Before I get lost in the nuances of derogatory slang, I’m not talking about those charts of formal positions that every wannabe slave studies like it’s a damn Catholic school with nuns and rulers. I’m speaking of the mental makeup, which is ninety-nine percent of a good scene.
Let’s repeat…not Dominance.
That is another lesson for another day.
Last night was about her putting enough faith in me to carry her safely through the blaze. Just like I guided Deacon. No different. Except for the squiz at the end involved my fingers rapidly fucking her tight snatch while she creamed bloody goodness up my damn wrist.
Speaking of which, I believe she’s bleeding too much. We’re seven days in, and she’s still flowing like a damn river. Part of me wants to believe her body is merely adjusting after years of hormones and that this purge is healthy. Another part of me thinks I need to start feeding her rare beef.
She is dozing in the heated passenger seat, laying back with a light blanket and pillow. Her beauty still bewilders, leaving me breathless. And I can’t believe she’s here with me.
In last night’s activities, her boldness cinched my heart. It took a massive pair of balls to do what she did. My girl went packing eight to a Broadway show to get inside my head.
That’s true fucking love.
“Where are we?”
“Almost to Washington.”
“D.C.?” she giggles, sitting up. “Or did I hibernate for days?”
“The Capital.”
Tossing the pillow and blanket in the back, she asks, “Why are we here?”
“I need to meet with Kary Vega,” I reply, lighting a smoke. “Wanna join me, Queen of Darkness?”
“Yes,” she answers, smiling. “Are we staying here?”
“Nup,” I say as she takes my hand and steals a drag off the smoke. “We’re going to Virginia.”
“It’s for lovers,” she mentions.
“And we qualify.”
His Butterfly
“We lost Amber’s trail in El Paso,” Vega reports at the swanky steakhouse after we made love and changed clothes in a truck stop. The men have been having a rather tense conversation, and I have been picking up the beats.
Sal has a survival-mode about him, and it becomes more evident with each passing day. He has no qualms taking it up or down a notch on a dime. There is no rhythm, only the beat of his heart orchestrated by his emotions for which I’m sinking more in love with by the minute.
I’m wearing a full length, subtle dark charcoal sweater dress. It has a turtleneck, and I wore it intentionally to conceal the collar I refused to remove. Sal is in a dark gray suit with a white dress shirt and no tie. His shirt is unbuttoned a little too much, and he looks sexy as fuck.
He ordered two rare filet mignons and a bottle of pink champagne. His jacket is off, and his sleeves are rolled as he feeds me, which Vega seems to pay no mind. I keep my hands low, letting him care for me.
“You’ll find her,” Sal says, lying. We both know where she is and that she’ll only be found if she comes out of hiding. “What about Cas?”
“We conducted interviews but found nothing.”
Now, Vega is lying.
Sal believes Cas was driving the fucking van, but he says, “She’ll do anything to run Cinco.”
“It’ll never happen,” he assures. “We have surveillance footage of Soryn meeting with Pico, and a few days later, Cas met with the leaders of Immortal. She’s trying to determine where to place her bet.”
“If she’s smart, neither,” Sal contends. “Nothing is safe in Texas.”
“We’re going to have a holy war on our hands if Cinco and Immortal come to terms,” Vega informs. I can’t decide if I like the man Sal keeps harnessed on a retractable leash. There is supposedly a phone conversation recorded before Sal blew up La Chiesa. He is blackmailing Vega with this chat—got to love my filthy player. “The only ones who will suffer will be Reckless Rebellion since Cristos pulled out like a pansy.”
“Cristos did what was best for his initiative,” I state my first words since our greeting. “Everyone is—including Immortal and Cinco. The climate is harsh, Mr. Vega.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Be thankful Lotus is in an untouchable position.”
Sal discreetly squeezes my thigh. Vega doesn’t know I have Houston because he’s been too busy chasing Amber, but I doubt it would change anything if he did.
