A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “One.”

  “Who?”

  “His mistress.” I sneer and close my eyes as I throw the fruit. “Who helped me come up with the scheme and knows way too much about everything, including drupe fruits.”

  “Your shell best be impenetrable.”

  I lay my hand on his arm. “That’s all on you, my new head of security.”

  “I can’t protect a runner any better than The Unholy can,” he warns. “If you take off, I cannot watch over you.”

  “I won’t run from you,” I whisper, knowing this is my last chance. I cannot mess up with Reo Sato. “But if you fuck me over, I will slit your throat and feed your blood to my young.”

  “Durante’s spawn would probably love a red bottle of nutrition.”

  “So would Sal Raniero’s,” I whisper and wink. “Good job at lying, Sato. Protect the Queen at all costs.”

  “Protect the Queen and her lies.”

  I tilt my head and lock my arm with his. “Protect the Queen and her lies while she destroys those out to kill her King.”

  He snarks, “We’re going with insanity until this works.”

  “I’ll take it and prove you wrong,” I contend, understanding the depth of my infernal hell. “I am a motherfucking competitor.”

  “You are mean, is what you are.”

  With a laugh, I counter, “Would you prefer I invoke the role of his arm candy?”

  “Not at all, but this is extreme.”

  “I am a Goddess. I do not condone anything with half-life. I want to flourish in hordes. I would rather go down fighting than with a feeble assault.”

  “Go hard or go home!” he rallies with his muscled bicep curling in a cheer. He is decidedly beautiful. Thank God he is playing for the other team. “Take it home for the win!”

  “The team is always and forever Salvatore Raniero’s, and I am his bitch. Cristos will soon know not to fuck with him unless he wants to suffocate in the Lotus-infested waters. I’m going to destroy his shark until his corpse is decaying at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “Overdosed with anesthetics and psychoactive of the Lotus, he will perish. Putrefaction will occur as he is picked apart by scavenging sea life until the bones drop to the seafloor where the acidity will cause further rot.”

  “You are going to love my husband.”

  He laughs. “I already love his wife.”

  “Thank you, Sato.” I kiss his cheek, sealing our concealed fabrication. “I will repay you. Whatever you desire. At the end of this.”

  “You’re welcome, Madame, but I don’t need a repayment.”

  I grin. “You will be compensated for sheltering my crafting ability.”

  “Just don’t get bit, or I will pluck you from the water and stick you in a vase, Lotus.”

  IV

  A Faint Hatchling

  27

  I’m Reacting Now

  The Master

  “Your phone is buzzing again,” Cruz says as he slams into my ass. A majestic blue hue darkens the room on the second floor of Mass’ villa. We’ve opened the giant sliding glass door to the wrap-around balcony, and the cool breeze hits my warm cheeks as the moonlight glows on our naked, glistening skin.

  “Who is it?” I moan, lost in pleasure beneath his weight. “Cause I am not thinking about anything other than your hard cock in my tight hole.”

  “I can’t read it from here, but it keeps lighting up.”

  “Ignore it,” I huff. “I’ll call them back.”

  A shadow looming in front of the moon draws my attention as the room shifts to a pitch-black state. I want to curse his name for interrupting my ass-kicking. I need Cruz to ground out the crazy current.

  From behind, Deacon asks, “How long are you going to watch?”

  “You mean how long is he going to stand there and drool?” I quip, disgruntled by Cruz’s dwindling thrusts. He’s still inside of me, but with Mass’ presence of an overlord, we aren’t getting anywhere fast. “Say something so I can get back to a flat wavelength.”

  “You’re both beautiful,” he mutters, walking off. “Sorry for interrupting.”

  “Wait,” Deacon says. “Come back.”

  Wait? Whoa! What?

  “Yes?” Mass peers into the room. “Do you need something—towels, lube, more condoms?”

  “We’ll use your comforter and lube is for cars,” I angrily bark. “And condoms ain’t been in the dialogue for years.”

  Not exactly valid on any of it, but I am pissed at Mass for throwing me out of the headspace. I was visiting God and venturing into Eden when his sexy mug appeared. Not a boner killer, but this is not something I share with anyone.

