“Please,” she excites, kissing my lips with a fiery hot passion. Her jeans peel off with ease as I tear open the condom with my teeth cause I ain’t that stupid. “Where do you want me, Deacon?”
Head down, ass up seems so crude for our first date. Maybe the gentlemanly bad boy is more my style. I lay back on the cement bench, which is cold as a well digger’s ass, and she straddles on top of me. My fist grips my dick as I slowly ease in. I’m not going to make this about me, but I’ll be her ride.
She is okay with this because her shirt comes off, and I’ve got her tits bouncing in my hands as she rolls on my dick. And I feel like there is a glimmer of hope that I can get out of this ménage-a-la- break-my-fucking-heart bullshit.
I’ll follow the light to the end of the tunnel as I glance over to the fallen angel’s grave, and I remember the time with her and how we made a baby in a moment not much different from this. We were spurred on by the desire, succumbing to the lust as we handcrafted Merritt Amos Hope Cruz.
We did that.
Kaci and I.
We’ve spent years dealing with Sal’s loss, but when do I get to fucking grieve? When do I get to be a fucking man? When do I get to be the guy making the love of my life come on the floor of a dank warehouse? —which, by the way, I found tacky as fuck and would never do. But the point is…for one time in my miserable life, I want to be the motherfucking quarterback.
Again, I am not Sal.
I am Deacon Cruz—the gentlemanly bad boy.
You’d think I would be the crass playboy with my biker legacy, but it isn’t that way at all. He’s the goddamned perv, who’d be happy with a different girl grinding on his dick every night. And while I am enjoying this moment with Hannah, let’s be honest—this will be my one brief encounter because I am not a manwhore.
Sal doesn’t deserve Iris.
Not at all.
But I’ve kept my damn mouth closed and securely wrapped on his dick because I am in love with the guy. Me, his right-hander for maiming and handjobs, can’t get enough of his arrogant charm.
“You like my hard cock?”
“Yes,” she moans, looking like an angel from hell. “So damned big.”
I grab her hips, and we spin around the world as the stars offer a blanket for our passage. We’re traveling through time and space, or maybe I’m just a little too blazed. We pass by the moon as I come hard inside of her pussy, and she shudders, collapsing on top of me.
She’s fallen from grace and laying on my chest as I gently stroke her hair. “You’re beautiful,” I honestly mutter as she kisses me. “Thank you for being alone with me.”
“Thank you,” she says with a grin. “I’d love to be alone with you anytime.”
“Are you offering a booty call?” I smirk.
“Hook-up, anytime.” She winks. “Truly Deacon.”
In the distance, I hear the blare of a horn. We glance at each other, and she panics, looking to me for protection. “Just some crazy kids from the high school,” I calmly say, stroking her cheek. We get up and dress, still smiling and flirting. Hope is right fucking there. So close, I can touch it. “We’re fine.”
I light a smoke and note the lights beaming through the trees of the cemetery as the rumble of a big fucking truck engine stops right behind my bike.
Sal gets out of his new beast, and Iris screams, “Cruz, stop!”
“What the fuck are they doing here?”
Trudy and Dom rush out of the backseat as Sal staggers closer. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, setting my jaw. “What did I do?” I glance at Ma, covering her mouth and crying. Iris’ expression is pure fear. “What the fuck is going on?”
“What did you do?” Sal asks again.
“I don’t think that’s any of your goddamned business,” I defend, spitting. “If you want to fuck your bitch on the fucking floor with people watching on, that’s your gig. You’ve made it abundantly clear who she belongs to, but I come to the cemetery to get my rocks off. Private. Alone. Sacred,” I hiss, stretching the muscles in my back. I’m trying to keep my monster contained in his cage, but Sal is making it damn difficult. “Let’s not start passing judgement.”
With a venomous scowl, Sal strikes, “Don’t call Iris a bitch.” He cracks his knuckles. “You cannot sleep with her.”
“Which her?”
“Hannah!” he snaps, revolting against my argument. “This isn’t about Iris!”