If Sal has Vega by the balls, then so do I.
“Find Amber,” I insist. “Excuse me.”
I run to the bathroom. It’s one giant room with single stalls, each having a toilet, sink, and full doors. I shut and lock the door to lean against it. I take a breath and pull my phone from my bra. I hit the number.
“Hey, beautiful,” Deacon says. “What are you up to?”
“Dinner with Kary Vega,” I whisper. “You need to get home.”
“I’m at Trudy’s.”
“No, I mean home to New Orleans,” I frantically urge. “Take the guys and leave.”
“You’re serious,” he replies. “What is going on?”
“Vega doesn’t know where Amber is,” I panic, knowing we helped her in hopes of framing her ass.
“Goddammit, Navarro was supposed to leave a nice little trail…”
“I know.” I clench my teeth. “Immortal and Cinco are about to go at it, and you need to get out.”
“I can’t just abandon Anna…”
“Anna has La Morte,” I sternly voice, staring in the mirror. “Get the fuck out, Cruz.”
“… You realize Sal will have my ass if I leave?”
“Have you issued justice on Trudy’s rape?”
“I issue justice on my own timeline,” he grumbles. “Sal may want me to do it, but I’m not the patsy everyone seems to believe I am. And Sal doesn’t want me to be.”
I hate how intimately close they sound. They’ve been talking and texting. For all I know, they’ve been swapping dick pics too. But this isn’t jealousy; this is envy. I want what they have—together with them.
“Then listen to me, before you get involved in killing Cinco, get the hell out of Texas.”
“What are you about to do?”
“Stop time,” I murmur, unafraid but unwilling to give him anymore. “Take Trudy, the boys, and go, Deacon.”
His heavy breaths fill the phone. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”
“Because I wouldn’t do that to you,” I vow, closing my eyes. “I can’t hurt you like that.”
“Are you going to hurt Sal?”
“No!” I loudly say. “Never!”
“Good,” he praises, taking a drag. “Because he’s about to end up being a dog without a yard.”
“I know,” I acquiesce, acknowledging Sal’s willingness to walk away from RE with nothing. All for me. “And that is all the more reason for you to leave.”
“I have a job and a life here outside of R.R., but everyone seems to forget that. While you were geisha-ing up in Japan, and Sal was off mobster-ing in Boston, I was left to keep the pieces together in Sugargrove. I am not leaving my post on a warning or a threat from the doyenne.”
“You want Houston?” I ask, quite scornfully. “I’ll hand it over to you, and you can cry on my shoulder when the massacre happens.”
“No one wants Houston,” he hastens. “It would be a fatal mistake for anyone to be there with Immortal and Cinco about to have a cockfight. It will rain crimson soon, and no umbrella will save those involved.”
Including me.
“Just think about it.”
“Cristos was brilliant, getting out when he did, and Lotus should do the same.”
He hangs up on me.
But I am unrelenting and send a text, “Keep your filthy fucking biker gang out of my zone.”
His response is quick. “There are only two zones—his and mine.”
That’s what you think, Saint Cruz.
Standing naked on the enclosed front porch of the
remote cabin, I look at Sal, also bare-assed except for the sexhat, which is fair considering I have a strand of diamonds. The snow falls in a blustery haze of white. “When did you learn to do this?”
“… Roll a joint in Bible paper?”
“Not what I meant, but sure…”
“A long, long time ago, babe,” he says, lighting the tip and taking a hit. “Try that. Vega gave it to me.”
“That is so fucked up. You were fucked from the start.” I mumble, “I want to do something besides pot.”
“Like kettle?” he charms. “Or black.”
“Watch it,” I warn. “Don’t push my limits. I know exactly what you mean.”
“I’m sure Morpheus could cut you a long, fat one...”
I furrow my brow as he says, “Or mix you a flavorful hypo of fun.” With zest, he booms, “I know what you need!”
“What?”
“An opium pipe.”
