Chapter 19
NINETEEN
RUIN
It’s been two days since he took me from the party. Two days since we ended up here, tucked away from everything else, living inside our own quiet bubble.
I lean against him. He is shirtless, muscles tightening under my touch. One hand rests on my head. The other pulls the cigarette from his mouth as he tips his face toward the ceiling. Lazy smoke coils around him.
My fingers trace the lines of his chest. I bite my lip as Chasing Cars hums from the radio. I push up to my feet, still worrying my teeth against my mouth, and hold my hand out to him.
“Wanna dance?”
Only if I get to fuck you afterward. He signs, the cigarette hanging between his fingers.
“Wow.” I laugh, squinting at him. “Aren’t you romantic?”
He rolls his eyes, stubs the cigarette into the ashtray, then gets to his feet. A crooked smile tugs at his mouth as he steps closer.
“Can this be our forever?” I ask.
“Yes.” He pulls me in, lifts me, and spins me. The room blurs. My head tips back, laughter spilling out of me as the walls tilt and move away.
I tap his chest and pull myself closer. My face hovers above his as he lowers me back to the floor.
“I have to go,” I whisper. My hands cup his cheeks. I press my lips to his. “But I don’t want to.”
His tongue slips past my mouth, twists with mine. He kisses me hard, moving me across the room, steering me back toward the kitchen. He leans me against the counter and slides my hips up onto the cool marble.
I’m hungry. He signs.
I bite my lip and spread my legs, drawing him closer. His eyes lift to mine, creasing as he smiles. He steps in and pulls my black T-shirt over my head. His mouth brushes my neck. Teeth catch my skin. He moves down, cups my breasts, and drags his teeth across my nipple.
“I guess you’ll have your little sister for breakfast,” I say, smiling.
He laughs against my chest. I press a hand to the back of his head and guide him lower.
I lean back, my head tipping as his breath ghosts over my skin. His hands slide along my thighs, holding me open. His tongue traces from my clit down, then back up. His teeth graze me, and he pulls me closer, mouth working, fingers parting me as his tongue pushes in, curling and twisting.
I moan as my fingers curl into his hair, tangling there as he pushes two fingers inside me, sliding in and out while his tongue works my clit.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my moans breaking louder.
I drag my hand to my mouth and bite down as my inner walls start to clamp around his fingertips.
He rises, straightening toward me. His free hand slides down my thighs to my waist, pulling me closer, while his other hand keeps me open, his palm pulsing against my clit.
I lean in, my hands gripping the edge of the counter as I tilt my face, scanning his. He presses his mouth to mine, his tongue slipping past my lips, making me taste myself.
“Beg,” he breathes against my mouth as his pace quickens. I feel myself throb against his hand, and I roll my hips over his fingers.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please.” I catch his lip between my teeth, dragging it until I taste blood. “Make me come.” My breath stutters. “You know this pussy is just yours, Judas.”
“Fuck,” the word breaks out of him.
He hooks his fingers deeper, pulling them up inside me, curling them just right, making every movement burn through me. He shoves his gray sweatpants down, pulls his hand free, and strokes himself once before guiding his hard cock to me. His hands grab my ass and pull me back as he pushes inside.
I lock my eyes on his, holding his gaze as he drives deep. I feel all of him. Every thrust, every pull, every inch that pushes me closer to the edge.
My breath spills from my mouth as my eyes roll back, and I collapse against his shoulders while he drags me closer.
He cups my cheek and lifts my face, forcing my eyes to meet his as he steals every sound from my mouth.
“I can’t,” I gasp, my vision blurring, my body trembling on the edge.
He tangles his hand in my hair and tilts my head back, dragging his teeth along my neck before biting into my skin.
I cry out, but he doesn’t slow. His pace grows rougher, deeper, until I feel him harden inside me.
“Fuck,” he groans against my throat. He grabs my face and pulls me in, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, swallowing my breath as he locks me there, losing himself inside me.
We stay like that for a second, his forehead pressed to mine, then he steps back, pulling out of me.
I bite my lip and look at him. My thumb rises to my mouth, teeth catching on my nail as I whisper, “You might be chaos to the world, but you’re peace to me.”
He smiles, then signs, You’re home to me.
“You are my home, Judas.” I grab his hand and pull him closer, my eyes burning. “You silly goose.” I roll my eyes and swipe at the tears.
Stay. He signs, his voice breaking.
“I have to go tell Catherine and William I’m alive,” I say, lifting one shoulder. “They need to stop the hunt, if they even started it.”
He nods and takes my hands, tracing every scar I forget is there. His fingers move slowly, like he is reading a map of me. Somewhere along the way, he makes me forget the dark that lives under my skin. Around him, I feel lighter. Like my body remembers how to glow.
And still, it feels like the universe is pulling us apart. The thought of losing him again knots tight in my chest.
He chuckles and signs, They’re going crazy without you.
“Yeah, right,” I wipe my face.
He steps in, lifts me up, and carries me toward the living room.
“Judas, I can walk,” I say.
He ignores me.
He drops me onto the sofa. His forehead bumps against mine before he collapses beside me with his shoulder pressed to my side. He takes my hand and lifts it between us, studying my fingers like they hold an answer he can’t say out loud.
His eyes slide to his backpack. He stares at it long enough for the silence to thicken. Then he pushes up, crosses the room, and brings it back, setting it at my feet.
“What is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me. He opens the zipper and pulls out a thick book, the kind you see in court offices. As he turns it, the red spine catches the light, and it reads 2014.
“Judas?” I whisper.
He tilts the bag, and the rest spills out. Photos and folded papers slide across the floor, scattering at our knees.
For the first time in four years, I see my mom.
