Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Shit! She’s such a gold digger,” I angrily frown. “I got the three cunts riding up my ass with glittery pink dildos and revenge on their mind.”

  “With no lube, Raniero.” He chuckles, patting my thigh when I notice his platinum and onyx ring. Rubies halo around the stone like droplets. Typically, I would think nothing of his hand, but he leaves it too close to my junk for too long. “We need to figure out who all Amber is working with—it needs to take priority. ASAP.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing I’ve got the wildebeest going after the wench in the Alaska winter. Our resources are reaching the max capacity of being tapped out.

  “I come with an offer,” he informs, dropping the black coin in my hand. “You know who it is from.”

  My eyes flick up to his. “Rowan did this.”

  “I won’t deny she has some influence.” I rub the fleur de lys between my fingers. “You are a killer. And The Commission and Sanctum are extending a cordial invitation to visit their tomb. They’re just waiting for a legend,” he claims. “But understand, joining Nero will be your marriage vows.”

  “They don’t marry?”

  “Rarely ever.”

  “Sounds like a dark place I would love,” I snicker, grinding my jaw. “There will be no shame amongst the famiglia.”

  His hand brushes the side of my curls as he whispers, “Have no shame, Lucas.”

  “Keep an eye on Hannah Cruz.”

  He smirks. “I already am.”

  55

  Just Crazy

  The Master

  I wake up with a teenage girl drooling on my white t-shirt. I’m way too modest with Skeet. I haven’t let her see any of my temple since the sofa incident. I play with her hair, and I cry quiet tears for all I have lost with Iris. I can’t stop crying. It fucking sucks.

  I need a coach, a handler, a trainer, a Master.

  Her tangled, dirty blonde hair in between my fingers believes in me. Her stunning blue eyes believe in me. Her body believes in me. Her mind believes in me. Her heart believes in me. Her soul believes in me.

  I must resurrect…for her.

  We’re fighting my battles together.

  The real trick is taking the lessons of the code, separating silt from gold, and leaving the rest for another restless bastard to dig through. Not my monkey. Not my circus. Not my girl. Not my fucking problemo.

  Throwing her leg over my mine, Skeet moans in a dreamy haze.

  Where the hell are her pants?

  I glance over to my favorite chair, where I spent so many hours trying to figure out the way to Iris’ heart. Hannah’s pants are in my chair—my thinking spot. Let’s repeat that.

  Skeet’s sexy as fuck black slacks and white silk shirt are in my fucking thinking chair.

  Vinny would be so proud of all my fuckings.

  Jesus, what am I doing?

  Opening her eyes, she smiles, and I grin. “What are you thinking about?”

  “What your panties taste like…”

  Her head bops up. “… You are kidding, right?”

  “Come on,” I say, weaseling out from under her sinful curves. “We’re going to play outside.”

  “Should I shower?”

  “That’s not necessary,” I snarl, walking to the door. “But put my mane up in something cause I don’t want to have to brush mud out of it when I take you to shower.”

  Her spiders flutter in a marionette type dance. “Whoa!”

  I stop. “… Ya?”

  “Your mane? You’re brushing? Taking in the shower?”

  Grabbing a t-shirt, I toss it on and answer, “That is pretty much the sum of your day.”

  “Is there going to be food involved?”

  “Yes, lots!” I assure, heading for the door. “Oh! And Skeet…”

  “Yeah?” Her blues are wide awake as her hair falls around her face. I dip down to kiss her lips, and she whispers, “Good morning, handsome.”

  “I like those white panties a lot.” I wink.

  Five minutes later, she marches into the kitchen in jeans and a Queen concert t-shirt, cut according to the Hannah-method. I pour her a cup of coffee and make it with cream and sugar as she zips past me. “Where the fuck would my brother keep a garment bag?”

  Her lips narrow and contort as I inquire, “What are you doing?”

  “Washing my panties because they… yeah…and you liked them.”

  “… Stanky?”

  “I don’t know if I would say that,” she murmurs. “I’m going to call him.”