“Limits, Nero,” I snicker. “And I doubt Morpheus has an opium pipe.”
“You might be surprised what the Kingpin keeps.” He laughs as my eyes skid with uncertainty over him. I hate how he’s so hard to read at times. “What was your question concerning?”
I take a generous hit. “Playing a ruthless, cutthroat game.”
“It kind of came naturally to me,” he explains. “Everything I did as a child focused on my training to take over the Raniero outfit. From shooting lessons to learning to launder money…I love laundry,” he flatly declares. We both laugh.
I curl up on one end of the sofa. “Why do you love laundering?”
“Because I’m good at it,” he contends, sitting and putting his feet up on the table. “There is an element of old mafia to it, moving money around and making it vanish.” He waves jazz hands in the air. “There is a magical quality to it.”
“Is that what you did with the funds in our I.S. Ventures?”
“Most of that is in crypto or invested in stable distributors associated with The Unholy.” He looks at me as I lean over and hand him the joint. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because if I wanted to move a substantial amount of funds, I need to know someone who can do it and not get caught.”
“… Are you stealing, or do you possess it?”
Sitting on the sofa, I take another toke from his fingers. “I’m slowly draining it.”
“Slowly draining, hmm?” He flirts, lifting a brow. “Your sofu won’t be happy.”
“No shit,” I reply, giddily. “Just call me the wayward queen. Can you show me how to do it?”
“Hell, I’ll do it for you,” he offers, playing with my hair. “But you’re going to have to ride my dick.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“Not exactly,” he argues. “Blackmail would be forcing you to continuously do it for the rest of your life with the threat of my revealing your secrets dangling over your head. I’m more offering an exchange because I’ll never share your business. You ride my dick, and I’ll sequence your cash. How much are we talking?”
“Just a couple hundred mil,” I casually reply as he takes a hit.
He coughs. “Jesus fucking Christ, Iris, who are you robbing?” My eyes open wide as he stares. “Holy fuck, you’re either robbing Cristos or Immortal…”
Laying against his arm, I query, “How do you know I wouldn’t go after the Italians, hmm?”
“Breach of the love contract.”
“Is that a legal term?” I ask, grinning and straddling over his lap. “Or Salvatorian?”
“Are you paying in advance, or do you require a payment plan?”
“Both,” I reply, palming his cock and sliding on. “It wasn’t Cristos who pulled out of Houston, Sal,” I confess a few minutes later as I make love to him. “I bought Cristos out.”
“… You what?”
I latch my legs tightly around his torso and prepare to grab his shoulders, so if he furiously skyrockets off, I go with him. Or, should I say, this is my hope. “I bought out Cristos. Ho paid the initial funds and hacked into his hundreds of offshore accounts. We’ve been quietly swiping money since Christmas.”
“You aren’t kidding…”
“No,” I admit, taking the last hit. He drops it in an empty beer bottle as I notice the snow falling harder. “I don’t want Cristos to exist anymore, so I’m eliminating him. I’ve been heavily investing in his competitors and causing his stock prices to plummet. He won’t be worth anything after laying his remaining chips on Immortal.”
“… Why are you so against Cristos?”
With a sensual grace, I close my eyes and roll my body along his thick ridge. “Because his maniacal daughter destroyed you and others may forgive him, but I do not. And I do not forget.”
His glassy emeralds are so bright as he mutters, “Nicky.”
“Nicky will be provided for.”
“He’s fucking helping you,” he guesses, and all I can do is smile. “Are Dom and Deacon in on it too? I mean, have you just taken over The Unholy?”
“Not at all. Deacon refuses to move his club home though, which puts him at great risk when I start dropping little exploding arsenals everywhere, and Dom declined my offer citing future investments with Boston.”
He breathes. “Shit.”
“And there is only one Boston I know.”
“… What is the long-term plan?”
“I will be speaking with Morpheus and handing over Houston with a few contingencies. He leaves Reckless Rebellion and Raniero alone. And Kill Rat runs it. If I can serve it up without being a war zone, I can pitch the sale.”
