And the worst part, there is a dead doe in the back with her neck slit open. Blood drips over the tailgate.
“Fuck…”
He whips in beside it. “Do you know who did this?”
“No,” I say, finding sober fast. “I’ve been thinking someone was following me for a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” he angrily yells. “And you didn’t bother to tell anyone?”
“I want a normal life, Deacon!”
“You!” he furiously huffs. “You do not get a normal life! Throw that idea out the fucking window because it won’t ever happen!”
“I’m calling Kali and Ho,” I say.
“I’m messaging Sal.”
“No!” I urge, understanding that he will immediately fly home and I’ll be forced to deal with my feelings. “I need to do this without Sal Raniero bailing me out.”
“The Unholy is protecting you.”
“Call Dom or Nicky, but do not bother Sal with this.”
“Bother Sal with this?” he shouts. “He would want to know!”
“Please, Deacon,” I beg, batting my lashes. “Let me try.”
“Get in the house,” he says, handing me the key. “I’m pulling the bike and the truck into the garage.”
“And then what?”
“I’m spanking your ass for not telling anyone you thought you were being followed!”
Oh. Okay.
Now you are speaking a language I understand.
On his lap, I take his punishment for a good twenty minutes. I know because I’m staring at the giant clock in the living room.
He came inside, lit a fire, and pointed to his lap. There was no getting out of it. But there is no guardian at the gate keeping his Dominance in line anymore. He is free-flying and on his own.
And I discover something I never knew.
Deacon Cruz is fucking mean.
“You have got to start communicating,” he reprimands as the paddle smacks against my ass. “No more secrets! No more half thoughts! You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“Yes, Sir!” I cry as my ass stings. “I’m sorry!”
“No more stupid decisions!”
“What was I supposed to do?” I meekly ask. “Say hello, I am in love with you, and I am being followed?”
“It would have been a damn sight better than that truck now!”
I cry. “I’ll pay to fix it.”
“That is not the point,” he scolds. “The point is you routinely do things to put yourself in danger, yet you accuse me of stealing you from the castle. You dangle yourself out the window like a piece of raw meat just waiting for the wolves to come and eat you alive. And while your former Master does an impeccable job of keeping you rescued, I am not him.”
No, you aren’t.
Hits would have already been issued, and I would be in a bathtub with bubbles with my playmate, not getting my ass whipped by a Dominant I don’t know.
When one piece falls out of alignment, the entire puzzle shifts, the Master I fell in love with at Lakeside was not the lap I was on. I wasn’t the same, and Deacon was altered entirely. Everything was out of whack. The total responsibility of my life now rested solely on his shoulders.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I asked, “Who are you?”
I already knew.
This was the Master who topped the man who kept me in the castle. He was rough, brute, and unkind. And I wasn’t enough of a submissive to take him.
I knew then what a massive mistake I made.
“I’m not justifying that with an answer,” he said. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”
His version of aftercare involved his own when I was in trouble. I’d be spending a lot of time alone.
I curl up on the sofa, check my email, and consider messaging Sal because he would know what to do with this.
Despite all my preparation, the boy’s club has one thing on me—experience. Deacon doesn’t have any either unless it involves turf wars on two wheels. Mafia warnings…neither one of us know a damn thing about, so I ask someone who does.
“Who is after me, Durante?”
He immediately responds. “Why?”
“Because you work for Torrente and know many things. Who is after me?”
“If I had to guess, probably either Campanelli or Raniero, the father, not the son.”
He’s not his father, but I get it.
He drops an additional text, “Did he attack?”
“Just me,” I message, followed by, “Thank you.”
And then, I zip one off to Kali, “I want all of the Midwest crew to swarm Chicago and Boston.”
“…”
Biting my lip, I tap the edge of my phone as the glow of the television shines on my face. It’s sports. I close my eyes. God, I need him. I didn’t think I did, but fuck, I was wrong.
And another, “Are we starting a war?”
“I want to make the boys nervous.”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Because one of them is aiming for me.”
Durante sends a message with a warning, “If it was a personal attack, do not go after his outfit. You need to find out who is specifically after you. Otherwise, you will suffer unimaginable losses. The Italians are vindictive and cruel. What you do tonight will never be forgotten.”
And in an epic mistake, I ignore him.
69
Sanctioned S L U T
His Butterfly
I wake the next afternoon to the sound of a thunderous roar. I jump back as Trudy Diaz, smoking a cigarette, sits in the chair across from me. “You ain’t got a fucking clue what you are doing, little girl.”
Oh. God.
I was Sal’s lil girl.
And I hated his saying it, but he was right.
About every-fucking-thing.
“I have such a headache.”
“You’re hungover. Take those pills. Drink the water. Take a shower. Get dressed. And behave as Deacon Cruz’s girlfriend should.”
“Where is Deacon?”
“Outside with the Tennessee Twelve,” she curtly informs. “I don’t know what is going on or what this is about, but if you get my son killed, I will destroy you.” I stand and walk towards the door, ignoring her list of demands. “Where are you going?”
