Page 82 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Chapter forty

Babalon

“ C ome get your pound of flesh then, baby,” he says, like he doesn’t think I’ll do it.

Mocking me, daring me to go for him like I’d used to do to him in the past—albeit less violently.

This time, stupid fucking man, he doesn’t realize that knife combat was where I excelled when I went through guard training.

Taking down men much bigger than him—Hank comes to mind.

Hank had a good half a foot on Kace and another fifty pounds if not more.

He was good at shooting, me less so, knifing his bitch ass though? Top of the damn class.

Idiot probably thinks I’m irrational enough to bum rush him without thinking of the consequences.

The thing is, anger has put me in a state of mental calm, clarity I’ve not experienced in what feels like years.

Vision is sharp. Nostrils flared to allow a better flow of air into my lungs, filling them to capacity.

Pushing more oxygen-rich blood to my limbs needed to avoid muscular fatigue.

His scent fills my nose, no longer hanging onto the sterile scent of prison now that I’m focused enough to decipher the notes.

Cinnamon, amber, slightly manly from the shower gel.

Kace has his arms lifted in a defensive stance.

Standing with one leg further back which I note as the weaker of the two—leading with your dominant is instinctual after all.

Lucien is to my right, I knocked him out cold.

To my left is the sofa, straight ahead is Kace and at his feet is the billy club.

Go on, pick it up.

My inner voice says. What I used to hear as his voice encouraging me through the shittiest parts of my adult life, has now returned to my inner monologue and the edge in her pitch matches the way in which my emotions have shifted from anger to pure conviction.

My predator matches his.

Kace reaches for the club and that’s all it takes.

Turning to the side, I yank the crowbar he used to resound Lucien’s knees and hurl it at him.

He ducks and I move. Rushing him, instead of swinging the knife first, I kick the billy club away from him so he doesn’t have anything but his bare hands to defend himself with.

Snapping his head up, after looking for the club, his mismatched eyes meet mine and I swing with my left fist. Blocking with his right is going to be awkward and jarring.

Rebounding from the left hook he wasn’t prepared for, he blocked it with his right forearm.

This time, however, I swing the blade on him.

Fucker leans back, the blade missing him by centimeters.

Seeing the way his vision follows the black edge of the knife, he’s distracted just enough for me to follow the swing with a twist and roundhouse kick to his side.

“Son of a bitch!” Kace hollers, folding in on his side instinctively.

Catching myself back in a stance where I’m ready to strike again, he foregoes defense and rushes me.

My skin can feel everything, every switch in the atmosphere, electricity between the both of us, the displacement of Lucien’s body lingering nearby, even the size of the couch and random living room furniture—hyper aware.

His shoulder meets my torso and I retaliate by bringing my elbow down into his upper back as hard as I can.

Unable to withstand his weight and size, we both crash to the floor.

Sounds of dry crinkling material under us broadcasting our brawl—if there’s anything remaining on the barrier, it’s sure to get knocked off now.

Dull pain radiates up my back when we land hard on the floor, his body bulldozing to the side next, hitting the front of the couch.

His movement shoves the couch back, the weight of it silent when sliding across the lush carpet it sits upon.

During the impact, I lost control of the knife.

Flipping over onto my stomach, hands pushing to the floor, I locate the blade and make for it when I spot it next to one of the legs of Lucien’s chair.

On my knees in an instant, I’m scurrying for it right as Kace grabs an ankle and tows me back closer to him.

He starts to crawl over me when it’s no longer fight or flight, it’s kill or be killed.

Twisting, left arm bent, I swing it and ram it into the side of his face.

He dishes a jab back, crushing is fist into my kidney from the way I’m restrained at the waist. The way his voice sounds—filled with remorse.

“Fuck, Nadia, stop!!”

Giving nothing in return, I roll over as pain releases through my torso, inducing the need to vomit—asshole hits hard.

Scrambling away from him, he grabs me and drags me back again, this time by both legs.

Hyperawareness takes hold once more. I can only feel him, he’s where I can't see him, where I have no control.