Grabbing my ass, he stands, walking into the cabin. He kicks the bedroom door open, and we tumble to the bed. His hands spread my legs wide as he drives in deep. He looks like Jesus on his knees as he demands my confession, and his penetrating eyes promise absolution. I must repent for these sins with this man. I must.
“I sent Deacon home to eliminate some of Cinco’s table,” he bargains. “More to find out how stable he is than anything.”
“And that’s suicide for his club,” I maintain. “I can sell Houston off to Morpheus and let him run it, or I can give it to Cruz, but I’m not keeping it. I have bigger plans.”
His thrusts strengthen as we swoop and soar. “And what would those bigger plans involve?”
“Your absolute Domination.”
21
Peachy Not Keen
The Master
We leave the cabin early the next morning. I am in a state of quiet contemplation. Iris is single-handedly dismantling Cristos for me. That’s well and good, alleviating some of my troubles, but it isn’t what’s burning my brain.
I had a nightmare concerning Etienne.
If she’s aware enough to bid on a castle in France, what else does she know?
In my terror, I envisioned Etienne to be a beautiful Goddess, ruling everything, and threatening the girl beside me. I don’t take the killing of women lightly, but if anyone comes after my girl, male or female, I will snap their bones and shred their flesh with my bare hands.
Not a gun. Not a blade. Too easy.
A slow, excruciatingly painful death.
The kind of torture I learned to dole out at Sibyl. Nico doesn’t have the market, and if I’m angry enough, I can do anything to anyone. Deacon has fought to keep my hands clean. But there is a limit, a demarcation, a dividing line, which cannot be crossed.
I pull off to the side of the road. “You want to drive?”
She blinks. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling twitchy. “Remind me not to smoke any more of Vega’s grass.”
“Sure,” she replies, crawling over the console as I get out. I take a few breaths of fresh air as the world spins way too fast.
Iris. Deacon. Dom. Serene. Nico. Trudy. Stella. Pico. Amber. Merritt. Raine. Romeo. Kade. Skeeter—fucking Skeeter.
It’s all a blur in my head, and as
soon as I hit the seat, I pass out.
“Hey,” Kaci mumbles, rubbing my arm. “You got some funky shit. Stop fretting.”
The nightmares come hard and fast. We had been smoked up all weekend. Everything was a blur when she pulled out the scrapbook and started going down memory lane.
“Where are these pictures?”
“A vacation house,” she said, tossing the sheet. She was getting so thin…so frail. “I used to spend my summers there.”
“Where at?”
“Mexico.”
“September 2010,” I randomly blurt out hours later as Iris pulls in the darkened driveway. I smell the sea, being raised by fishermen gave me a particular appreciation, and I knew that scent like my own cum.
It’s different for everyone—trust me.
I glance around, realizing that it is not just any water, but the Atlantic-fucking-Ocean. “Where the fuck are we? Because this is not Atlanta, and this ain’t Morpheus’ spread.”
I check my watch—12:01 AM.
Holy shit.
“… Are you okay?” Iris asks with concern, brushing her hand over my arm. “You were mumbling in your sleep for a long while.”
I scout over the property. I know this place. “Why are we at The Spider’s house near Savannah?”
“Because he knows.”
“He won’t give it to you,” I sharply snide, lighting a smoke and downing the rest of her mostly full water bottle. “He talks in circles.”
She stares out the front window. “He won’t talk to you. That doesn’t mean he won’t talk to me. You had Jas grill Atticus for over a year in Nebraska before you sent him home.”
“You,” I grumble, feeling my temper quickly rising. “Are not going in that house!”
“Watch me,” she replies, getting out of the truck. I waste no time in chasing after her. “Don’t even,” she sasses, heading towards the door. “You researched and struggled to find the answers while I was locked away in the Nakamura Palace. Let me try, Raniero!”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 16