“To see my lover…”
“It’s no wonder Sal didn’t want you,” she spitefully hisses. “You don’t listen worth a damn.”
“I am the Lotus.”
She stomps over to me. “And I am his mother. If you do not pull your shit together, I will end you faster than a New York minute.”
“Keep talking, Trudy,” I sass. “You’re the only one listening.”
Spinning away, she says, “Fucking cunt.”
“I love you too, Ma.”
Her side-eyed, hate-filled stare reflects off my menacing glare as she implores, “You already hurt one of my boys. If you hurt Deacon, you will know a mother’s wrath.”
I open the door, and all eyes are on me. Haggard and hungover, I step into the daylight.
“Hey baby,” Deacon welcomes, wrapping his arm around my shoulder like he didn’t spank the bejesus out of me last night. “Are you okay?”
“I need you,” I innocently whisper. “Please.”
We walk hand-in-hand back into the house as Trudy scowls. I lead the way upstairs with an evil smirk on my face, and she shakes her head as I slam the bedroom door and lock it.
My lips dive against his as I ache to restore the romance of our first night together. Taking his senses by storm, I leave him breathless. “What’s up, baby girl?”
“Hopefully, you,” I contend, pulling off his clothes. “I need you inside of me, Deacon.”
“… Right now?”
“Yes,” I beg, stripping off my clothes between kisses. Sprawling out on the bed, I plead, “Make love to me.”
“You realize Ma and the table are downstairs,” he comments, stroking his shaft. “And
this is naughty as hell.” With a devilish grin, he flails on top of me as I look up and notice the mirrors.
“The ceiling…”
The mirrors… God, I hate Sal.
This isn’t Deacon’s house.
This is my house.
He silences my lips with a passionate kiss, plunging his ravenous tongue against mine and taking what he wants. His hand slips between our bodies as he places his cock at the entrance to my wetness. “Do you have anything in?”
“No,” I whisper as he thrusts hard inside of me. I glance up to our reflection, watching the muscles in his back and ass as he slowly fucks me. He is corded with pure strength and tenacity. My vision blurs as I see Sal above me—my name and the brand—I mewl in ecstasy at the thought of his magnificent cuts and rippling muscles. I curl my legs around him, tethering his body to me. “God…yes…”
“I was worried about you yesterday,” he says, brushing his hand over my hair. “You were off.”
“I had a bad day,” I mutter, moaning at how good he feels. “Transitions are challenging.”
“I know, baby girl,” he acknowledges, nuzzling my neck as his fingers rub over my nipple. He slightly lifts, taking the ripe bud in his mouth as his dick does things to me that help numb the burning ache for another. “Breaking in is tough.”
“I just wasn’t thinking,” I confide, running my hands over his chest. “Just because I broke up with him doesn’t mean you did. It’s so complicated, and my emotions went spiraling.”
“It’s never going to be easy,” he mumbles, grabbing my wrists and holding me down as I welcome his bucks with an arch of my hips. “I can’t help how I am.”
“And I won’t ask you to change something so inherent in you.”
“I can’t,” he admits. “I need…him.” He swiftly pulls out and implores, “Give it to me.”
I understand the position he wants me, and I consent to it with an eager roll. I allow his taking of me—head down/ass up—and I give up the seductive scenery for tears and drool on the pillow for the man he is not.
I invite his demands and supply the vessel.
I enable this love.
His cock violates my ass and the promises made. His rigid hands grip my hips as we rock closer to the perilous edge. I wish Sal were inside of my pussy. I miss him. I need him. He would be holding me…kissing me…loving me.
Without a doubt, I know Deacon isn’t thinking about me. He is missing his lover as much as I am. And neither one of us can compensate for the loss of him. He cannot be the lover Sal is, and I cannot provide the masochism Sal does. We were balanced. But now…
We are incomplete.
We are broken.
We are two of a trinity.
As he thrusts, I remember the nights spent making love with Sal, and I question. Before the shit turned to sludge, did I once think about Deacon when it was just the two of us? Did I miss Deacon? Did I yearn for his touch?
The answer brings tears to my eyes.
We went to Maine, New York, Virginia, Florida, Georgia…we went. And my mind never left the moment.
Sal fucking had me.
And I walked away.
I gave up because he wouldn’t fight Cruz in the cemetery. I thought he wouldn’t fight for me, but the truth was he wouldn’t hurt Cruz. I misinterpreted the act of his lying on the ground during violence as being against me. Sal let Deacon attack him.
Sal was protecting Cruz from himself.
“I’m a monster, Iris,” he said as we were tangled in the sheets in Georgia. “I don’t know when or how to stop. I was trained to kill, and I do.”
“Did you kill Atticus?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I killed him with my bare hands, and Cruz fired a final, unnecessary shot. He wasn’t coming back after I finished with him.”
“What would you do if someone hurt me?”
“I would annihilate them.”
He was so angry with Cruz when we left the house for the graveyard—our final resting place—our death. I remember every word.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he said, grabbing his Glock and keys. “This is wrong.”
