Leave Her in Pieces

by August Red

  The scar-faced man nods. “When you want me to—”

  “The minute they're settled. Tell Tate I don't wanna hear from him. If I need anything I'll contact him. Otherwise—nothing."

  “Vladimir?”

  She feels Judas straighten and heave out a short breath as he pulls out a set of keys from his pocket. “Deal with him when we get—Ow! Fuck!” Biting him in the middle of his back, Belle makes him jerk forward, but his sharp reflexes steady him. He curses under his breath. “Remember what I said," he mutters to his accomplice.

  Rounding the front of the van, she hears her father call out. Judas stops. “Mr. Bane. Please take care of her. Don't… don't hurt her. I’m begging you."

  Judas twists around. “Your daughter is the least of your worries. Do as you're told and you and your family might make it through this alive."

  Judas strides to the front of the driver's side, letting Belle get on her feet in one fast motion. The keys dangle in front of him as she straightens her hunched position. Pushing the hair from her face, she takes a ragged breath, and just as he leans in to get a peek at her, she shoves him. He doesn’t go very far, only faltering a step, but when he sees her hands come up to do it again, his eyes flash. He blocks her feeble attack and manacles her wrists with his large hands, tugging them in place at her sides.

  His face is almost buried in hers. “Get in the car,” he grunts. “Now."

  Belle twists under the pressure of his hands. Her tiny wrists burn the more she moves, but she doesn’t stop as she spits, “You ever do that again and I'll bite a more sensitive area.” Her eyes slip lower, then come back up in an unmistakable message. “Got it?"

  There is no misconstruing the hint of a smile that comes and passes on his face. He straightens, still too close for comfort, but at least he isn’t as unnervingly near.

  “Think I liked you better when you were shy."

  She squints her eyes at the keys still dangling from his finger. “I know I liked you better when you were shot and unconscious."

  He sighs before taking her hand and dropping the keys in her open palm. She looks at them, confused. “Move,” he barks. He grabs the latch of the door behind her. She doesn’t move. “They're keys, Belle."

  “I don't understand…” His eyes skip between her and the keys in her hand. “What? Why am I driving?"

  “Cops might be looking for a driver matching my description. You drive and it helps our chances."

  “Well I can’t have you getting caught, can I?” Belle says, sarcastically.

  “Just do it.”

  When his order doesn’t jolt her into action, he gently but firmly pushes her to the side, opening the door the rest of the way, then leads her in with a nudge from her lower back. He stands there until she starts the car. He comes around and is in his seat before she has time to understand what’s really happening here.

  I’m leaving my family... Will I ever see them again?

  Her small fingers grip the wheel tight, refusing to accept this, and turns her head to the right and then to the left, leaning over the steering wheel to catch a glimpse of her family. They’re too far from the car and the windows are too tinted in the back for a good enough view to at least wave a goodbye.

  “Belle."

  She sniffles, putting the car in drive. “Shut up,” she mutters, torn. “Just shut up."

  And he does. He doesn’t say one word for the rest of the ride. Good. As far as she’s concerned, she never wants to speak to him again.

  Not when he’s the one responsible for ripping her family apart.

  A SNAIL MOVES FASTER than she drives.

  It takes all of Judas’ strength not to pull her off the wheel and jam the gas pedal till his foot smacks the ground. He doesn’t know if she’s doing this on purpose, but he isn’t going to argue. Fighting with her always seems to slow plans down and time is a commodity they can’t waste. So he sits, not moving, trying harder than ever not to think.

  Fucking cops.

  He keeps coming back to that. He isn’t sure who made the call. He knows it wasn’t one of the Dela Cruzes. None of them ever left his sight long enough to sneak a call. He doesn’t know who it was, but when he finds out...

  The sign for a rest stop zips past them. He straightens, clearing his throat. Now that it’s just the two of them, he feels uneasy. He doesn’t trust himself to do what’s needed.

  Belle is more unpredictable than any person he's ever met, and that makes for a damn nuisance when it comes to his mission. A temper like hers is only asking for trouble. And having the cops on them is making Judas feel more on edge. Pretty much dangling over the edge.