  And if it can get any worse, Cruz then suggests, “Join us.”

  What the fuck?

  No. Just no.

  I’d jump away except he’s got my wrists tied to the foot of the bed frame, and my body pinned by his massively swollen dick in my ass. I want to call a safeword. I do not want to do this, but my resistance is futile when Mass steps inside and strips off his shirt. He is…how do I say this? A fully inked, well-sculpted motherfucker. Both sleeves, torso, and back are covered in a colorful story. I could spend hours exploring every inch with my tongue, but this is beside the point because I am in love with Cruz.

  Maybe he forgot.

  “I love you, Saint,” I loudly announce, quite awkwardly, in protest. “I would die for you.”

  “I know, Sally.”

  Oh, fuck.

  I cannot stop his train once it leaves the station, and he isn’t me. Cruz doesn’t just fall off the tracks and go up the mountain to tumble off because the pain of the crash feels good. That’s me. He’s got a point-A and a point-Z, and by God, heaven, or hell, he will arrive at his destination.

  After this, I am going to be stuck permanently in the terminus.

  “He gives a hell of a blow job,” Deacon emphasizes, mortifying me. “He swallows real pretty.”

  Oh, God…there comes his dirty biker talk.

  All I want to do is scream for help—yes, like a little girl. I’m a Capo. I kill people. And Deacon Vincent Cruz has my fucking digits tattooed on his dick.

  Mass unfastens his trousers, and they fall to the floor. Cruz can’t make me do it. His magnificent dick springs free. Nope. He’s adorned with a thick gauge hoop. Nope. My inner girl squeals like a diva with a fucking jeweled crown and a spinning, colorful pinwheel in my hand. Oh, hells, yes! Just toss some glitter on me and call me your bitch. Please, Sir.

  And then, Mass squats low in front of my face, breathing cinnamon gum on my minty lips, and he asks—he actually fucking asks—if he can do this. I have died and gone to heaven…or hell.

  “Do you want to suck me, Salvatore?”

  FUCK! YES!

  I want to howl out an affirmative, but my brain glitches. How much do I trust this guy? Is he going to fuck us over? Is he worth it? Will he pull my hair?

  “Yes, Massimiliano.” I follow suit with the full name cause a proper Southern gent raised me in a high protocol house. “If Cruz wants me to suck your cock, I will.”

  He glances up at Cruz, who I assume nods when Mass grabs my cheeks and leans closer. Oh. Shit. He’s going to kiss me. And he does, soft and sensual with a hint of naughty nibbles that send a shiver through my core. Cruz’s hand comes down hard on my ass cheek. “Stop thinking and feel Nero.”

  Fuck. You.

  No, not just fuck you. Fuck you and your hot MIHF too. (Moms I have fucked.) Fuck off. You don’t know me.

  God, yes, you do.

  You know me so well…too well. And you know I’ve been rocking a ridge for my security expert since he mysteriously surfaced at my farmhouse outside of Boston. In the night air…I could’ve sucked him dry then too. I could’ve bent over and…I am going to hell.

  Smack.

  “Ow!” I mumble as they laugh. “That one stung!”

  “It isn’t anything compared to the belt lashing I am giving you if you do not stop thinking,” Cruz
warns with his gravelly, gritty, tough-guy voice. I am so done. I am harder than a fucking stone, sandwiched by an assassin with his dick ring glossing over my lips and Satan’s spawn of a Saint at the rear.

  Stop thinking.

  Start feeling.

  I open my mouth wide, relaxing as best I can when his fingers twist into my curls, and Mass’ monster stifles me. Cruz follows with a deep, invading thrust rendering my cortex to complete mush. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking with the lightest touch, and I fall into the sex-induced delirium of goodness.

  I am silent.

  And they found me.

  I wake up early with two sound sleepers. I take a piss, toss on some joggers, and grab a coffee before returning to the bedroom. I quietly observe the differences between the two—Cruz and his wild long locks and Mass and his well put together attitude, concealing all of his gorgeous chaos.

