Leave Him in Pieces

by August Red

  “What?” he barks, his strides long as he makes his way to the line of the counter.

  “Judas! Fuck! Judas, Luis is dead," Tate yells.

  Judas stops in his place, almost tipping forward. “The fuck?"

  “Went to Vladimir's, no-one was picking up the phone and Luis said he'd be there. Fuck, Judas. He's dead, man… so is Roman."

  Judas’ mind goes numbly void, like a nuclear blast eradicating every inch of thought from him. “Where's Vladimir?"

  “Dunno, man, no-one knows where the fuck he is. He never came down the elevators, everyone’s in their place. We don't know where the hell he went to. Judas. I think he knows. I think he knows everything."

  SHE DOESN’T LIKE BEING WITHOUT HIM.

  Belle doesn’t care if she has pneumonia. As long as Judas is with her, she can handle the pain.

  He’s her drug.

  Her escape.

  Belle halts the avenue her thinking is going down. She can’t go on like this. She isn’t going to be able to handle the rest of her life if she can’t even make it five minutes without Judas.

  He's right. She has to stop hiding. If not for herself, then for him. She owes him her life. He’s risked everything, the least she can do is make something of herself. If she can manage not to mess up what she’s been given.

  Knowing her…

  She feels his hands snake around her waist. As usual, the jump of her skin runs its course and she chuckles lightly. His hot breath fans her ear, drops to the pulse point that Judas knows drives her wild.

  “That was quick,” she murmurs, leafing through the tea bags, relishing in the pleasure he stimulates inside her.

  “Turn around, sweetheart. I’ve missed those beautiful fuckin’ green eyes of yours."

  The foreign tone, the bitter scent—hits her. She whips around only to be jerked back against the body of a stranger. Her eyes widen, then slit in recognition, as the black orbs staring over her pulses and dilates.

  Her bones feel like they break from the terror, and she clutches onto the lapel of his suit jacket. The birth of terror expands, locking her jaw in place, stirring her stomach up as a fire trail of bile rises fiercely.

  “Mr.—”

  “Kulich,” he finishes pleasantly, soothingly. The menacing black holes of his stare claw at her; a deathly silent exchange between them. “I told you we’d meet again, Isabelle."

  Chapter Nine

  JUDAS ALREADY KNOWS she isn’t there.

  Even before his bike screeches to a stop, his boots smack the ground, his legs sprint to his mansion like a crazed man, Judas doesn’t have to be inside to know Belle is gone. His eyes sweep the front doors, taking in that it isn’t ajar or broken in any way.

  Vladimir is gone.

  Judas should have never left. What the fuck was he thinking leaving her?

  Thirty minutes. Thirty fucking minutes!

  He draws his gun from under his shirt, pops the safety off with a slight graze from the pad of his thumb. He lets it lay at his side as he makes his way in. Vladimir is unpredictable at best. Who knows what lays in his leave to intercept Judas’ attempt to rescue Belle...

  He does a quick but diligent sweep of the foyer before making his way gingerly into the main living-room. The stillness bothers him. It’s too quiet, too silent for his liking. Especially with all the thunder crashing around in his head.

  Belle, her face, her angelic eyes, keep playing through his mind, repeating through him. And every time her features grow darker, more distant.

  The past hits him like a torpedo. He failed once before; it cost him his soul. He’d become a merciless killer because it was the only way to survive the demons that haunt his mind.

  Belle had been his redemption.

  He can’t lose her.

  He has to find her.

  Save her.

  He searches the bedrooms, gun drawn, as he goes through each room. He isn’t expecting to find anyone, but maybe he’ll find a clue, a message she might have left when Vladimir wasn't paying attention. He scans the basement last, sees nothing. The kitchen is the last place he hits since it's too open to provide any leads.

  Judas jolts to a stop when he notices the jar of tea bags scattered on the counter, the teapot humming on the stove and on the verge of whistling. Judas feels like his heart has been stabbed with a scolding hot poker. He slams his gun onto the counter, gripping the edge, making his skin redden as his knuckles whiten.