  “Pull off the next exit."

  “Why?”

  He peeks a look from the corner of his eye, not turning. She looks especially tiny behind the wheel. He also notices how it seems to hurt whenever she tries to swallow. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t voice his concern.

  “Supplies," he answers. She raises an eyebrow. “Town is far from where we're going." His answer darkens her appearance, like a shadow casts over her. Belle nods, but it’s faint, almost nonexistent. She looks like her heart has been ripped out and something punches in his gut.

  He did that.

  Sitting so close to her, he can’t excuse the dark shadows forming under her eyes, the lines that accent them. Her loose soft light-brown curls are limp around her, no longer shiny like the side of a polished gem. Her gorgeous green eyes have lost their luster, and her body looks about ready to crumble. Every now and then she will shake, some part of her will tremble. And he can tell she’s holding herself together to stop the tremors. But she can’t hide them.

  She can’t hide from him.

  His hand fits around the cool metal latch of the door, suddenly angry. But for a whole different set of reasons.

  The car halts to a stop. Belle shifts the gear in park and sits—her face, her body, never moves from its driving position.

  “Let's go."

  “I'd rather stay if that's okay."

  “I wasn’t asking. Let's go.” He opens the door, pushes it halfway, then stops. “Belle, I mean it."

  She licks her cracked lips, but the move doesn’t recover the moisture that usually makes them glisten like the shell of petals.

  She takes the car keys, throws them at his face before going to unlock and open her side door. His hand comes up and catches the keys without breaking her from his sight, just as she mutters, “Asshole.”

  When he meets her at the back of the SUV, her eyes fix on the small gas station in front of them.

  “Stop fighting me."

  “Stop being an asshole then and let me go."

  He starts toward the store. “You keep this up and you're just making it worse for yourself."

  “Where did you send my family?" She doesn’t move from her spot.

  “Quit asking me questions I can't answer."

  She storms toward him, grabbing at his elbow to face her. “Are they dead?" He eyes her, watching her eyes bob back and forth, tears springing to her lashes. The air in his lungs burn his breathing passage. He tries to swallow for release but can't. “Are they?” Her question guttural, hopeless. “You killed them, didn’t you?"

  When the first tear falls, Judas feels the moisture like a bullet in his heart. But then a voice from the past assaults his mind.

  ‘You’re weak, boy. Toughen up. Or you’ll be next.’

  He’s being weak. Again.

  I don’t care how she feels…

  He remains stiff in front of her, casting a look at the gas station. “They're alive." No matter how hard Judas tries, he can’t stop feeling, and her intake of breath is like a surge of fresh air to his body. “For now."

  Her head begins to shake, her mouth opening and closing before the words tumble out, “Judas, please… Whatever you want—money—whatever it is, my father can help. He knows people—”

  “There's nothing your dad has that I’ll ever want." Both Judas and Belle seem to
catch the double meaning of the statement.

  Belle looks away, but Judas can’t. For some reason he feels compelled to rectify his words and that anchors his anger, his self-loathing, deeper. He owes her no explanation. This is his job. And whether she knows it or not, her father has stabbed him and Vladimir in the back.

  “Do as I say and they might live, Belle."

  Her eyes harden, and taking a step back, she heads toward the store without another glance his way. “Go to Hell!” she yells, unabashedly, without looking back.

  Grabbing everything he needs from inside the store, he finds her in the magazine and books aisle. Her eyes are fixing on some red-covered paperback. Judas catches the words: Hot and scandal.

  Chick book.

  Her body goes ramrod straight when his oncoming build draws close in proximity. Her cheeks glow pink and her eyes dart the plethora of reading material, grabbing the first magazine she can.

  He fights his smirk hard. “Didn't know you're into fishing?"

  “Hmm,” she answers, pretending to be fascinated with the ‘Sports Fishing’ magazine.

  "Finished?"

  “Yeah, I'd love to go home."

  “Funny.”

  He starts walking to the other end of the aisle. “Let's go."