“Why?” I screamed. “I don’t understand!”
“Because he is fucking her to hurt you,” he yelled. “And all he is doing is sealing the fate of the trinity.” His eyes brimmed with rage. “Hannah is his sister, Iris.”
“Oh, my God!” I cried out. “No!”
“We have to go now!” He gripped my arm, and we ran to the truck. “He’s going to end it all.”
“Lucas…calm down!”
“I can’t,” he said with a determination like I had never seen. “We aren’t going to recover from this one. Our lives we knew an hour ago, hell a half hour ago, are gone.”
“Pull over,” I demanded, lunging to kiss his lips. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was riding his dick in the driver’s seat. I wanted to calm him, but I fucking sedated him. “I love you so much, Salvatore.”
“You want it?” Cruz growls, smacking my ass. “You want it deep, baby?”
“I want you in my cunt,” I declare as the emotions cease. I’m done crying over mistakes of the past. We all did things wrong. “Please.”
“But…”
“I don’t care, Cruz,” I howled. “Fuck me, baby!”
Sal. Deacon. And me.
They would’ve been my kings, I would’ve been their Queen, and we would’ve been together forever. We would’ve won.
We should’ve been celebrating a victory.
Everything was in place to work, and some vile force pushed the table over the edge and sent the puzzle pieces scattering over the mountain only to shatter like glass on the ground. The shards nipped at my feet.
And this time, there weren’t two, sitting at my feet and lovingly picking the fragments from my skin. This time, I was alone.
Alone and lonely and cold…so bitter…. desensitized.
There was no amount of rebuilding to resurrect the trinity—no amount of love to stitch the wounds. The journey to the end was godawful torture.
A nonstop, continuous hemorrhaging.
Just like my womb.
“Switch the chalice. And fill it with your love.”
“We have moved hundreds of units from Lotus to Boston and Chicago,” Kali informs in the study later that afternoon. “Now, what?”
“You wait for my order,” I say, staring out the window. “When I say go.”
“We’re starting two wars,” she points out. “Are you sure we have enough resources to do this?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, not genuinely caring. “But, I have to try.”
“Are you trying to scare Sal Raniero home from Japan?”
“Maybe,” I reply. “Put the fear of a wicked monarch in him.”
“You think he’ll come to rescue Cesario?”
“No,” I contend. “Angelo Gennaro’s original warehouse and Cesario Raniero’s fishery will burn up in flames, and Sal will come to rescue his Daddy’s—Vinny and Dom.”
“You aren’t going after whoever destroyed the truck,” she mutters with unease. “You are aiming at The Unholy—Dom and Sal. But what you are doing is going after two Kings if you hit Campanelli and Raniero. The only thing that is going to happen is Sal will rise to the bait with a counterattack from every goddamned Italian he knows.”
“Then perhaps he won’t be needed to chaperone my ass any longer.”
“And you will have the entire Commission breathing down your neck,” she implores with urgency, grabbing my arms. “Look at me, Iris. You are not ready to do what you are about to do!”
“If you are incapable of acting in accordance with my wishes, I am certain I can acquire someone who will.”
“Iris…please…” she desperately pleads. “Think about the long-term effects of what you are doing. You aren’t just setting fire to two warehouses! You are going to burn legacies! And piss a whole fuckton of people off, including Morpheus. The only
one’s dick you’re stroking is Carlo Torrente. I don’t even know that we have the internal resources to protect ourselves stateside if you do this.”
“Then, we evacuate!” I suggest abusing every power I have.
“You cannot evacuate gangs that live here and work for us.”
“No, we let them perish,” I dismiss, caring little. “You and I evacuate.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“They shouldn’t have messed with me,” I warn with an insidious scowl. “They shouldn’t be hurting me like this.”
“You are taking your personal issues and giving them to your business,” she yammers, threatening my imminent demise. “We are not substantial enough on their turf to start this kind of assault.”
“Call me the cannibal Queen.”
“The one who eats her own heart?” she yells. “Because you aren’t thinking at all…”
“I swear if you put this off on a hormonal issue, I will slit your throat and drink your blood and never bat an eyelash.”
“I would never,” she rebukes. “But you’re not being rational, we aren’t ready to take on one outfit the size of Campanelli, much less two and if you burn the old Gennaro warehouse, Campanelli and Raniero will react. And the worst part, you are going to destroy Sal emotionally with your fire!”
“Two buildings will burn, Kali.”
“Iris…please…”
“Two buildings will be ash, Kali.”
“Iris!”
“The buildings will return to dust, Kali.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she concedes. “Every action…”
“Every reaction is another notch in my belt that keeps the vermin from crawling up my ass and establishing residency. There is only one nest…one lair…and I own it.”
70
Try for Me
His Ride
“Who do you think it is?” I ask, running my fingers over her back. It had been such a long day with the guys here. Iris barely ate anything at dinner. She only wanted to take a shower with me. We’ve been chatting in bed for hours now. “Someone would have had to have been watching us for months.”
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 58