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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “That Auntie was in a wreck,” I reply, proud that she is even thinking about the future. I shouldn’t be surprised though she is, Iris.

  “First of all, everyone needs to stop calling me Auntie to her, I’m Iris,” she corrects as I want to holler and do a little dance. There is my girl. “Second of all, I’m not lying to a child that I’m raising.”

  “I’m not telling a four-year-old that you were raped,” I gently say, but the brutality is evident. That said, I am not allowing her language to dismiss this as an assault. It’s a personal choice, one I am instilling now. We’re calling the fucking flamingo a goddamned flamingo. “How about we meet in the middle? Some bad men got ahold of Iris and hurt her very badly?”

  “Done.”

  And there we have our first negotiation post-flamingo.

  Iris was raped. My wife was raped. The mother of my children was raped. And I am a vampire, hungry for blood and wanting to suck the marrow from the bones.

  Destroy doesn’t begin to describe what Cruz and I will do.

  She tries to crack a smile, but the agony creeps across her flesh like molten lava flowing across the earth. It hurts me to watch her hurting this much.

  I never understood that love could do this until now.

  Her hurts become my hurts; her joys become my joys.

  Healing will take time, patience, and more love than I have ever been willing to share. I promise to give myself to her. I vow to try harder. And I swear her sacrifices will end in bloodshed with the sins I commit.

  “Is Ari okay?” she asks again for the thousandth time. Every time my answer is the same. “Is Ari okay?”

  “Give me one minute,” I say, tugging Cruz. Amber smiles and stays. She knows her place. We dash the length of the hallway to where the CCU ends, and L&D begins. That’s where the NICU is at SGM. I smile at the nurse, Judy, who tirelessly runs the shift every night from seven to seven. There were four babies yesterday. Today there is only one. And she is mine.

  I hand Cruz my phone and wash my hands before putting a sterile gown over the top of my clothes. “She is a little heifer,” Judy says, smiling at me. “We were expecting her weight to drop, but it hasn’t yet.”

  Cruz smirks and whispers, “Wrong animal family. Baby Oinker.”

  “I am going to hurt you,” I warn, trying not to laugh as Judy hands Ariella to me. She makes a bubbly cooing noise as I cradle her in my arms. “You’re such a sweet baby.”

  “You got her?” Judy smiles, and I nod. “If you need anything, I’ll be right inside the office.”

  I memorize her delicate features—little hands and tiny nose—my preemie baby. I must remember this. Every fucking minute.

  “Dear heavens, you are as gorgeous as your mother,” Cruz says as his fingers brush through the side of my hair. “Her father too. You did good, Daddy. Are you ready for the video?”

  “I need a minute, just one,” I whisper with tears in my eyes. “She’s a perfect little thing.”

  “Daddy’s Girl in the making, folks,” Cruz announces, laying his hand on my shoulder. “When can Iris hold her?”

  “Now,” I rasp, praying that I am tough enough to get through raising this child on my own. Tears stream down my cheeks as I stare at my baby girl sleeping. “But she doesn’t want to. Iris only wants to see Ariella on a screen where she believes she can never harm her. Iris believes she is cursed to hurt those she loves.”

  “I will be by your side every step of the way. You aren’t doing this alone.” He gives a sullen gaze as his blue eyes brim with tears. “And I will hurt them for taking this precious time away from the Lotus.”

  “We just need to remember this isn’t her fault,” I whisper, sobbing. “This isn’t on her. We need to put all the hate and anger where it’s due.”

  “And we will,” he reassures, blessing my daughter with a graze of his unholy hand. “Night after night, I will be the curse they never forget.”

  His Mistress

  Flipping on the lights in the newly constructed La Chiesa, Deacon grins like a demon. In the sanctuary, I flick my gaze to the matching cage from the old prison. The one that initially held Nicky now contains him again. His tongue rapidly darts out, licking the bars as Sal hisses, “Stop harassing her, freak show.”

  Deacon scans over the space. “This is damn impressive.”

  “Thank you,” Sal says. “I had to burn it down to rebuild it.”

  “Brody did a remarkable job.”