  She falls a step behind. “Who says I'm kidding?” she shoots back. He can feel her stare stabbing his back as he goes straight up to the cashier, handing the large basket to the elderly gent behind the counter.

  “An even fifty, Mister," the old man says.

  Judas digs into his pocket, fishing out the small wad of neatly-folded cash, and hands two twenties before thumbing for the ten underneath the rest of the bills. “Here.” He slaps the money down and suddenly realizes how silent and unusually quiet the company at his side is.

  He turns to his right, then his left. His eyes shoot up. “Belle,” he calls out, unable to restrain the anger that traces in her name.

  Panic and fury simmer in his veins, but then his eyes find her, standing in between the mechanical doors that swing in and out. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s grabbing the bag as her feet pound the mat that opens to the exit. He really doesn’t like how fast she's walking. He doesn’t want to draw attention.

  He hisses out to her, “Belle."

  The one word should have stopped her, but it only furthers her steps to quicken. And that's when he pauses.

  Shit!

  Cop car.

  It's parked opposite them on the other side of the grassy hill that separates the two parking-lots. The police officer is still in his car. His head is down, but it won’t be for long if Judas starts running after her, barking, like he wants to.

  “Belle.” The last syllable of her name edges close to the blade of his anger.

  She wouldn't dare... Oh, fuck she would!

  But he's too late.

  She starts sprinting and he has little time to think of a plan of action that won’t get them—him—caught.

  Abandoning the shopping bag on the pavement, he dashes ahead, coming behind the SUV, just as her feet begin mounting the small hill.

  “Officer—”

  Belle only gets one word out before he comes down on her like a ton-of-bricks.

  He hurdles his body into hers, smashing them both into the bumpy grass; their bodies intertwine as they fall forward. Belle goes down first. Judas protects her from the fall by pushing her into him and cupping her head to his chest.

  Somehow, he ends up on top of her, her hands pinned to both sides of her face as he cradles her tiny midsection in between his large thighs, squeezing her body tight. He keeps her face buried in his chest, knowing if he releases her, she’ll start screaming.

  The door of a car opens.

  It shuts next to them.

  “What's goin’ on here?” The sharp northern accent of the cop proceeding toward them, shoots off the tension inside him.

  His mouth is on her ear—so close, that when he opens to speak, his lips can’t help but touch the shell. “Don't.” His demand is just a breath into her ear. “Don't even think about it."

  She juts her midsection out to try and hit him in the groin, but she can’t get enough power to put any strength into the assault. His arms bracket her face from the cop's view, her screams muffling into his chest.

  The crunch of boots sends him spurring into action.

  “I said, what the hell's goin’ on over here?” The police officer moves a step closer. “Ma'am, you okay?"

  Judas licks his lips, breathing in, taking in the sweet aroma of her body; the smell more powerful than he's ready for. He lets up on the pressure of his chest that compresses her into the ground. He closes his eyes, shifting lower and pressing his face into hers. His eyelashes brushes and tangles with hers as his nose smushes into her cheek. His lips may as well be kissing her.

  When he moves to speak they touch hers, slipping up and down as they catch in between and over her mouth like open kisses, but with words. Her lips taste sweet like honey. “You talk and your family—”

  “Piss off,” she mutters. When his eyes fix on her mouth, panic wells in her orbs, swelling her eyes like two large balloons. “Don't you dare,” she warns, her lips parting and hitting his.

  Both their mouths are open, caressing one another, but Judas doesn’t move away. Can’t move away.

  The officer isn’t leaving.

  He has no choice.

  He has no fucking choice!

  Judas’ eyes finds her mouth again, purposefully ignoring the shaft of warmth that floods him. He curses the cop as his head comes down, his intentions remarkably clear to him—and his captive.

  “Do it and I'll make you bleed,” she hisses, just as he makes up his mind, and sinks his mouth into hers.

  She goes rigid under him, his lips moving gently, more gently than he aims. He only wants to shut her up.

  So he kisses her.

