Page 56 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Chapter twenty-eight

Havok

H ave you ever heard the expression ‘locked down like Fort Knox?’ Well, that’s Lucien right now.

Whatever the fuck Sadie—er, Naamah?—did has him out of his damn mind.

I’ve gone through every weapon on this table trying to get him to rouse enough to piss him off and get his mouth to open, but he is stone cold.

Lucien has bled more than what most humans can withstand, and still he sits there eerily quiet.

Babel wanted to take a whack at him earlier, see if he could get Lucien to at least squeal but I wouldn’t let him.

He doesn’t need to get his hands this dirty when mine are already soiled—besides, this is personal.

If there wasn’t something I needed from him, I would have shot him in the face instead of the shoulder back at the park.

Turning, I snatch the back of a table chair and drag it over.

Straddling it before resting my arms on the back of the rest and looking him over.

There’s no one home, it’s like he checked out.

Turned in his hotel keys and left the building.

The amount of questions are piling up while none of them are getting answered and if we keep going, he will die.

Not that I give a flying fuck, but I can see the way Nadia looks at him.

She must know, or remember, that he’s her brother.

Being an only child from a broken family, with an emotionally and abusive father, has her clinging to the wrong person.

Her heart is so fucking big despite hiding it behind a wall of sass and feisty attitude.

Unfortunately, it’s also a sponge. Soaking up any sort of love and connection she can find, hoping to discover a place with people that can love her in return.

Lucien is not that person. I’m sure he was once upon a time but not anymore.

The boy he was, the one that she may remember is gone too.

He left when their mother died and as much as I want Nadia to have a family, I’ll never allow her to be family with him.

Not after what he has done to all three of us.

Fucker made the choice to vilify a girl he was supposed to care for, help ruin her life, break her, destroy her family, all in the name of what?

Obsession? Give me a fucking break. You can obsess over someone and not hurt them.

Keep telling yourself that, asshole.

Fuck, I’m tired. All I want to do is put everything behind me, take Nadia and Sadie home, and move the fuck on with my life.

I’ve worked harder than I ever have before, I can’t stop now but fuck me if I don’t want to dump Lucien in a ravine and split.

I’m at the end of the whole ordeal; the answers are sitting right there in the mind of some fuck I should have called my brother but no, he’s my enemy—our enemy.

Tilting my head forward, I rest it on one forearm while the other runs through my hair.

Giving the pale strands a squeeze and slight pull.

The movement is still as comforting as it was when I started doing it as a teenager.

I would get so stressed out during my games, dealing with school, my sister, and my parents divorcing that the little ache helped take the edge off.

Nowadays I get ink, I just haven't had a moment to sit down and pick out a design. Or let someone put together a sketch for me. Besides, I’m loyal as hell to my artist.

Could I go for a few days on downtime and let things stew?

Yes, I made sure of it, we’re all impatient though.

A beer, joint, and the fattest fucking steak smothered in garlic butter and topped with shrimp sounds amazing.

That’s going to be one of the first things I do when we get home— home , what a foreign concept.

Hearing shuffling, my head snaps up and I turn to see Babel emerge from the room he’s been hiding out in.

Both of his hands are on his phone as his thumbs fly across the flat keyboard with speed—that sends up a few red flags.

Focused with a scowl, he walks to the porch that extends behind the open concept kitchen.

“Got shit going on?” I ask while unfolding my arm and patting my legs down in search of my sweet vice.

“Always. You good?” he answers.

“I’ll survive.”

Once I find what I’m looking for, I unwrap it, fling the trash down by Lucien’s feet and toss the lozenge in my mouth.

Some good shit. With the quiet tapping of Babel’s fingers, and fuck-heads even softer breaths, I mentally run through what I know.

Then the shit I need to figure out. First and foremost, how in the fuck Lucien got the hell out of Sortiger when he’s on a life sentence with no parole?

Pushing up, my back pops and a twinge takes up the expanse of my shoulders making me roll the right first, then the left—introducing some life back into them.