  I am somewhere between the two, but I realize Mass is closer to Dom than what I have wanted to admit in the past.

  I swipe my phone, smokes, and lighter from the dresser as I note we each have a pile of our crap. I run my fingers over Deacon’s black leather wallet and skim over Mass’ expensive designer wallet organizer. I note his bulky vape, pick it up, and consider giving it a try. I swallowed the guy’s cum last night; I can try his vape.

  Blech.

  It’s some flavor with pineapples and an overwhelming aftertaste of banana.

  “I’m not fond of the flavor either,” he whispers, getting out of bed. Cruz is out cold. “But I’m trying to quit smoking.”

  In the morning light, I get a full look at the ink. I’m awed, not that I desire to have that much ink, but because he keeps it so well hidden. I had no clue.

  Forgive my odd frame of mind. I’ve never had a threesome quite like that.

  But…dayummmm.

  People can think what they want, but the truth is gender never really comes into play. I feel the connection—the spark—and go with it. I don’t, nor will I ever, claim to be gay. And I don’t really like the narrowing restrictions of bi, either.

  I am Sal.

  I am a lover.

  And if that ain’t good enough, fuck’em. They don’t count no way.

  I head outside as I hear the sound of another man pissing—which is weird cause I am used to Deacon whipping it out and pissing anywhere—but Mass is more polite about it. I love Deacon’s gruff nature. It’s part of the reason we’ve been having an affair all these years.

  I light up a smoke and take a sip of my coffee as I scroll through the notifications and see Iris called.

  I love the shit out of that girl.

  She didn’t leave any messages, but I figure she must have been busy.

  God knows, I was.

  In a daze, Deacon stumbles out onto the balcony, completely bare-assed naked.

  I love his ass. And when he stands in front of me, stretching, I poke his butt cheek with my toe. Mass lingers in the doorway in his trousers—see, polite. Cruz spins to face us, and I fully expect he may deck the fucker for our transgressions, but he grins like a schoolboy and holds out his hand.

  Mass grins and shakes it. “If something happens to me, will you take care of him?”

  Wait! Whoa! What?

  “Sure,” Mass readily says.

  “He’s a hot fucking mess.”

  “I am aware,” he replies, hitting his vape. “I won’t let you down.”

  Apparently, I do not get a say in what is happening to me.

  “I got to take a piss,” Cruz says, nudging Mass’ shoulder. “But keep your fucking dick out of my girl.”

  His girl? Pardon?

  I should deck him for that, but I won’t. He means well, even if his lingo is off. Iris belongs to me. She is mine. I just happen to share her with Deacon, so I can keep on having my cake and eating it too. I won’t deny it. I am in love with two.

  Who would I save if it came down to one?

  There is no debate.

  My phone rings, sitting on my thigh—Dr. Elaine Johnson. “Raniero.”

  “Hi, Sal,” she warmly greets. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of Iris to check on the baby, but she isn’t answering her phone.”

  “She is in Japan,” I volunteer, trusting Lani. “I can try and send her a message to call you.”

  She pauses as Deacon returns and steals my coffee and smoke. Fucker. “I just wanted to tell you that it is very noble to raise another man’s baby. It takes a special type of man to do that.”

  Wait! Whoa! What?

  “Lani?” I question, thinking something must be off. “What are you talking about?”

  “She hasn’t told you?”

  I sit forward and grip my hair, slightly rocking, as tears form in my eyes. “No, she hasn’t.”

  “The baby isn’t yours, Sal.”

  “I have to go Lani.” I throw the phone into the chair and puke coffee over the balcony.

  “What the fuck happened?” Cruz asks, rubbing my back. I spit up again. “Sal. Talk. To. Me.”

  “The baby…it isn’t mine.”

  His face morphs to fury. “What?!?!”

  He looks to Mass, who says, “I am on it. I will call Georgia and see if we can heist the DNA reports. If she cannot get them, I will go to Texas and fetch them myself.”

  “Deacon…” I latch onto his arm as I fall to the floor. Tears shower over my cheeks. “It’s yours man.”