  “No!” I yell in alarm. “Toss them here!”

  She blushes. “I am not giving you my panties!”

  “You’re going to give them up to me sooner or later.” I mischievously grin as her laughter fills the air. “Give me your damn panties, girl!”

  She tucks them behind her back and bats those lashes as I stalk closer. “You do not get my stanky panties!”

  With one swift motion, I pick her up and push her against the wall as my lips careen against hers. I slowly dip my tongue and find hers with an eager desire. With a low command, I whisper, “Give me your panties, beautiful.”

  “If I say no, are you going to kiss me again like that?”

  “I’m going to kiss you again regardless.” With my left forearm under her ass, I hold out my right hand. “Panties. Nowala.”

  “… Nowala?”

  “Nowala, or I’m going to spank your ass.”

  “You keep promising,” she taunts, sticking the lace in my palm. “You need to give up and do it already.”

  “Oh, I’m going to fucking do it,” I boast, unafraid. “What color are they now?”

  “I have on red and white plaid girly boxers.”

  I curiously raise a brow. “Oh, those will be fun to take off.”

  “Do I need your approval?”

  “Ya, you do.” I set her down and sniff the panties as I walk backward. I practically collapse in pure lust.

  She gasps in horror. “Don’t do that!”

  “Fuck…” My eyes roll back in my head, and I get high off the smell of wet pussy on lace.

  “Salvatore!” She flirts, “Are you always this bad?”

  “Uh, huh!” I grab a little detergent and hand wash her garment before hanging it up to dry. “Coffee,” I point out, and she takes a swallow from the tumbler. Taking her free hand, I lead her outside, open the garage, and pull out the dirt bike and four-wheelers into the drive.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Having fun,” I muse.

  “By cleaning the garage?” she quizzes, sipping on her java. “You have keys to the other house?”

  Deep in the mess, I ask, “Ya, you wanna see it?”

  She giddily nods as I run inside to grab the keys. When I come back, she’s on the back of the four-wheeler.

  Damn.

  This fucking girl.

  Sliding on, she steals my hat as I pop my sunglasses on. “Hold on.”

  Her body clenches around mine as I start the engine, and we take off. Even though everything hurts like hell, she numbs the pain of the self-inflicted burns on my soul. Every smile and laugh from her lips remind me who I fucking am as I fight to redefine my life.

  Skeet wasn’t in my plans.

  “What’s your name?” she asked as we left Georgia for Lady June’s house.

  “I’m Sal Raniero.”

  She squinted a little. “Raniero? Sounds like a pasta noodle.”

  “Well, I have an Italian noodle.”

  With a serious expression, she said, “It better be a fucking sausage then cause mama is carb-free.”

  I died laughing, and she bounced with glee. “Hannah,” she introduced with a smile, offering to shake my hand. “Call me, Skeeter. Or if you’re fucking me, you can call me your SALvation slut.”

  “What about SALvage slut?”

  “As long as your dick is in me and you call me your slut, we’re good, Sugar,” she said. “Hell, call me Sal’s Sugar Slut.”

  I dri
ve her around the property until we come back to the derelict Victorian showpiece. “Is this one yours?”

  Not was. Is.

  As young as she is, Skeet is remarkably perceptive.

  “Ya,” I reply, knowing Deacon Cruz and I are not done. That’s my fucking boy. And I love him enough to let my girl spend her life in his arms, but he doesn’t get to leave me. He knows this. He doesn’t get to escape everything. “I’m in love with your brother. I’m probably going to be for the rest of my life. If this is a problem for you, I need to know.”

  Her eyes shift back and forth as her lips move, but nothing comes out. My confession takes her by surprise. “Do I have to be a part of that? Not that he was bad, but that’s a little too far out of my jurisdiction.”

  “No!” I laugh, and so does she. “I would prefer if you weren’t.”

  With trepidation, she asks, “… Is he the only one?”

  “He is the one,” I vow. “And he always will be.”

  Her lips twist as she thinks. “Did he make those old scars?”