  Nicky’s hisses, “Gonna kill them all.”

  Sal picks up the air rifle from the side table, loads the tranquilizer dart, and fires, hitting Nicky in the thigh. “Night night.”

  Deacon asks, “You know that is not the use for which that was intended.”

  “Did you read the instruction book?” Sal asks as I giggle under my breath. “More importantly, do you think I fucking care?”

  We walk back by the professional kitchen to a staging area. Sal opens the closet to reveal multiple hooded robes. “You went big on this Nero thing,” Cruz remarks. “I assume you have women’s robes for my girl to play dress up.”

  “I do,” he gloats. “And I never do anything small.”

  “No, you don’t, Sal.”

  He proudly smiles. “La Chiesa will open as a sister site to Oscurità as soon as the mother’s wrath is fulfilled.” He pushes the button for the automatic cellar doors. “Would you like to see the Lotus manifesto?”

  “Oh, I would,” I say as we step down into the tomb—the former bunker—beneath the church where we lived for weeks. “Is it a replica?”

  “Close,” Cruz says, lighting a torch. “It’s a little smaller.”

  I walk past the seven cells—three on each side and one large at the back of the room.

  With apprehension, I whisper, “Where are Ettore and Benedetto?” Sal strips off his hoodie and pulls on a pair of black gloves. His eyes dance up to mine. “I don’t know what I did, but I am sorry.”

  Deacon tugs out of his cut and shirt before circling me. From behind, he whispers, “Amber Leigh…”

  I practically jump out of my skin. “… Yes?”

  “We know what you did,” Sal warns, stepping closer. “And now, we’re punishing you.”

  My body trembles as they draw near and tears well in my eyes. “I don’t want to die.”

  “Who said anything about dying?” Deacon says, kissing my cheek and opening the box.

  “That’s a…” I stutter, unable to breathe. “Collar.”

  “It is a token of our love and appreciation.”

  I catch my breath and set my hand on my heart. “I never dreamed we would get back here.”

  “We’re here!” Sal boasts as Deacon fastens the collar on my neck. “And you belong to us, including the one not here. You are our girl.”

  I ask, “Iris knows?”

  “She picked it out,” Deacon says as they hold me close.

  “We will get through all of this, and I will be here with you all the way. No matter what.”

  “We know,” he whispers, opening a tiny box. “And this is from me. It’s a commitment ring, a pledge, and a promise.”

  “… You like me?”

  “No, Stardust, I more than like you,” he admits, kissing my lips. “I love you. And I don’t know where this leads, but I know I want you to be a part of this famiglia.”

  “Mae is going to call you Mama for the rest of her life,” Sal adds, wrapping his arms around me. “So, I guess that means you and I have a child we’re going to raise together.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need any legal documentation.”

  “I’m not even talking about that,” he says. “If something happens to Iris and me, you two are getting our children. I am talking about bringing up this little girl in a stable house full of love and memories. I understand better than anyone who we are and what we do, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad people or parents. So will you help me raise Mae?”

  “How does Iris feel?”

&
nbsp; “Before the rape, she wanted you and me to be Mae’s parents. She didn’t want to take away the Mama that Mae knows you as. She just wants to be Iris. But you have to understand; when she comes out of this, she may want to help with Lukas.”

  “One big happy family?” I ask, wiping the tears away. “No conflict?”

  He shakes his head. “Not on this. Iris loves you just as much as we do.”

  “I will take care of Iris when she comes home,” I offer, holding Sal’s hand. “I know she doesn’t like Hannah.”

  “Hannah may not like being Hannah soon when she realizes how many diapers, bottles, laundry, and dishes, we’re about to have.”

  I laugh, “What about Jaid?”

  “Jaid wants to stay where she is,” Sal confides. “And I am okay with that for now.”

  “… Living in a cellar?”

  “Well,” Deacon adds, smirking. “It’s about to be a really nice cellar.”

  “Maybe I need one,” I tease as the boys lip lock and run their fingers between my legs. “Are we blessing this dark place?”

  Deacon declares, “Oh, hell yeah, we are!”