  The anger that runs through him takes control, crushes against him for release. Head down, he tries to push the image haunting his mind. Her snow-white skin is bathed in blood, raining down her face. The gruesome picture almost knocks him off-balance. The countertop creaks under him and he realizes he’s been holding his breath, searching for strength where there is none. The pain ricochets throughout him, doesn’t deter from making his vision whiten and his stomach knot.

  Judas rips off his jacket, feeling suffocated by the leather. He wants to destroy something… kill something.

  How can the man who’s been the only real father he's ever had, be on the other end of the bloodlust that's overcoming him?

  His cell rings.

  He grabs it from his pocket, sees his hand shake, and curses himself for the weakness. He needs to be strong.

  He clicks the button, stays silent as his stare searches for some peace in the scenic view through the window ahead. He needs to stay neutral. Calm. But right now, even he can’t quell the demonic rage that rushes into his bloodstream because of the man on the other end.

  “Where is she?” The steady timbre of Judas’ voice vibrates.

  Vladimir snickers. “Safe. With me."

  “Let. Her. Go.”

  “Judas. Come on,” Vladimir says, as if they’re discussing the weather, “you know I can't do that."

  Judas’ voice doesn’t stray from its calm tone, but it deepens as he says, “I'm not asking again, Vladimir. Let her go."

  “Not an option. Besides, you have something I want."

  Judas bites down on the tip of his tongue, tastes the pain and blood. Fuck the games. He wants her back. That's it. But Vladimir doesn’t do simple. Vladimir has to play games, drag the other person out until they submit themselves—body, mind and soul.

  “What's that?”

  “You can have this bitch, just give me her family in return. All of them.”

  There is no second-guessing his immediate response, “No."

  “Then I guess we're at an impasse.” Vladimir actually sounds pleased at the conclusion.

  “I guess so,” Judas agrees, lowly. “I want Belle and her family."

  “Well so do I.”

  "You want them dead, Vladimir. There's a difference,” Judas points out, his voice rising.

  Judas hears the other man's stall-tactic come into effect. Perfect timing. “How much is it gonna take, Judas?” The challenge in Vladimir’s words makes Judas’ hand curl into a tight fist. “How much?” Each word is like the stab of a spear in Judas’ side.

  “You know money’s not an issue for me,” Judas says, just as ice-cool and impartial as is his approach.

  “Oh? Isn’t it?” Vladimir makes no effort to hide his sarcasm.

  Suddenly, something clicks in Judas’ head. Vladimir wants to play games? Fine. Vladimir had dragged him into this business when he was just a kid. Forced him to fight when he’d just turned thirteen. And taught him everything he knows for the last seventeen years since. Judas has to be wise and use that to his advantage. It's the only weapon at his disposal that may be able to save Belle.

  “Where're you?" Judas asks.

  Vladimir ignores his question, showing Judas who has control. Power. “You think I’m gonna make this easy? You need to do something for me first.”

  “Just say it,” Judas says gruffly.

  “You. Diablo. Private fight.”

  Judas sighs. Diablo has never been beaten. And he only participates in private fights. And those fights only end one way.

&
nbsp; To the death.

  “If you lose—”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  Vladimir sniggers. “If you lose, Judas, I get Spencer and the girl.”

  “Fine.”

  “If you win—”

  “Which I will.”

  “Yeah. Then we meet at the Monday corner-drop on the lower east side—after the fight. We'll exchange then."

  “Yeah."

  “Come alone,” Vladimir says, his anger cracking through his tone. “If I even catch a whiff of another guy with you—I'll fucking kill her. If she’s lucky."

  Judas consumes the sting of Vladimir’s threat along with the fear and anger inside him. He fights to control the storm of rage and death that is his instinctual gut reaction, taunting him to kill and uncage the beast inside him.

  But he holds it all under a thin wrap of control as he answers coolly, “Done."

  “See ya then,” Vladimir says, accenting the last word before he hangs up, "Son.”

  Judas has no time to think. Panic. This is what he does best. Stay in control. In the game.

  He heads out immediately and gets straight back on his bike, hitting One on speed-dial. “Tate."

  “Judas. Fuck, man, what the hell is goin' on?"