The kick from my rifle jarred me when I popped psycho-killer here and now I keep pissing it off each time I start working him over.

I need to keep reminding myself that there’s a big ass bed done up with all the fixings back at my place, which I will be falling into as soon as Lucien is chained in his hole.

Snagging the bolt cutters, I crouch down and yank the left shoe off.

Tossing it to the side with a thud, I line the now-open cutters over his pinky toe and wrench the long bars closed, sending him into a panicked scream.

Blood pours from the new wound as he thrashes around, the toe now sitting in the crimson pool as I rise back up.

If he won’t wake up on his own accord, or cooperate, I’ll just have to make him.

“Morning, fucker.”

He’s foaming at the mouth; pitiful fuck must be thirsty.

The spittle is a bit thick as he talks all his shit for a few moments about how I’m going to hell, I’m a disgrace, he should have stayed with me in the pit until my skin began to slip and turned dark.

Make sure you were dead —I mock internally. Predictable and boring.

“You done?” I ask as I stoop and lop off the third toe this time.

“I swear to all that is holy, you sly mother fucker, the second I am out of these restraints I’m going to filet you and hang your skin off a flag pole then put you on the top like a tree star!” he shouts.

“One, don’t flirt with me, siblings aren’t really my thing. Two, I love Christmas. You’ll have one hell of a time hiking me up to the top of that pole with missing toes, though.”

The middle toe flops onto the floor and he screams again. This is fun; I’ve not spent this much time with a target before. Bolt cutters are about to be added to my tool bag favorites.

“Yo, Bab, toss me a bottle of water?”

“You got it,” he replies quickly, dropping his phone onto the counter before popping the refrigerator door open and fetching one.

A soft snap of the door when it shuts draws me away from Lucien.

Gazing over to Babel, I see him motion that he’s going to toss the bottle to me.

When he does, I snatch it out of the air and drop down onto the chair I was in a few minutes ago.

I appreciate him staying out of the way; he has his own shit to deal with yet he’s still here, making sure his job is complete before he goes back to his HQ.

“Now that you’re awake, let’s talk about how the hell you got out of prison.

” Unscrewing the top to the bottle, I bring it to my lips and begin guzzling it down like it’s the most pure form of water to ever exist. Cold, refreshing, and if looks could kill I’d be a dead man.

This is solely for my amusement, truly; the silent pleading in his angry eyes is like a reward.

Go to prison, die, live through hell, hunt your killer down, and have a refreshing gulp of water while he slowly thirsts to death—among his other ailments.

“Do you know what the definition of insanity is, pretty boy?” Lucien asks, I know where this is going but I’m going to play stupid anyways.

For some reason he’s always had this notion that I’m a dumb fuck when I’m not.

Must be the sarcasm. Oscar Wilde did say ‘sarcasm is the lowest form of humor;’ what people seem to forget is the rest of the sentence which is ‘but the highest form of intelligence.’ Leave it to this shit to forget the most important part of the whole lesson.

“What’s that?”

“Doing the same thing over and over,” he starts.

“Expecting different results,” we finish at the same time.

Putting the water bottle down on my table of instruments, a single sip left at the bottom that likely has more backwash than anything.

I lean forward and put my elbows on the tops of my knees.

Hands brace my head as I smile antagonizingly at him.

It’s humiliation that really gets him going.

Pain is only a small influence on him; took me a few years but going to a memory specialist helped me recall all of the smallest interactions I had with him behind bars.

Psychotic, yeah, but he uses that to his advantage by trying to brainwash and manipulate people.

Corrupt them one way or another and use them to his advantage.

Xavier was able to use his connections to get copies of the Internal Affairs and Federal Bureau of Prisons investigations where I studied every aspect of the riot.

Narrowed down who were the major players, who survived, where their associations branched to, and so forth.

The information was a spiderweb of horseshit revealing more snakes than anything.

Yet the most interesting factor was how Lucien came in at the ass end of everything but played a huge impact—at least to Nadia and I.