  “No, I did most of those on my own.”

  “Can you try not to do that without me being there?”

  “I can try,” I say, looking her in the eye. “I make no promises.”

  “I like you a lot, Raniero.”

  “I like you too, Cruz.” I wink, and she grins as we walk up to the door. The porch is a mess with missing and loose boards. The old lighting hangs by cloth wires. “Be careful. Watch your step.” I hold her hand until I have to fight with the lock. It finally gives way, and I open the door, but I lift my hand, prohibiting her entry. “Hold on.”

  She peers inside and whispers. “What are we doing?”

  “Something I need to do,” I mumble, nervously rocking a little bit. “Give me a second.”

  “Sal...”

  Calmness comes over me as I smirk. “I don’t want to get out of this.”

  “Fuck, Sal…”

  “And I will try because I’m bad,” I admit, holding her fingertips. “Sometimes, fate needs to test our resilience…but sometimes you just fucking know when you meet someone special.”

  “You okay, babe?” she sweetly asks as I calm down with a prayer and kiss to my cross with absolute conviction. Swooping her up in my arms, I spontaneously carry her over the threshold. “Oh, shit… You more than like me!”

  Simple. Present.

  And very much aware.

  Sitting on the rickety staircase and playing with her fingers, I whisper, “I’ve known since I got in your car last fall when you almost ran over my foot that you were someone special.”

  “What about…” She twirls her finger, unable to say her name. “The ex…”

  I smirk at the word. “She isn’t the one,” I declare, breaking the chains of the past. “I can’t keep doing what I did in the past, or I’m going to end up overdosing and killing my dumb ass. I can’t feed the Iris machine anymore. Or I at least have to try not to.”

  “It’s such a shitty situation…”

  “I did what I was supposed to do—I got her to Cruz. I got her to the right guy, and if she doesn’t see that, then I can’t do anything more.”

  “Salvatore,” she whispers, covering her mouth. “Don’t do this...”

  “Hannah Howser Cruz, this is not a marriage proposal.”

  “Whew!” She smiles. “Cause you aren’t even ready to date…”

  “I know,” I reassure. “This is, were you serious about being my friend through recovery, healing, and relapses?”

  “Yes, very much so,” she mutters. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

  “You have brought so much light into my darkness.”

  “Because of love.” She sweetly smiles. “You’re my best friend.”

  “And you’re mine.” I pull the ring from my pocket. “I want to do this. Whatever this is.”

  “That’s a—hhh ring.”

  “This was one of my Nonna’s rings, and I want you to have it. Not a promise ring. Not a commitment ring. Not an engagement ring. A real ring…from three generations back. A best friend ring. A thank you for putting up with my bullshit ring.”

  “An heirloom,” she whispers as her eyes light up. “Holy fuck… You’re serious….”

  “I’m a fucking mess, Skeet,” I confide with no fear. “I can’t tell you where I’m going to be from one day to the next. And I can’t tell you I won’t do things I won’t regret. But I am not going to lie to you.”

  “Oh, jeez…” She bites her lip understanding the significance. “That’s big...” She snatches her hand away and fans her face. “It’s hot in here!”

  “I’ve been texting Deacon since he messaged, and I told him I took you to meet the Reckless Rebellion family.”

  “I know!” Her finger spazzes again as I snicker. “How long has Deacon known about...”

  “… My wanting to be your friend?” I interrupt.

  “He fucked me to hurt you,” she blurts out. I nod.

  “But he didn’t have a clue you were his sister.”

  “He knew you had doubts about…” She spins her finger. “Holy fuck, that is mean!”

  “Welcome to what it means to be a Cruz,” I tease with a grin. “Tough as nails. I don’t know what is going to happen, and neither does he,” I confide, holding her hand. “Be my best friend?”

  “This is a lifetime commitment of friendship,” she announces, defining what exactly is happening. “A partnership. A merger. A blissful memory of a very unprofessional nature.”

