Page 2 of Judas
She was supposed to be strong, resilient and a fighter, but maybe she’s more like her mother than I thought she would be. A disgrace to our bloodline—not surprising to say the least. We are all messed up, imperfect, in our own way. If that’s how you want to look at it.
What really annoys me the most is how much she looks like him—no, it infuriates me. Even after his disappearance, here he is, mocking me by existing in the maw of someone else. Especially her. His inferior recessive genes somehow overpowered mine and Nadia’s dark hair and gray eyes, which is unacceptable.
I should probably put dye in her hair and hold her down while someone tattoos a different color into her irises. Remake her in the correct image.
“I asked you a question.” My voice drawls in the uneasy atmosphere that blankets the both of us in suffocating tension.
Her head snaps up and those bright blue eyes of hers meet my gray ones, glaring at me as if her stare could set the both of us ablaze and leave this room in a heap of embers and dying coals.
There we go, sweet girl, let me see who you really are.
“Well?” I prompt her, tilting my head to the side in mockery.
She just stares at me, unable to say anything since I have her mouth stuffed, which only makes me grin. Though the blue of her eyes is sharp, chilling to the core of my being, they’re furious and desolate.
Hopeless, helpless. Just like I prefer each and every one of my victims.
Reaching up, I pluck the cigarette I lit before the end of the news broadcast from my lips. Allowing the smoke to billow out of my mouth in a floating plume that dissipates the further it closes in on the ceiling. Waiting, watching, anticipating the aggravating scowl she’s giving me to disappear—which never does.
With a shove, I launch out of the chair and move my way around the end of the bed. The matted shag-like carpet, that’s no longer green but a mix between the color of vomit and composting juice, silences my footfalls as I quickly encroach on her precious corner space.
She begins to squirm and thrash in her bindings, pulling at the already red and abraded skin of her wrists, exacerbating the pain that I’m sure is radiating from the tender flesh there. Releasing a little laugh, taunting her and the predicament she’s found herself in, I finally come to a stop about a foot away from her.
She’s cute, fighting like she is. But she has no choice for what I’m going to do to her. There is no escape for my niece. I’m bigger, faster, stronger, and pent up with rage that runs so deep Hell feels it when I wake from a cat nap. Squatting down, she cowers but she doesn’t get far as I snag part of her gag and yank her to me. Leaving the smallest bit of space between her face and mine—violent gray eyes fixating on the pale blue of hers.
I may not have won over Nadia, but this one?
I will bend her, break her, and mold her into something unrecognizable.
I will recreate her in my image.
Chapter one
Babalon
Today
“Ican’t, I can’t, I can’t.” The words flooding past my lip perforated with desperate gasps.
You can, now get the fuck up Nadia and get the hell out of here.
“No, he… he has her!” Pleading against the words in my head.
I know, now get off the damn floor and go get her!
Sheer pain radiates through my chest. My hand steadily squeezes the letter as I find myself crumpled on the floor of Sadie’s bedroom. The soft scents of her body spray fading the longer I remain here—begging on my hands and knees. Breaths pump desperately in and out of my lungs, struggling through a panic that seems like it’s about to swallow me whole. Eachgulp feels like pure fire blooming behind my ribs. But he’s right, the voice is, I can’t just sit here. Caving in, surrendering, it’s not allowed. Not when I need to get to our daughter. It doesn’t matter what I tell myself, I know I must get up. I need to find the strength to get the fuck out of here and find her.
Sitting back on my calves, I glance over the letter Lucien sent her. Scouring the paper for any sort of clue as to where he might have taken her. Or why, when deep down I know why. Because of me, because of who she is and what she means. All this time, and the fucker still won’t let go of me. And now he’s targeted Sadie—and that terrifies me. They could be anywhere by now, half way across the country, in another one. Fuck, she could be dead for all I know which fills me with a level of dread I refuse to come to terms with.
Just when I thought I’d be able to have a life with her, give her the mother I never had, the psycho snatched her out from under me. Leaving destruction in his wake like only he would. The lingering trauma from his mere existence has more panic bubbling in my stomach—I thought I was safe, we were safe, from the likes of Luicen. He should be locked away, living under the jail at this point, but no. Instead of leaving us alone, he contacted Sadie and kidnapped her.
The past seventeen years, apart from being locked up, has been relatively quiet and low on the drama front. I had a few run-ins with other female inmates here and there but for the most part they left me alone. I even made a couple of friends who got me through some of the most painful memories and nightmares of my assault, too. There were times that they stood up for me when I had no idea someone was plotting to come for my ass in the middle of the night. Which, those times only reminded me of Kace and how he was gunned for as well—sending me into another depressive spiral.
It was rough, surviving prison, but I made it. For her.
I would always talk to my lawyer about my psudo—family, explaining how I felt more of a belonging with them than my own flesh and blood. But when he made attempts to get a hold of their inmate-files, and find out about their cases and why they were incarcerated, he was shut down—blocked from accessing any information. After the third or fourth time, we gave up. Chalking it up to staff who just wanted to ensure the privacy of the inmates inside Bluitt. Other than curiosity, and outside of what they told me, there wasn’t any real reason that my lawyer and I needed to know. Perhaps it was so he could assist them in their own trials, or parole hearings— who knows.
Frankly, they should have beat the ever loving shit out of me. I’m their mortal enemy– well, I’m not a cop but I’m close enough to it that my place ought to have been on a very-very short hit list. I thank the universe, daily, that they showed me some mercy. I witnessed a few female police and correctional officers come into the penitentiary a time or two. And, like usual, they were put in protective custody. The more violent inmates never got to me though, thanks to whoever is looking out for me out there and my family.