“Everything is about Iris!” I thunder, detonating the fucking bomb. “Everything I do and have done all goes back to Iris!”
“Not this!” he yells through gritted teeth. “Not this time!”
“I can sleep with whoever I want to,” I rebuke, stepping forward and ignoring his intimidating pose. My eyes drift to Iris, shivering in the cold. I pull off my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders. Getting in Sal’s face, I hiss with a warning, “Whoever I fucking want!”
“You,” he whispers before clearing his throat. “You cannot sleep with her because her parents are Trudy Diaz and Victor Cruz. She is your sister. Full blood. Born August 5, 1999.”
Hannah’s eyes about pop out of her skull as she turns away with embarrassment and throws up. Iris runs to comfort her as I look at Ma and Dom. By their expressions, I don’t need to ask if he’s telling the truth.
The only thing that matters are the lies he’s told.
“Well, that’s good,” I mumble, nodding. “Because I already did, you son of a bitch!” I throw my arm back, barreling all my pent-up anger and weighty rage behind one swing, knocking Sal in the jaw. He stumbles, and I tackle on top of him. “I slept with my nineteen-year-old sister because of your lies!” He doesn’t even try to fight back as I beat the fucking shit out of him. Landing my fist to his flesh, I spare no mercy for his black soul. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” I cry and slobber, heaving and losing all control. “You fucking asshole!”
Iris and Hannah walk away as I hear Ma crying.
“Why are you such a fucking dick?”
“Deacon,” Dom slowly commands as Sal groans in pain beneath me. He’s got a black eye, his nose bleeding, and his lip is busted open, but I don’t stop until I hear the click of the gun. “Baby Saint, get your damn ass up off the ground right fucking now. I understand why you are mad, but you will not kill him. I will not let you, because you would never forgive yourself.”
I straggle up from his body, pacing with thundering steps around my casualty as my knuckles swell and bleed. “If you ever come near me again, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes!” Sal cries out. “God, I’m so sorry, Cruz!”
“How long have you fucking known?”
“He’s known for about ten years,” Ma achingly volunteers. “He found Hannah for me, and we brought her here to keep her safe. We were going to tell you…”
“When?” I howl at Ma. “You both fucking lied to me!” I scream, collapsing to ground on my knees.
“Deacon Vincent,” Ma comforts, coming closer.
“Get away from me!” I warn with ragged breaths as I shove her hand from my shoulder. “Everything I know is a damn lie!” I glance up to see Iris gazing at me—a broken shell of a man. “I gotta get out of here. Don’t fucking talk tome, Ma!” I threaten. “And you,” I spitefully gaze at Sal. “Don’t you ever fucking come near me again. You know what—fuck it!” I pull my phone out of my jeans and smash it to smithereens on the cement bench. “There! Now you won’t be tempted. Leave me the fuck alone! All of you!”
Grabbing my cut off the bench, I march towards the bike and stop as I lower my head and let the tears fall. I turn towards Hannah with so much left unsaid. I meet her halfway as she runs for me and embraces me tight. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” I mumble through the tears. “I didn’t either. I would never have done that to you.”
“I know,” she whispers in my ear. “I just lost the best lay I’ve ever had an
d found one hell of a brother.”
I hold her tight. “Give me your phone.” She hands the glittery—so very girly—pink phone to me. “This is my email. When I get a new phone, I’ll give you the number if you promise not to share it with them.”
“I won’t…”
“You need to stay here,” I warn. “Take care of the girl behind you because she means everything to me.”
With a loyalty in her eyes, she quietly makes the promise. “You’re in love with Iris…”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I am.”
“You should tell her that,” she encourages. “Because what difference does it make now?”
I think about her words as tears drip down my cheeks, and I grind my jaw. We’re over.
Our holy trinity is dead.
It’s going to hit and when it does…I pray.
I glance at Iris with her arms crossed over her chest. She’s so fucking upset, and there is nothing I can do to make it better.
This love hurts bad.