  “I prefer a sweet fucking romance that starts with a friendship.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  “If you stick with my dumb ass…” I glance around the house. “Who knows? The whole package? I am open and available, but I’m broken.”

  “I know…and I will be here for you.” Her cheeks flush as she bounces. “Who all knows?”

  “No one but Deacon. I didn’t plan on any of this, but I can’t keep playing the same record. I need you to shake the fuck out of me.”

  “I’m going to do more than shake you.” She grins. “Can I expect this much over-the-top crazy for the rest of our friendship?”

  “Yes!” I assure, playing with her fingers. “I need to stop the vicious cycle of the past. One of us needs to be brave enough to pull the emergency brake so that we can be fucking happy already.”

  “We grow and change,” she whispers.

  “I will always love her, but I can’t keep doing this—fucking and fighting thing. It’s exhausting. She is exhausting me. It’s wearing me down.”

  “Well, you certainly know how to shock a bitch,” she happily claims, smiling as she sits on the step beside me. “It’s a beautiful ring!”

  I playfully bump her shoulder. “Stand by me, Skeet.”

  “You know there was no way I was going to say no after you carried me over the threshold, right?” She giggles. “I’m going to be Sal’s BFF?”

  “Three letters.”

  She wraps her arm around me. “Yes, Lucas Salvatore Raniero, I will be your best friend. I will be good to you. And I am fully aware of what in the hell I am getting into.” She inches closer and whispers in my ear, “I know you are going to fuck up. You are too fresh from this not to hurt me. When you do, let me blow, let me cry, and I will come back to you when I am ready.”

  “That’s more than three,” I snarl. “And I will take them all.”

  I slide the ring on her finger. “Holy shit! I can’t go ride a four-wheeler in this.”

  “Ya, you can!” I grin, pulling her onto my lap. “And you will!”

  “Yeah,” she gushes, smiling. “I can deal with your mess.”

  “All of me, angel baby.”

  She blinks. “We haven’t even…”

  “I don’t care about the sex,” I admit with a shrug. “I care about you. You are my clean cohort.”

  “So, I hear you got a BFF ring from my boy?” Deacon asks on the speakerphone around noon. We’re covered from head t
o toe in mud. “Bout fucking time he did something right.”

  “I did,” Hannah giddily replies, grinning at me as I laugh. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says, flicking his lighter. “Can I talk to you in private for a sec, Nero?”

  I switch it off. “… Ya?”

  “Are you off speaker?”

  Glancing at my teenage troublemaker in the driveway, I say, “Ya.”

  “I know what you did,” he contends, puffing on the smoke. “And I can’t say as though I am surprised. You put grace on Hannah with The Commission, didn’t you?”

  “Would I do that?” I growl. “I’m not that good.”

  “You sure as shit are,” he snickers. “You son of a bitch. How did you do it?”

  “I asked,” I laugh, grinning and grabbing my smokes from inside. “If I could put some protection on my…Mistress.”

  “Hey, I don’t care what the fuck you call her as long as she is safe.”

  “Go get Iris,” I encourage.

  “She’ll come to me when she’s ready,” he cockily remarks. “I ain’t begging her back. She could have gotten on the bike, but she didn’t.” I hear the emotion in his voice. “Iris isn’t ready emotionally. My game is mean.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I remark. “You may just have to abduct her ass.”

  He laughs. “I’ve considered it, but protecting her and having a relationship with her are two totally different things. She’s sufficiently pissed off about Houston,” he says. “And I am sure she’s going to want to shove a gun up your ass when she finds out you’re hanging out with Skeeter.”

  “Only because she hasn’t thought about it yet,” I say, sitting down and putting my foot upon the rail. “Give her time. Besides, The Chairman liked you more than me. He’ll be thrilled. She’ll come around to understanding this is the only way things truly work.”

  “… What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then we work out another plan,” I promise. “She looks good.”

  “Don’t even,” he snips. “Moses has been sending pictures, and this fucking safe house is looking like a stalker lives here with all the black and white photographs you sent. I can’t go from room to room without getting a raging hard-on.”