  His Butterfly

  “I need you to oil the squeak in the door,” I say from the bed as I stare at my feet and hear Sal come in. They’re even bruised. It has been four days since I gave birth to Ariella. “It’s very disruptive.”

  “Sorry it took me a minute, I had to call Vie and convince the new nurse on duty that the milk we are feeding Ariella is allowed.”

  “Does Jaid have enough supply to feed two?”

  His eyes shift from side to side. “Jaid has more than enough to feed three.”

  Setting down the pretty white bag, he segues the conversation, “Why are you sitting up?”

  “Because I cannot wilt.”

  “You need to be careful,” he warns, holding my arm. I notice the bandage around his hand as bloodied red cuts and blue swelling shine on his knuckles. “You’re a mess, sweetheart.”

  “And you need to stop hitting things.”

  “I will one day,” he assures smirking. “Currently, I am enjoying practicing my boxing skills on two live dummies.”

  Unable to hold back, I laugh, but quickly cover my mouth and glance down. “Sorry, I am atrocious.”

  “You have got to stop this,” he tenderly encourages. “I know you think you’re hideous, wretched, vile…and you are all of those things, Lotus,” he informs, winking. Gently tapping my head, he squats down to look me in the eye. “But my Iris is beautiful. Forever.”

  “You deserve better, though,” I whisper as he stands up and unties my gown.

  He carefully unsnaps all of the buttons at the shoulders and pulls it from me. I want to hide, but he won’t let me. “We’re gonna resurrect you. We’re gonna repair all of this. We’re gonna heal what’s in here,” he mutters, setting his fingertips on my heart. “We’re gonna do it all. You gotta trust me, Angel.”

  Pulling the sleeves of his navy blue Henley up, he extends his arms out. He flips the ball cap to a sexhat and grins. “You want me up?”

  “Get it up for me, baby,” he seduces.

  I brace my arms on his and wobble to the edge of the bed. “Janine said this is going to take a bit to get my balance back. I may need therapy.”

  “She can come out to the shack.”

  I put some weight on my right foot and lift into his arms. “This fucking hurts.”

  “I know, baby,” he consoles, backing up. “Just a few steps.”

  I lick my lips and grimace through the pain. “Did you bring dry shampoo?”

  “I did,” he says. “And I had Amber run over to Honey Cove to that medical supply store, and she bought you about fifteen different gowns in all kinds of colors.”

  I grimace through the pain and sass, “You’re an asshole.”

  “Oh!” he encourages. “Talk dirty to me! You won’t be the only one getting up.”

  “Fucker,” I growl, angry, and struggling even to take a few steps. “Motherfucking monster.”

  “Would you like that? Would it turn you on? You want black gloves and cement blocks in the river, baby? Cause I can do that!”

  “This man,” I persisted as my seas churned. “This is the man I am in love with.”

  “You are in love with a fucking monster!”

  “There’s my girl,” he praises, cheering me back to life. “Fight for me. Fight with me. Just fight.”

  “I’m not stopping.”

  “Nup,” he contends. “We don’t quit.”

  “I am a rabid fucking bitch,” I reply as he drops one arm down and steps away. “Sal!” Standing in front of the mirror, I see my full body for the first time since the attack. “It looks like someone stained me with blueberry juice.”

  “My little blueberry,” he teases. “You need to laugh. Or you will die in sadness.”

  “I fucking hate you,” I scowl as he dips down and softly kisses me. He never lets go as he takes the birthday present out of the bag. He undoes the ribbon with his teeth and shakes the box open. “What are you doing?”

  He lifts the necklace with a diamond key from the box. “You tend to forget your keys, and this one belongs to me.” I gasp at the sparking three-inch key. “And now I am giving it to you because I never want you to forget that you are the key to my heart.”

  “Salvatore,” I whisper, clinging to him and his every word. “I love you so much. Tell me about Goblin.”

  “You want to lay down?”

  “No, I want to stand. I am not fragile. I am tough. I am as tough as you,” I challenge, trying to grin. “Bring it, gangsta.”