  “It’s not fucking mine!”

  “It’s yours,” I cry, disheartened, yet happy for them. “A Cruz-Nakamura baby.”

  “No,” he says. “It’s not mine. There was never going to be a baby from me, Sal.”

  I slobber and spit. “Why?”

  “Because after winter, I went to Houston and had the boys snipped.”

  Whoa—news to me.

  What other secrets are you keeping?

  “You were shooting blanks in Iris in Colorado?”

  “I’ve been shooting blanks for six fucking months. I knew it was yours before you did.”

  “Now, we have this one random teal block,” I said, tossing it in the air. “This is Durante Costa. What do you do with him?”

  “I don’t know what to do with Durante Costa,” she chirped, confused. “Why are you so godawful jealous of a man I was in a limo with for twenty minutes?”

  “Think about that for a split fucking second.”

  “… The limo?” she asked as I genuinely hurt with the mentioning of his name. “How about I pull out with him?” I gave a fearful gaze and shook my head. “Fuck! I didn’t mean that! Okay, bad subject. Can I have Immortal’s alliance without him?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied grinning. “Why don’t you ask the guy with blue balls standing in front of you?”

  She smiled like an angel and looked down. “Mr. Raniero, as my right-hand man, would you happen to know someone who can facilitate direct growth between Immortal and Lotus?”

  “I happen to be pretty damn close with Gabe Herrera.”

  “… Who?”

  I winked, shining a priceless white smile at her. “This. Is. Why. You. Need. Me.”

  “What other things can you do for me?”

  “I can do many things as long as you don’t bring up D.C. again.”

  Her nose scrunches. “Washington?” I squinted my eyes. “Oh! That D.C.! Yeah, we’re done with him. Are we killing him?”

  “No!” I crossed my arms, waving them in the air. “Repeat after me. Just because we don’t like a player does not mean we kill them.”

  My hard drive is overclocking, and bad things are bound to happen. “Oh, God…give me my motherfucking phone because I am going to kill that son of a bitch!”

  “Who?” Mass asks as I hop up. “I knew you needed a hitman.”

  “Not necessary,” I seethe, raging with flames. “Durante Costa is dying by my hands.”

  “This must be a mistake,” Cruz excuses, holding onto my bicep. He’s trying to calm me down, but no sedation will calm the wild beas
t, pumping inside my chest. “There is no way Iris cheated on you.”

  “That is the only solution!” I roar like a lunatic. “She fucking spread her goddamned thighs for that…”

  “Don’t,” Cruz warns as my nostrils flare. He’s always so defending. He may not get the lingo, but damn if he won’t soldier for it. “Don’t take it there.”

  “Once a whore…always a whore.”

  In my face, he badgers, “And what are you?”

  “Yours, if she fucked us over.”

  And that is how you silence a Saint.

  28

  water of the first moment

  The Master

  Late in the afternoon, I sit calmly—for the time being—with my two lovers, Deacon and Mass, as we share a bottle of vino.

  I showered and cried with Cruz, his shoulders, and his dick. “Suck this, it will make you feel better,” he mumbled in the elegant stall. “And go slow.”

  Oddly enough, he was right. It did make me feel better to have the crown of his cock, bumping the back of my throat. I didn’t have to think about the fact that my wife was halfway around the world with another man’s baby in her belly.

  Mass managed to dissuade me from calling and chewing Durante Costa’s ass out because—really, what good would it do now? The deed was done. Lotus and Immortal were having a hellcat.

  Good luck. And sayonara.

  Lift the middle finger high.

  I’ll see you in the arena, whore.

  We’ve spent all afternoon doing a rundown of Berk Polat and Cris Crow and assessing what we can do to disrupt Immortal, Montesino, and Lotus, now knowing what we do.

  “What was that Russian girl’s name?” Deacon asks, holding his wine glass. Hot as fuck, he slouches in ripped jeans with no shirt, and his hair is still slicked back. I am sitting in one chair with my feet in his lap. Meanwhile, Mass is the civilized one, sitting in the chair like a normal human.