Page 72 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Chapter thirty-five

Havok

Past

“ I f only you had that same devotion and love for your God, you may not be in this predicament, Kace,” Lucien scoffs, nimble fingers moving along the phone before he shoves it into his back pocket.

Wish this crazy fuck would shut the hell up already.

Out of all the trash he’s talked about since he came to Darkwater, I can denounce that the shit just likes hearing himself ramble—like lots of other crooked religious wacks.

He could preach to a brood of chickens or a nest of snakes and believe he’s getting through to them. Neurotic psycho.

He goes back to pulling on the chains he wrapped around me while I poured everything out to Nadia. I’m not going to lie, I’m frantic over what she’s going to go through emotionally when I don’t resurface. Dying? That’s not a problem for me. It is what it is. Her, though? Fuck… she’s going to break.

Lucien’s foot is against the back of my chair again.

When he jerks on the chains, I hear and feel a crack that pops through the right side of my chest. My lungs tighten shortly after when it seems like something is digging into that delicate tissue.

Pain radiates deep inside of me, making it harder to breathe but I keep doing it anyway.

Sounds like a bag of tiny pebbles are rattling around a plastic container with every gasp.

Time escapes me; new pain replaces the previous, stretching from head to the tips of my toes.

Although I can’t feel much of anything beyond the outermost layer of skin, I can sense the sweat gathering on my forehead and in front of my ears—mingling with the strands now out of place.

There’s enough moisture where I’m at that I can deduce it’s humid in here, even more so as droplets trickle down my neck then seep into my jumper and undershirt.

I could hear the trickling water dripping from the open drains in the ceiling when I first woke up, however, my focus was elsewhere.

“Say it,” I tease her.

Owing Matias big for keeping the other guards off Nadia’s case and busy enough to not ask where the fuck I’m at is minuscule when compared to having this invaluable time with her.

The restraints of prison life will be a constant burden to our relationship, but if it means getting to feel her in my hands, kiss her smart fucking mouth, and giving my all to her heart, sign me the hell up.

She’s worth it— every painstaking headache, annoyance, and extra duty.

Leaning against the countertop I just fucked her over, a smirk stretches across my mouth as I watch her try to fix her hair.

My secret at this moment? I enjoyed fucking up her perfectly placed hairstyle.

Getting to see how she looks from all angles after making her come apart for me has my attachment to the snake running deep.

So fucking deep, in fact, I can feel it beginning to curl around my soul.

Flexing and squeezing, working over the shimmering thing until its light has been shielded from the prying eyes of nosey onlookers.

I’m so fucking in love with her; the way she makes prison seem more tolerable is incredible.

Even though she’s always a part of the problem, trading is out of the question—unless she’s tied to me, that is.

Nadia’s given so much to me already, but it’s not enough—I need more, everything.

Nothing will satisfy the hunger sitting inside of me, licking its fangs and lips for this woman.

She has her claws dug so far in, yet the way I’ve weaved myself into her heart tells me I own her just as much as she owns me.

Nadia blushes at the teasing. She’s trying her hardest to ignore me standing here with my arms crossed, unabashedly staring at her as if she is the most exquisite thing ever to grace the surface of earth.

I’m biased as hell, okay? To me, she is.

I’ve had my fair share of women; she plugs the holes, though.

Whether that be with her scrawny fingers or her sharp tongue.

She has her uniform back in place, meticulous over the placement—so anal.

Surprising to see her dedication, to be honest, especially since she typically comes in here and acts like nothing bothers her nor will it.

Seeing the woman outside of the uniform, and not just in a sexual sense, leaves me speechless.

Fuck me, I need her.

Taking a single step to the side, I unfold my arms as I move. I can’t help but reach for her and push a strand of hair back that didn’t quite make it into her ponytail. Vicious thing turns and swings at me, slapping my hand away while I jump back and throw both in the air. Surrendering.

Feigning surprise, I quip, “My bad, I was just fixing it!”

“Thought you were going to fuck it up after I just spent all this time trying to get it right.”