  “God, I adore you. You’re so much tougher than me, Queen,” he confesses as I stare into his emerald eyes. “You always were.”

  His hands are mine.

  With love, Sal delivers me his monster.

  The Master

  With sweat dripping off of his half-naked body, I watch from the chair in the crypt of La Chiesa as Cruz’s fists have their way with Alessi Ettore and Giacomo Benedetto.

  He grunts every so often during my nightly show, dancing around them like he was born to fight with quick pummeling jabs and impactful hooks. His antics send a charged arousal straight through to my core.

  Cruz spits and smacks Alessi in the head. “What the fuck were you thinking, punk?”

  Alessi swings, but he is depleted after the last fifty-five minutes of Cruz’s tyranny. I smirk and lift a finger as Mass takes the animals for a shower.

  We feed the prisoners. We let them rest. And then we punish them for their crimes against the Lotus.

  Night after night, Cruz manifests into the monster, and then I ground out his powerful current to bring home the Saint.

  Cruz strides over, breathing heavily. I hand him the bottle of water, and he downs most of it in one gulp. “You ready, pansy-ass?”

  I stand to look him in the eye. “Yes.”

  “I will beat your ass tonight,” he says, smack-talking. He wipes his hands on the towel. “And when I do, you and your ass are mine, Raniero.”

  “You’re so cute when you’re angry,” I bait, sticking my tongue out. He laughs. His grin is fucking perfect. I toss my shirt to the chair.

  “Do you realize we’re Dads now?”

  “I do,” I say, cracking my neck. “That is why we do this.”

  “So we don’t get Dad bods?” he rebukes like the thought is unthinkable. I take an easy swing, knowing damn well I’m going to pay like hell for it.

  “Motherfucker,” he mumbles, shaking his head. He comes at me, full-throttle with a ladder of punches from my biceps to my gut. “Getting slow, daego.”

  “And you’re getting a little below the belt,” I hiss, moving with footwork he can’t match. “Watch it, biker boy.”

  I am a goddamned ballerina on crack—or at least, that is what he told me two nights ago.

  He hates how fast I am; I hate how mean he is.

  We’re getting something out of this, but neither of us is
quite sure what yet. Sweaty blow jobs and hot anal seem to be the lesson of the midnight hour.

  “I am gonna unload on you in about five-seconds.”

  “Too bad it’s not in me,” I prod, cackling. “But only if you can catch me,” I add, dodging his every strike. “Give it to me, Honeybear.”

  “Aww, Snookums,” he goads, pacing around and ripping the tape off of his hands. Oh shit. He drops his rings on the table and barrels for me. I fall back onto the mat, and what was a brawl is now a horizontal wrestling match.

  Sweaty wet fucker gets on top of me.

  “Asshole.”

  “Thank you,” he whispers, glaring down with those heavenly blue eyes. “For staying with me.”

  “There was never another choice.”

  He dips down and softly kisses me. “Let’s go make love in the shower.”

  “I am game for that.”

  He gets up and offers me a hand. We grab our things and sprint the steps to the showers when the gunfire erupts. I rush up the staircase to find a confused Mass in the kitchen. “Where are the pets?”

  “They’re in the shower, no worries.”

  “Who shot?”

  Mass says, “I have no fucking clue.”

  With Cruz hot on my tail, I run to the sanctuary, spotting the open cage and the robust frame of a man I haven’t seen in years. “Hey, Daniels…”

  He slowly turns and smiles. “Just business, boys. Mean you no harm.”

  I strut over without giving two shits and sneer, “Who hired you?”

  “I am a freelancer,” he replies. “Always was. I go where the money is.”

  “I got money,” I boast. “Who hired you?”

  “50K,” Mitch bargains.

  “Give me your bank number, and I’ll wire it now. Who hired you?” Mitch gives a scrutinizing glare to Cruz, and I turn to him and ask, “Did you do this?”

  “No, I didn’t fucking do this,” Cruz scoffs. “I’d rather kill Nicky in the cage.”

  God, that’s hot.

  “You look exactly like your father, Saint,” Mitch marvels in awe. “And you look nothing like Cesario.”