  “Listen. Get Spencer and his family. Bring them down to where you usually pick up the merchandise. Now."

  “Okay, okay—but what's goin' on?” Tate asks.

  “Do it,” Judas barks, his mind like a missile aimed only on getting Belle back. His voice wavers for a fraction of a second before he says, “Vladimir’s got Belle.”

  “Shit. Judas—"

  “Just get him there ASAP,” he orders. “Call me when you arrive."

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  “I'll instruct you once you get there. Be careful."

  “On it,” Tate replies, hesitating a moment before speaking up again, “Judas, you know what you're doing?"

  “Yeah. Whatever it takes to save Belle.” Judas’ voice hitches up when he says her name.

  “All right, man. Done."

  “Good."

  Judas clicks the phone off and guns the engine to life, eyeing the road ahead. He grips the bar handles, pulls back hard, ready to floor the rest of the way. Priority is Belle, getting her out of this, making sure she’s safe and away from Vladimir’s clutches.

  Judas miscalculated and now Belle is paying for it.

  His hands tighten, barely resisting the furious need to yank the bars from their position.

  Not again…

  Belle is the last person on Earth who deserves to be going through this. She’s pure and sweet and too fucking good for this world.

  His world.

  People like her—kind and selfless—he never really believed they existed. Not since he lost...

  And Belle is the last person in the world who should have to suffer any kind of torment because of the life he’s chosen to live. Judas’ head shakes, his jaw hardening as he tries to squelch the painful volt searing through him.

  He vows silently to himself. He had watched someone he loved murdered right in front of him. No matter what it takes.

  Never again.

  BELLE HAS NO IDEA WHERE SHE IS.

  Wherever they are, it’s cold. Four gray walls, one small room—that’s all she’s been made aware of. Mr. Kulich doesn’t yield in his pacing, moving back and forth like a person very much at their end.

  This is the man who ordered the death of her father, who wants her killed, along with her mother and baby brother.

  Belle tries to hide the shiver that crawls up her body and the noticeable way it makes her shake, but she’s freezing beyond the limit of her control. Having a cold doesn’t help matters.

  Mr. Kulich hasn’t tied her down, hasn’t even threatened her yet. She doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. He’d told her to move, quietly, and she had done so. Other than that, he seems plagued and in his own world.

  His frantic pacing stops, the hand over his mouth falling, and he looks down at her in the small metal chair as if her presence has just become apparent to him.

  “So you and Judas." His black eyes are shiny, gleaming at her like the tops of his hair. He looks pleased, and she isn’t sure to take that as a good sign or not. She doesn’t reply. His mouth pinches together, his eyes scanning every inch of her. Again, she can’t tell whether he’s frowning or smiling, but her body reacts by clenching together. He licks his lips, making them shiny too. “Just trying to figure out what all the fuss is about."

  She gulps, only answering because he looks at her like he’s waiting for one. "Fuss?"

  “You're a fucking child compared to Judas. You realize that?” He steps closer, one side of his body leaning in like he’s telling her something only she should know.

  She reads his eyes and sees them darken. “I-I—”

  “You think you know him? Got it all figured out, don't you?” His tone is crystal clear in its attempt to demean her. He’s playing a game. She doesn’t know if it’s smarter to keep her mouth shut or play along. But maybe if she keeps him talking, time will go by faster, and Judas will… he will what?

  Mr. Kulich’s eyes are hungry in their taunt. “I know him well enough," she shakes out.

  “Well enough for what? 'Cos you’ve spread your fucking legs and let him fuck you—you think you got him figured out?” He laughs, it comes straight from his gut. He wipes the sheen from his forehead, clutching his side. “Aw, come on, Green Eyes. I know you're young but even you should’ve known that's fucking naïve."

  She ignores him and the way his unpredictable nature frightens her. “Please don't hurt him or my family,” she murmurs.

  Her plea dies at his feet. “We’ll see."

  “What does that mean?” she asks, her face dropping.

  She can’t give up. Not now.

  Don’t break... Judas is going to save me... Somehow... I just know...

  Scraping the corner of his mouth with his finger, Mr. Kulich moves to the gray wall on her left, leans back on it, and props one foot up against it. But even in this casual state, he never seems to relax. “Judas was definitely right about you being the mouthy type."