“I will if you want me to; fuck it up, that is. But no, I was putting this little bit back so you look like your normal stick-up-the-ass guard.” Nadia doesn’t fight me this time, allowing me to place the strand behind her ear, following me with her amazing eyes.

When you catch her in different lighting, they reflect different undertones from the fluorescent bulbs throughout the facility.

A full kaleidoscope of colors exist in her silver irises.

“Are you going to say it?” Back to teasing her, I note the way her lips twitch into a smile before she tries chewing the bottom one.

“No.”

“Why not? You make it seem like you don’t want to. Don’t kid yourself, Nadia. You’re hooked just as bad as I am.”

Angling in, my lips skim her jawline. The fine hairs stand up along the side of her neck then lay back down after a few seconds.

This is what I love, her responsiveness.

If there ever comes a day where I can spend hours upon hours drawing out every shudder, whimper, sigh, tightening of her body, I’d make whatever sacrifice is necessary.

That’s my promise to her—my hidden one, actually.

Coming to prison taught me to never feed into hope.

In the event this is all we are allowed, it would kill me to see her heart break because I fed her hope.

“I don’t,” Nadia answers. The two little words sting, not what I was hoping she would say—see? Faith is a bitch. Reclining away from her, silence lingers as she waits for me to argue and I wait for elaboration.

“Fuck, Nadia, put me out of my misery. Why, pray tell, don’t you want to say it?” Impatience is a bitch—put that on my list of shit to fix.

“Kace—“ she starts. Turning to face me, her hands wring together, but her strong will keeps her from looking away. Staring me right in my face.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just… I want to make sure I mean it when I say it.

You know how conditional my life has been, what happens if I expect the wrong things.

What if I do this whole damn thing incorrect?

” Timid is not the tone I figured she would take with this but there it is, plain as day. She’s scared.

Me too.

“Fuck, babygirl.”

Grabbing her face, my larger hands cradle her cheeks. Mindful of where my fingers delve as not to mess up the hair she spent so much effort on fixing.

“Listen to me, yeah? There are bad ways to love people, as in how you show your actions and behavior, but you won’t do it wrong. Your stories tell me what you need and I’ve seen what you give, and Snitch? You don’t love me wrong.”

“Smacking you around, bullying you, and getting you sent to solitary is how you want to be loved?” Disbelief is in her voice now. Of course she would remember that and use it at her advantage; she wouldn’t be my Snitch if she didn’t.

“I like the power exchange it presents. You dish out a beating, then I take it out on your body later. Witnessing you come apart, and being the one who causes it, is the tradeoff. Never be afraid to tell someone you love them. There may be a day where you can’t anymore.

You’ve lived with enough pain and regret, babygirl.

I don’t want to see you regret not telling someone you love them. ”

Spoke that shit into existence, I did. Now look at me. Fuck.

Lucien left a while ago; counting the minutes has been difficult while struggling to remain awake—or sane, for that matter. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s been hours. How many? Don’t know, that’s why I used the plural form of that word.

Beginning at the top of my head, I mentally scale down to take inventory of what’s missing, broken, and what hurts.

It’s safe to say that I’ll be blind in one eye for however long I live; not so terrible since I’m isolated in darkness right now—very little light coming down from the drains above.

Even in its absence, it still hurts. I think they call that shit phantom limb syndrome? Whatever.

Tilting my head side to side, I give it a roll clockwise then counter, checking for snags or pulling in my skin.

If he cut me there, I’d bleed out and nothing would matter anyway.

Once that’s said and done, my tongue counts the teeth and feels my lips before my consciousness moves further down.

Shoulders feel fine; aching but nothing’s damaged.

Ribs? Fuck those. There has to be several of them that are broken since I feel it with every breath.

Torso, it’s tight but no breaks. Arms, raw skin chafes under the restraints, same with my ankles and legs.

Thighs, hips, ass, all good. Feet and my hands feel like they’re about to fall the fuck off, however.

Circulation and the cold is getting to me.