“Do it, Deacon,” Hannah urges, kissing my cheek as she lets go of my hand. “Say it. Before you get on that bike and leave, do something they can’t. Set the truth free.”
She’s so much like me…a wandering soul…
I glance down and wipe my face. I grab my wallet and stick it in my jeans. I take the box of smokes, tuck one cigarette behind my ear, and pocket the rest. I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she warmly says, rubbing my cheek. “You’re my brother.” Her tears come on strong as I hug her once more. “We aren’t over, but you need to get out of here before you do things you will regret.”
“Yes,” I agree, knowing she understands and kissing her cheek.
I swagger over to Iris as she peers up with those enchanting blue-violet eyes and whispers, “Saint Cruz.”
“I didn’t know.” I pull off my cut and put it on her shoulders. Her slender fingers pull it tightly around her chest. “I would never have done what I did if I had known.”
“Ignore the fact that Hannah is your sister,” Iris implores with a desperation in her voice. “Why were you screwing in the graveyard?”
“Because I can’t have you,” I confess as my heart dies. “And that isn’t something I can deal with. If I stay, I’m only going to get hurt even more. I’m not Sal and I won’t drown my shit. That’s not how I roll. It’s easier to walk away and call it a day.”
“You’re accepting defeat.” The end flares in her eyes. “What are you doing by giving up the fight?”
“I’m not giving up the fight. I’m leaving before I put Sal Raniero in a body bag,” I state the fact, maintaining a straight face. “I can’t be here and be the man you need.”
“But where are you going?”
Feeling like a lost little boy, I shrug. “Anywhere other than here.” I lay my hands on hers. “This is going to hurt like a motherfucker, baby girl. But you’re going to heal. And you’re going to marry that asshole on the ground and have half a dozen little hellions just like him.” I pull her hands from the cut and push her fingers together as I pull off all of my rings and drop them in the cup of her palms. She falls apart with lamenting sobs. Her hands hinge, closing like a clamshell around the rings, and I wrap mine around them as I vow, “I am eternally yours.”
Her eyes flood with ravaging despair as she begs, “You’re leaving everything behind…including me.”
“We’re only fate,” I growl with a low gravelly regret, trying not to breakdown. “And sometimes, fate needs to test our resilience.”
“Deacon!” She crumbles, latching onto me. “Fuck fate!”
“We can’t be because the math doesn’t work, and you know that,” I slowly say as my finger brushes her hair from her cheek. I smell her hair and kiss her head. And God, I love her so fucking much. “Be a good girl and a damn fine Lotus. Don’t ever forget me.” I turn, light the smoke, and walk away as she hysterically wails, succumbing to the deadly undercurrent. She will rise. She will survive.
Without me.
“You won’t go!” She tries to reason and convince herself. “You won’t do this to me.”
“It’s too late.” I spin back. “I have to leave you because I am in love with you, Iris! I fucking love you! And if I stay, this is only going to get worse,” I shout it to the heavens and hope they hear my plight. “And I cannot do this anymore.”
“You’re leaving me too,” Sal remarks as if that would stop me now. “You swore you never would…”
“Don’t talk to me, you fucking bastard!” With a scornful glare, I criticize, “You are the reason we are in this fucking mess! Don’t blame me, and don’t you dare fucking blame, Iris. This is on you!”
“I’m not allowed to run away, but you are?” Sal stands up, pissed and ready for round two. “How much sense does that make?”
I glance at Dom and back to Sal. “I loved you. I did things for you. I swayed and strafed and listened to every word you barked out at me. I took care of Iris. I fell in love with her for you, but I’m not sure I love you anymore. Not like this. Not now.”
“Bayou,” he roars as I flip him off and straddle over the bike. “Cruz!”
I glance at Iris in more pain than I can bear. Every nerve ending in my body stings with a shocking volt, demanding I save her from the wreckage.
“You should be less concerned about the fact that I’m leaving and more concerned about the fact that I just gave my heart and soul to the girl you’re supposed to fucking love! She is crying on her goddamned knees and you’re not there! You’re never fucking there!”
“Cruz,” Sal begs. “Please, man. Don’t.”