Dread sinks low in my belly, dulling the pain from how hard he hit me in my lower back.

All while my head transports me back to the pit.

Sweat slicks my spine, my hands go clammy, and I start to heave.

The memory, the trauma, phantom touches I’ve tried so long to forget come back solely due to feeling him…

Kace, the man who’d never harm me in such a way…

at my back. Try as I may, locking onto something else, something to ground me, seems impossible.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

“That's all you got? Calling me a bitch? Big bad Aryan brotherhood and the only insult you have is bitch?”

“Let me in, slut, or I’ll cut you open.”

“Go die,” I mutter.

“Knock it off, you’re cutting into my time.”

Please… I— I want Kace.

“Alright princess. It’s time for me to take what is owed. Now you be a good slut and be still.”

A strangled cry hits my ears before my head comes out of the fog.

Feeling the hot, wet, tracks of tears burning my face just far enough before they drip off and land on the barrier under me.

It takes me a second to realize I’m on my stomach now, every inch of skin I can sense crawls.

A million writhing worms digging through the dirt my flesh has decayed into before it melts off the bone.

Do you know what tonic immobility is? It’s the side of survival most people don’t experience as they are able to escape their perceived threats.

When you’re introduced to a threat, and you fail to ward it off and become hurt, your body shuts down to preserve the brain.

In a way to soothe the trauma, your mind then goes through detachment, allowing you to drift away as you experience whatever attack you’re encountering.

At least, that’s what my therapist said.

A huge number of women experience tonic immobility, something close to seventy percent, during sexual assault.

Outside of the tears and the worms, I sense nothing. The adrenaline and clarity evaporated in a single breath. Weak, worthless, polluted. Dirty. Septic. Disposable. I can’t… can’t do this again. I won’t survive it a second time.

“Baby?” Kace’s softer voice barely penetrates the shell my mind has formed over emotions that have been demolished.

Still sensing him, he shifts from behind me, gently lying on the floor a safe distance away.

I don’t know if it’s because he thinks I might hit him again, which his eye is already starting to bruise, or if he’s trying to respect my space.

We lay there for God knows how long, just looking at one another.

So much pain and heartache exists between us where it’s a wonder that we haven’t given up on each other completely and walked away.

After this, I half expect him to. He knows what happened to me during the riot and how?

Now he sees how my body and mind fracture under certain stress—certain stimuli.

This, the way I’m paralyzed right now, isn’t his fault by no means.

Kace is burdened by death, I’m tormented by assault, our daughter stricken by things we cannot see. What a family we are.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks. The blue eye flicking to check me over, the grey one trying to do the same but not quite as pronounced as the other.

Physically, other than him kidney-checking me, I’m fine.

It’s everything else that’s wrong. My head…

my emotions… my heart. Now that he sees me like this, he’s not going to stay. And that guts me the rest of the way.

Cats and dogs.

Oil and water.

War and peace.

“No.”

“Talk to me. What’s going through your head. You’re not angry anymore, and it’s giving me whiplash if I’m being honest.”

I try to shake my head, surprised when it moves, even if barely.

If there’s one thing my body doesn’t want to do when I come out of tonic immobility, it’s talking.

Too much is running through my mind and speaking on it exhausts me further.

Just let me go, allow me to run and hide and lick my wounds in my own space.

Away from the world. For a moment I felt like my old self again, strong and capable.

Strength to get through any obstacle without having to rely on anyone else to hold me up or support me.

The girl who had the biggest chip on her shoulder.

She died when Kace did.

“Do you want me to help you up? You went slack so I just let you down where you’re at.”

“No,” I answer him.

“Babygirl, come on. Let me help, please.”

Kace is pushing up from the floor before he can finish speaking and I know he’s going to reach for me next.

The second wind I need to move kicks in and I roll over onto my back, swatting at his hand when he tries to assist me.

The worms are still burrowing, if he touches them, they will start from the beginning and that thought could send me into another spiral.

“Goddamnit, Nadia, let me—“

“No!”