  Belle uses the insult to her advantage, deciding to turn the question on him, shift the balance. “You talked to him about me?"

  Mr. Kulich eyes her with a knowing glance that steals her thoughts and fixes her fear inside her, dropping like a lead ball. “Oh yeah. All the time, sweetheart. He told me you helped him, saved his fucking life and now he feels he owes you I guess. Or does he make it seem like more? Because you know, Judas doesn't do commitments."

  “I know.” The nerves under her skin tremble.

  “Oh good,” he reiterates, smirking. "So you know he just fucked you for kicks?"

  She doesn’t like the deadened abandonment in his eyes; black, barely noticeable, but clearly feels it. “He was trying to help me."

  “By going against me. I don't know if you realize this, little girl, but I was the one who saved Judas. Made him the man he is today. Nothing’s gonna change that. Especially a pathetic bitch like you."

  He speaks the words so lightly, it’s hard for her to take offense. The man is sick, deluded. Her head shakes and the shadows around his eyes darken, making it almost impossible for her to talk. But she has no choice.

  "He just didn't want to hurt my family… He didn't mean… You can just send us away—it won't matter now."

  “‘Won’t matter now’?” He pushes himself off the wall using his leg. “Now that you fucking ruined everything.” He swaggers closer. “For nearly two fucking decades I was like a father to him! And he fucking betrays me for… for a piece of tail? A quick fuck with a tight pussy who’s gagging for it?"

  “It's not like that.” She hates how small she sounds under him.

  “Then what's it like? Judas doesn't do promises, sweet-cheeks. He doesn't like strings or attachments of any kind.” He bends forward, his face occupying her vision until it’s the
only thing she’s being forced to see. There is so much evil in his face, she can’t give him a straight stare without her body recoiling.

  He leans closer. "He isn’t wired that way. In fact, when he came to me a few weeks back, you know what he did, Green Eyes?” She remains quiet, not liking where this is going. “Had a fucking orgy with three of my best girls who know what he likes—needs—but you, you have nothing compared to them... You're nothing.” He laughs, the vibration makes her feel nauseous.

  She doesn’t believe it. It can’t be true. Judas would never do that to her.

  “Then he goes back to you and fucks you for afters! So if he led you to believe he's in it for some long haul—"

  “He w-wanted to help me. That's all he was doing.” Her voice cracks and she uses the edge of her front teeth to subdue the cry that rises and staggers in her throat.

  “From the description my guy gave me, it looked a little more than help,” he whispers, snickering. “Hope his ten-inch cock was worth it."

  Belle feels one tear draw a wet line down her face, and when she hears him laugh, she throws daggers his way. “You're disgusting.”

  Mr. Kulich shrugs, tilting his head to get a better look at the pain she’s struggling to hide. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm more than disgusting. But so is Judas."

  “Judas is ten times the man you are.” Her blood begins to simmer, angered that Mr. Kulich will even dare compare himself to the Judas she knows is real. “He's decent and kind and he—”

  “Oh, Green Eyes, please.” It’s his turn to sound disgusted. He straightens, glaring at her to check if her behavior is in fact sincere. Surprise flickers in his emotionless orbs. “Judas..." he says, shaking his head with a grin, "…you dirty dog… Wow… He's better than I thought. It was an act, you dumb bitch. Can't you see that? He felt guilty. Anything more is your childish delusion, sweetheart."

  “Judas—”

  He strikes her face with a sound like the cracking of a bullwhip. The crack of skin contacting skin, echoes off the walls. Clutching her cheek, vibrations of pain start in her cheek and spread over her face, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Don't you fucking dare tell me about Judas, you stupid fucking whore!” His hand slices through the air, his jaw quivering in rage, dampening the last sounds of her breathing. “I raised that fucking kid. I made him into the man he is. You think you know him ‘cos you let him fuck you? I got an eye-opener for you then. Judas fucking Bane is a killer. My killer. He kills people on my orders, when I say, where I say, no questions asked. He's been doing this for me for years! So don't you dare fucking preach to me about who Judas fucking Bane is."