. Fuck, the things you did in your past didn’t exactly follow any fucking moral compass. So why should now be any damn different?"

  Ignoring his instinct to jump bail and run, Luis forces himself to finish. “I'll walk away. You can send me wherever you want. Ship me out of the damn country—just please, please don’t kill me. I don’t wanna die. Please."

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Vladimir’s head dips closer, his eyes vacant as he eyes Luis then leans back. The corners of his mouth pinch down. “Tell me what you know and I'll let you live."

  “But Judas—”

  “Everything.” Vladimir’s sharp demand is irrefutable.

  “You'll let me live?" Luis trembles.

  Vladimir nods. “I'll let you live."

  “Fuck… Judas came to me, told me he wanted to make it look like we’d carried out your orders just like you wanted. Make it look like a robbery and then we'd send them away."

  Vladimir covers his mouth, soaking in the information. “Why?"

  “The girl… he felt bad for her I guess.” Luis shrugs.

  “Felt bad for her?” Vladimir’s angry whisper ripples through Luis's spine. “He went against me—I fucking saved him from that sick-fuck of a father!—all because of pity?”

  “Judas—”

  “Judas doesn't do pity, Luis! Judas has killed more people than...” he trails off, shaking his head. “What aren't you telling me?"

  “Sir, he didn’t get into specifics. Honestly, he said he didn’t want her family hurt, that he thought it was wrong to kill a baby and that’s all there is to it. If there’s more goin’ on between him and the girl, he never let on. Judas would never tell me shit like that or anyone else."

  Vladimir sits, lets out a heavy breath. “What else?"

  “We were gonna take them some place, hold them there for awhile and then send them away. You know, for good. But the fucking cops showed up so Judas took the girl as leverage for a while just in case the cops trailed us… and… that's where they've been ever since."

  Nodding as if Vladimir agrees, as if he’s being let in on a plan he hasn’t been purposefully excluded from, he asks, “And what does the next part of your plan entail?"

  “Getting them outta the country. That's it."

  “And Judas really thinks he can get away with this? That I’ll never know?"

  Luis sighs, exhausted, weary from the fear that’s paying a major toll on his body. “He thought it was best you didn’t... He wanted to do right by the girl… I guess because she helped him, saving his life and all… so—”

  “So he lied.” Vladimir stares at some space in front of himself.

  Luis can’t think to say or do anything but nod. “Yes, sir."

  “And who else is in on this?"

  “Sir?” Luis gulps.

  Vladimir’s authoritative stare comes to rest on his. “Who else, Luis?" St
umbling, Luis squeezes his eyes shut.

  Betraying the men who are more like his brothers than his real ones, the very men who’d saved his life, time and time again… the hate that rises and scatters is directed only at himself. But Luis needs to live. He’s petrified of death.

  “Me, Judas, and… Tate."

  “I see."

  Luis doesn’t like the conclusiveness of his boss’s tone. The way Vladimir seems to be preparing himself this whole time, waiting, and now he’s ready to execute the rest of his plan.

  “It wasn't like we were trying to go against you but—”

  “But you did anyway."

  “I'm sorry.” He watches in horror as Vladimir dusts his shirt then pants off; flicking a piece of fuzz from his collar like a man who has more imperative business to attend to than listening to Luis's nervous ramblings.

  The chill that goes up Luis's spine when Vladimir finally plants his glare on him, is one of cold, hard dread, unforgivable and unrelenting in its message.

  Whispering as he cocks his gun, Vladimir’s eyes blacken like two pieces of lint, remorseless and lifeless in their hold on him, “Sorry’s not good enough."

  "No! Don’t! I was… I thought… Judas—fuck—what was I supposed to say to him?! I owe him. You know I owe him! He saved my fucking life! Torro Azul would’ve killed me in that fight if Judas hadn’t entered the cage! And you think the Juárez Cartel were just gonna let that go? I was finished. A dead man. I was just fifteen, man, but Judas took me off the streets and he killed them! For me! Trained me to fight better to give me a fucking purpose to live when I had nothing!” His voice tears out, the burn of nausea grips his stomach and travels higher. "Wanted to make things fucking right for him. Like he did with me… He’s never asked anything of me—”