Page 62 of Judas

“You hate it, don’t you? Born into luxury, not having to want, taking things for granted.”

Remember when I said I wasn’t a stupid bitch? Hah!

“We’re not discussing me, Nadia.”

“Oh, we are. You don’t just get a call from prison and throw yourself at the mercy of a woman you don’t know. Help her across the country with nothing to show for it other than a headache and possibly heartburn.”

He is out of that too-small chair in a blink of an eye, and I don’t even flinch. It doesn’t take much effort for him to tower over me, either. His deep-green eyes stare down at me, all dangerous and shit but I’m not buying it. Instead, I take a sip of my coffee antagonizingly. When I don’t add, nor back down, he turns and stalks off to the kitchen. Wouldn’t say I’ve touched a sore spot; no, I dug my fingers into it and swirled them around. Following, there’s only about five feet between us when I place the coffee cup on the kitchen island and start to poke the bear.

“You want to give it away so bad, I—“

Ra swivels and grabs me, one hand across my mouth again, the other fisting the messy bun that took me far too long to put up—awarding him a scowl. I’m going to need this fucker to stop grabbing me like this; it makes my hackles rise while also wanting to stab him. He steps closer, the warmth of his body overpowering the front of mine, his rough hand keeping me muffled and held in place.

“I said we are not discussing me. What is with you gouging for shit that has absolutely nothing to do with you?” His timbre is low and sharp.

“Mhmph, hpmhphm, mphump.” Mumbling, I know I didn’t utter anything intelligible.

“Stop… talking. You do not speak unless spoken to,” Ra growls.

Smirking behind his hand, I wiggle my tongue out and lick across his palm. The man goes rigid, eyes locking in on me but I don’t stop. Doing it again, he rips his hand away and takes a step back. Poor guy is fuming, look at him. Brows furrowed, his mouth pressed in a straight line, even his shoulders are liftingwith meticulous breaths. Trying so damn hard to reel it in but he’s failing.

Just one more push.

“You should really calm down. Blood pressure is no joke.”

His hands are back on me in a flash, both hooked under my ass and gripping the back of my thighs when he lifts me up and drops me on the island. They push my knees apart where he can step between them, crowding space I no longer care about. I’m absolutely molten for this man. When he slides one steady palm to the small of my back, the other settling into my hairline at the base of my skull, I give in.

Fisting his shirt, I yank him to me and our lips crash together. Tongue swiping along his bottom lip, seeking entry into the heat of his mouth. When granted, I moan. He slides back into mine, filling it and teases my tongue with desperately deep strokes. Feeling myself being pulled to the edge of the counter, I hook both legs around his waist. Aching for the harsh touch of a starving man. All that money, and this is the one thing he can’t buy—not the kind he wants, anyhow.

Releasing his shirt, I invade the zeroing stretch, arms now hanging over his shoulders. One cradles the back of his head as the kiss deepens. The way I’m pressed against him has me so fucking sensitive I can feel every minuscule scrape of clothing across my skin. It’s rubbing me raw, dragging me away from how good Kace feels in my arms again.

My heart sinks, and it takes nothing to push Ra back and wrench myself away.

“I… fuck.” Choking on the stuttered words, I can’t speak.

Ra holds his hands up in surrender. Watching me as though I’m a wounded animal cornered, about to lunge and snap my fangs at him. He doesn’t move, giving me the distance I need which doesn’t feel adequate enough when I’m breaking apart. Told myself I would let him go, I would let Kace rest and stopdragging his memory back up, but I can’t. He was the love of my life and there’s no replacing him.

Not now, not ever.

Chapter twenty-three

Babalon

Last night was a fuck up—one huge clusterfuck, of what the actual hell was I thinking. And look where we are at now. Ra left in the middle of the night. Packed his shit and went back to wherever he came from, but not before he wrote a brief note and left the keys behind.

You have coordinates pinged on your phone. Follow them without deviation. Here are the keys if you need to use the apartment. Be a good girl, Precious.

- Ezra

Dickhead.

Of course he would tuck tail and run after getting shut down. Listen, I know I have had a lot of time to work through things and move on with my life but I don’t want to. There’s therapists out there who would love to help me heal, put me in a better frame of mind for dating; hell, maybe even fix the pieces of me that my childhood destroyed. Going to them is the problem. Feels like if I move forward, I betray Kace. And if Sadie is gone, then I get to go on with life like neither one of them existed. What kind of person does that make me? Why must they be forgotten when I continue to live, choosing to wipe their memories out and live happily ever after? They’re not a burden, never were, but I choose to take them with me forever—they’re mine.

If I ever get back to Michigan, I’ll have to extend my heartfelt gratitude to Ra and Ez—more so Fury. They’ve done everything for me. Took me in, made me part of a family, put clothes on my back and food in my belly, let me be seen and wanted even if I am the one who fucked it up. There ever comes a day where they need me in return, I will not hesitate to drop everything for all three of them.

Blood is thicker than the water of the womb, they say. I may be a sibling to Lucien, but my family lies in those three.

Studying the coordinates over a cup of coffee, I put things together that I’m going to need. Being a felon I can’t carry a gun anymore, so brass knuckles, knives, and—a baton. Not just any baton—mine. Holy fucking shit. Snatching it out of the bag, I wield it around. Then with a hard swing, it protracts and a laugh escapes me.

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