I drop to the carpet. He follows, kneeling close, our shoulders almost touching.
Sorry, he signs.
But I don’t answer. I pick up a photo and lean back against the sofa. It’s her and Sofia. She is holding Sofia and smiling, pretending to be a happy mother, as if the walls of that house had never held secrets or been broken.
Nothing was normal in that house.
To everyone else, she is the victim, a happy mother. And I’m the problem child who turned on her. They never saw what I saw. They never heard what I heard. They never felt what I felt.
My chest tightens. I want to see Sofia. I want to say goodbye.
“Judas,” I whisper, “two years ago, before I even met you, I had this plan. I wanted to disappear into a town where no one knows my name. Where no one looks twice at me and asks who I am, where no one can even judge me. I wanted to go the moment I turned eighteen.”
He lifts his hands and signs. Wherever you go, I go with you.
A sound breaks out of him, rough and crooked. “Fuck.” The word falls apart in his mouth.
He signs again. I don’t even need a map. If you ride ahead, I’ll follow you to the end.
Promise? I sign back.
He nods and hooks his pinky around mine.
Promise.
“I still want to go,” I say. A tear slips down my cheek and lands on my hand. “But first, I need to see Sofia. If we leave, I don’t want to come back here.”
He nods.
He picks up one of the papers, eyes moving across the lines. A photo of a man is clipped to the corner. I lean into him and read over his shoulder. The words blur, then snap into focus, and I grab the page from his hands.
The paper reads that my mom used to be part of a gang called the Fallen Saints and that she was under witness protection. Her case officer is listed as Justin Miller. My stepfather.
I look at Judas, then back down at the page.
They put her under witness protection because she had to testify against the President of the Fallen Saints in court. The lines list locations where he deals drugs and weapons, and places where they robbed a bank. At the bottom, there’s the name of the judge who is supposed to prosecute the case.
William Harrington.
Judas flips through the file and pulls out another page, holding it out to me.
“Maria De La Cruz, mother of three…” My voice drops. I scan the list of relatives at the bottom.
One name stops me cold.
“Harper De La Cruz.”
Judas’s eyes lift to mine. “H-h-harper?”
“She’s my... half-sister,” I say, staring at the page. “Did you know?”
He shakes his head.
Then he signs, The President of the gang wanted us to find these files. He never said why. Now I understand.
“Are you a Fallen Saint?” I whisper.
He nods. His hands rise again. That was the only way I could survive.
“The night William fell down the stairs, they found out he was my dad.” I press my lips together. “Somehow, I think all of this is connected. I think he put me in juvie because he knew I knew something. But I know nothing, Judas.” A broken laugh slips out. “I barely remember.”
I remember you, he signs.
He keeps going, slower.
I found a file in Dad’s office. The main suspect in the serial killings from 2000 was Justin Miller.
When I saw his face, I knew he was the one who kept me locked in that fucking glass cage.
No one could touch him because he was a cop.
So I followed him. I promised myself I would slit his throat the same way he did to my parents.
“It was you?” I ask. I press my hand into his palm, grounding myself. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
He nods.
I never wanted Dad to lock you up. But he did. All this time, I thought he did it to protect you.
“What about my mom?” A tear slips down my cheek.
He shrugs, then signs. When I stabbed Justin, I panicked. I called Dad to help me.
“Who killed my mom?” My voice cracks.
He pulls me in before the question can fall apart, arms locking around my shoulders, holding me still. My knees hit the floor. Something hard presses against my side. I shift, reach for it, and my elbow bumps the remote.
The TV flickers and turns on, and my face fills the screen.
“Missing teenager Carmen Harrington was taken from a family home in Del Mar,” the woman says. “The house was broken into. William and Catherine Harrington are waiting for a call from the kidnappers or any information that can bring their adoptive daughter home.”
I look at Judas. “Did you trash the house?”
He shakes his head. His hands move.
Fallen Saints.
“I have to fix this.” I push to my feet, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I have to go.”
I am going with you, he signs.
No, I sign back.
“If they find you, they will pin everything on you,” I say. “Axel died that night. Mina still keeps that case open.”
He shakes his head. His hands tremble.
Don’t leave me.
“I’m not leaving you, Judas.” I step closer. “I just have to go home and stop this before our faces are everywhere. If this crosses the state lines, we will never be invisible.”
He nods, closing the space between us.
Promise me you will be back tonight, he signs.
I promise, I sign back.
Every promise I make to him feels like a line I carve into myself. Like I knew I might not be able to keep it, yet I still keep on going. He is everything I ever wanted. Of course, I wanted to come back.
He pulls me in, his arms turn tight around me, his forehead pressed to mine. The TV keeps talking behind us.
“The main suspect is Judas Harrington, presumed dead for two years. Also suspected in the murder of Axel Smith. Police ask the public to report any sightings immediately.”
“Fuck,” he says.
“You stay here.” I press my palm to his chest. “I will fix this.”
I rush toward the bedroom. I grab a shirt from the closet and pull it over my head as fast as I can, then I step into my jeans. I lose my balance for a second as I shove my sneakers on, my eyes finding him in the doorway.
I move toward the front door, then turn back. He is still standing there. Before my hand even touches the doorknob, I rush back into his arms. My hands clap against his shoulders as I lift onto my tiptoes.
“I promise we will fix this.”
He nods.
I press my hands to his, then let go.
I move back towards the door, and I open it.
My pink bike was parked in front. I rush to it, grab the helmet from the handlebars, and drop onto the seat. I pull the helmet down and look at him through the visor.
He stands in the doorway in gray sweatpants with his arms crossed.
I promise I am coming back, Judas.
I twist the throttle.
I want us. I want us to be us, without anyone else’s ghosts breathing down our necks.