  The pressure of his lips is hard, but the persuasion of his movements is soft, melding their bodies and mouths together. Judas doesn’t mean to seduce her, and he certainly doesn’t want the kiss to turn as erotically charged as fast as it does. But feeding off his instincts, he can’t stop himself when she catches him off-guard and shifts her thighs so that she’s straddling him, pressing him closer so that his midsection is being crushed by hers.

  His hands release hers on impulse and palm the back of her thigh. A burning sensation fires across his skin, tearing his senses to shreds. He gasps into her mouth, her lips hungry as her teeth skims his lower lip and her pelvis rubs up against his, releasing and clenching. Her nails scorch fire, scraping against the back of his scalp and presses his face deeper into hers.

  She tastes like vanilla and brown sugar. Richly sweet and inexhaustibly intoxicating. The warm clash of her creamy soft skin, her cheek brushing his, the scent of her body, is drowning out the world. When he hears her moan, feels the arousal of her soft wet center against his, his beastly nature roars to life, unshackled from restraint.

  His arm comes under her head, bringing her close so he can devour her mouth. His tongue finds hers in the jumbled mess; meets outside their mouths but quickly seeks shelter in the dark crevasse of her opening as he follows the wet leading of her tongue.

  First he coaxes her, his tongue moving up and down so that his mouth is directly over hers, but he doesn’t like that. He slants, shifting his mouth to the side, hunting for deeper access to what lies inside. The second he does, his tongue is swirling over hers, side to side, looping around her mouth until she follows and mimics the move. The friction of their moist heated tongues is the only thing he can feel.

  He hears her whimper and he continues, the rush of power turning him hard-as-steel in his jeans as he finally answers her body and pushes himself against her. His tongue plunges deeper simultaneously with his body.

  All thoughts of the officer behind him, the crunch for time, the trail of cops, and the strict methodical structure he prides himself on—evaporates int
o thin air.

  Judas knows he’s in danger.

  But all he can do is kiss her.

  And he can’t fucking stop.

  Chapter Nineteen

  FUCK.

  "Fuck,” he mutters, the curse rumbling from deep inside his chest. Belle seems to swallow the small vibration of sound between them and attacks the swollen, pliant flesh of his mouth that hovers over hers, ready.

  She is all over him; clawing at him like she wants to shred whatever small barrier of clothing lays between them—have him take her right there on the ground. Her hands are everywhere. Her nails dig into his scalp, his cheeks. They're voyaging down the middle of his back, squeezing the life out of him, begging in demand with each hard tug at his body.

  Unprepared, Judas tries to breakaway a bit, confused by the thundering craving that’s turbulently overriding his customary self-control. Her lips scatter kisses, frantic and hungry for long heated seconds, only to turn soft and moist, maneuvering around his mouth with an enticing taunt. The way her body sighs in quivering releases under him, makes need split violently inside him. He isn’t trying to make this hard. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

  It's like she can read his mind. Her tongue keeps playing hide and seek with his. Peeking in, giving him a lick of a taste only to draw back and make him chase. It's like she knows he’s starving for more of the exquisite friction of her tongue.

  Desire, hard and pounding, rockets against his skull. His fingertips pulse, aching to throw the nun-like sweater she’s wearing over her head and finally get a nice view of what's underneath. A view he can devote hours to, studying her until he knows every inch of her skin by heart. Until every freckle, every slope, has been memorized, until his mouth is the only contact her body calls for.

  The first time he fully saw her body in all its glaring beauty was when he was on Death's door. But even shot and semiconscious, he can still, now, recall that white dress and how the fabric cupped and hugged her lush breasts, and how the sheer fabric strained as she bent lower... and there, in the darkness between them, he could almost make out one ripe red cherry—

  A zip of electricity buzzes under his skin. The primal wish makes all his good intentions crumble. His body is ready to be her servant and obey each and every thing her body wants. His cold hands come up, skimming under her sweater. Her flesh is burning molten, and the contrasting friction ceases everything inside him, muting out the world as the feel of her crashes through him. The length of his fingers alone almost covers the plane of her stomach. They compress into the cushion of her soft flesh, inching up, hungry to move higher, but excited at the slow blaze that fills them both in the languorous pace upward—