“Get down off your fucking high horse and be a goddamned man for once! For her! Because she is worth it. She is worth all that and so much more. Be a goddamned Master for her! Be a goddamned husband for her!” I dictate the order and point to Iris. “Because she deserves more than what you are giving her, you selfish prick!”
I fire up the bike.
And I cross the state line by dawn because I am long done and far gone.
VI
The End of Our Prolegomenon
46
Resurrection of a Master
The Master
There are days I want to fade out from the emotional landscape. Not omit. But render inaccessible until a better time comes along to deal with the psychological ramifications.
Today is the 8th of March, and he has been gone for three weeks. Twenty days. Don’t ask me down to the hour. Or the minute.
Because I can.
He called Mayor Joe Kaiser on Monday, orally handing over his badge to Kit Jolly before vanishing without a fucking trace. It’s no wonder we’ve been unable to locate his twin. They have some rare genetic invisibility mutation, only infecting male offspring.
I have no idea where in the world Deacon Cruz is.
However, it is not for lack of trying. Georgia’s sole focus is in locating and researching the bastard I am in love with, but it is becoming clearer by the day, he doesn’t want to be found. And yes, Georgia is beyond frustrated.
Probably because he isn’t lost.
Unlike me.
Funny, isn’t it?
He leaves, unable to be found by me, yet I am the lost one.
Who am I kidding?
I was lost before.
He knew it; I didn’t.
While Deacon and Diablo have ghosted, their baby sister is ever-present and up in my grill. Forgive the lingo; I’ve spent forty days of the last twenty doing remittance.
Or being punished for my sins by one mosquito—Skeeter.
The Fates doubled the sentence because she is only one but twice the handful.
Hannah Beth Nelson.
She’s changing her name to Hannah Howser Cruz. Don’t ask how I know that. Some things are better left unsaid. And, no, I haven’t dipped my stick in the girl. Just spent a godawful amount of time with her in the last twenty days.
Deacon may have told he
r to turn to Iris, but that is not what the Spicey-Baby Trudy-Saint Cruz daughter did.
No. No.
She turned to me—calling at all hours and texting like I was her new BFF. We needed one of those split best friend coins on a cheap chain. We could go scout boys at the mall or try on sixty-thousand shades of eyeshadow while drooling over the latest Bieber song. Yes, I fully expected to be crying in a bucket of popcorn with her while watching The Notebook any day now.
But I digress...back the fuck up...
When Deacon found her in the cemetery, it was because fucking Cody Cameron had kicked her out of his place. While not on record, Hannah maintained Cody had become an abusive fucking douche canoe. I saw the bruises on her arms because I notice shit like that. Like a hawk spotting the rat in the field.
And I still haven’t told Deacon that Cody Cameron’s DNA was all up in Ma. Why? I don’t fucking know, but I wasn’t going to send the full report until I did know.
Now, I’ve got Neil doing surveillance on Cody, and Reggie shadowing Hannah everywhere she goes. Suffice it to say, teenage girls, do not enjoy having a fine black bodyguard with an RR cut tailing their ass because he also happens to have an old lady. It’s the last part she hates—Reggie’s old lady—Karissa Banks. They aren’t married, but she is his old lady.
Keep in mind, Skeeter is all about that dick and on the prowl, just like her Dear Old Dad. She was not born with the selective mating gene of Trudy or Deacon. Nope, she’s Grade-A slut worthy. A woman of my own heart.
Which dick?
Any of them.
I got her a part-time job at Ruby’s Salon. She’s working the phones and loves the gossiping atmosphere of the clientele. I get a babbling earful every evening. She’s continuously trying to find a new “hook up” or asking random guys if they’re “DTF.”
She doesn’t discriminate based on age, race, or even sexual preference as long as their standard equipment includes a dick. She even flirted with the very gay and flamboyant, Oscar Sato, which I can’t exactly blame her for because he is fucking gorgeous as hell. Far prettier than X. The coupling makes zero sense, and their new engagement makes even less sense.
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 38