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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “That goes both ways,” he mutters with the cigarette in his lips as he stares at the phone like a foreign object. We gave them up for twenty-one days, and messages keep trickling in. “We’re getting on a plane tomorrow.”

  I steal the smoke before he burns himself. He’s texting at super speed. “Do I want to know?”

  “It’s not her,” he says. “I haven’t talked to her. Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Because you’re mad?”

  “Unbelievably,” I murmur. “I won’t even make the list of things she did wrong and lies she told.”

  “She played me,” he whispers. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s odd because she typically tells me the truth and does her shakedown on you.”

  “It’s funny you say that,” I snort, shaking my head. “Because out of everything she did, that still stings the most. I expect her to fuck with me. And that is why I wanted you two to have a relationship, so you could catch her when she feels like I am the number one enemy. She overrode the program. She cracked the fucking machine.”

  “Maybe she did that on purpose…”

  “Of course, she did,” I mutter.

  “Have you bothered to read between those lines, though?” I stub out the smoke and exhale as he lifts the sunglasses. “If she went after me, then where does that leave you?”

  “Broken? Vulnerable?” I state, raising my voice because I’m getting upset. “She knew the one way to hurt me would be to lie to you.”

  “And why would she want to hurt you?”

  “Much like her crime spree list, the line-up of my misdeeds is long,” I reply, brainstorming. “Unless she wanted to push me away to save me from something.”

  “She had two outstanding researchers,” Cruz points out. “She killed them both. What would make you kill Georgia and Jas?”

  “Nothing,” I rebuke. “I am not that diabolical.”

  “What if they found something out about Iris that would destroy her?”

  “You think they were threatening to say something?”

  “We already know Kali Ose, for all her brilliance, had a very shady past. She had connections back to Gennaro and Raniero. For half a beat, just consider who all Daddy Dom has killed to protect us—Ginger Langdon, Chance Ballister, Lydia Kettles. For that matter, Quinn took out my father.”

  “We kill to keep the secrets,” I mumble. “So, what did Val know?”

  “You think there was more to it than a ret hit?”

  “There would almost have to be,” I say.

  “And did Diablo act alone, or did someone hire him?”

  “Fuck!” My jaw tightens. “I need to get home.”

  “Dom just invited us for dinner.”

  “Where?”

  “… The cold chambers?” His blue eyes spark with an intensity.

  “Dom helped Iris.”

  “You’re assuming,” he says. “You don’t know that.”

  “He at least helped her leave.”

  “Fair enough, but you have no idea how much he knew. Iris is a slippery fucking fish.”

  “Torpedo.”

  “She’s not an underwater missile,” he replies. “Or a firework.”

  “No, she’s a gangster in the old school kind of way, hired to be a hitman,” I whisper. “Part of me hates how good she is because I’m a competitive fucker, and I want to challenge her. And the other part of me just wants to study silently.”

  “… Which is greater, your submissive or your Dominance?”

  I smirk at his thought. “I’m not submissive.”

  “At times, you can be submissive. You’re going to be submissive tonight for Dom.”

  “The Master role is more intriguing, but I want to beat her at the game.”

  “You have Cristos.”

  “So does she…and Torrente…”

  “Talk to Daddy Nakamura.”

  I laugh. “You want me to play on the board against Iris with her future inheritance?”

  “That’s the thing, Iris doesn’t have Lotus money—Keishi does and will until his death. Everyone seems to be missing that point. She’s borrowed money from everyone in a grandiose power display. She is playing on other people’s bills.”

  “You’re right.”

  “She has borrowed enough money to be on the board, but she isn’t a God yet, so you go to the one place she won’t—to the Gods: The Commission, Sanctum, Immortal, Lotus. She’s pissed and trying to prove her worth. Give her the one thing she wants—call it your final move—let her play with a Master. Do whatever you got to do to challenge and shut her down, but be careful, she is a wickedly tricky player.”

  “And I am a badass mofo,” I arrogantly remind, stroking my scruff. “… Why do they give it to her?”

  “Because they believe in the promise of her future. She is the Lotus. But the Gods will give it to you because you’re Nero the Black.”

  “You are as crazy as I am,” I snicker, questioning the unthinkable. “And what if she beats me?”

  “If you’re moving the pieces like I know you can, she can’t beat you.”

  “She’s got contacts worldwide.”

  “And you have four Gods and how many Kings and how many little ones? If we gotta grassroots this shit and put Nicky on the phone—Hello, would you like to donate to the Sal Raniero cause?—we will.”

  I chuckle. “You best make sure they’re all barefoot. I don’t have but six days.”

  “It takes one move for infamy, Darlin’.”

  “You’re full of charming ideas today…”

  “Put Iris in a position where you are her last resort, and she has no choice but to make you her right-hand man.”

  Meticulously, I unwrap the piece of mint gum.

  And I chew on his words while I fold the wrapper to a minuscule size. A few minutes later, I roll my neck and crack my knuckles.

  “Watch that hand,” he scolds. “You’ll pull the stitches again.”

  “We need Maeve.”

  “Why do we need Tuls?” he mumbles. “I mean, what is the point? Out of everyone you could call on…you’re going to pick a swindling, ex-addict, Irish Dominatrix?”

  “Fuck, yes!”

  “Why?”

  “Because much like her Irish name—Medb–-means intoxicating and a warrior queen, she believes like fuck in me. And—we speak the same language.”

  “… Rowan will be Team Sal?”

  “Absofuckinglutely.”

  His brow furrows to a line. “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because one Master to another calls upon the silent respect.”

  “And tonight, when your Master is blistering your ass…”

  “Respect of the craft.” I bite my lip, looking at the two rings on my fingers and the new tattoo surrounding my right ring finger. Cruz has one to match. We asked Masa to do them as an expression of our devotion. I am fucking proud of that tattoo. “It isn’t always about D/s; tonight is S and M.”

  “Shit,” he sighs, grabbing my hand as I look at the white bandage and the light crimson seepage. “I told you to be careful!”

  “Mafia follows me everywhere I go, baby. It’s in my red blood and blue breath. A dark shadowy knight in purple to shroud every aching pulse of her heart and breathless gasp from her lungs.”

  “… Where do you come up with this poetic nonsense shit?”

  “Your dick regularly feeds it to me.”

  “Keep drinking your milk, Sal.”

  “Thank you, wifey.” I wink and blow a fabulous kiss. “I will.”

  97

  Empty Handed

  His Butterfly

  Three weeks since leaving Japan

  On a sunny beach in Florida

  I spend the next three weeks jet setting with people I deem safe. I spend ten days in Georgia with Morpheus and Reza, who are planning their grand wedding for the fall, and another ten days at Cristos’ mansion in Florida with Serene, Nicky, Trudy, and Delarte.

  Trudy a
nd Serene know I’m pregnant.

  I hold the babies—Mae Mae and Kade—and send black and white pictures to the boys. They don’t respond because they’re pissed. I lied, and their silence is my punishment.

  I deserve every minute of their hate.

  I deserve every minute of their love.

  I talk to Serene. She confides the real reasons behind killing Regina Neves—a cancer diagnosis. The two mothers conspired in the plan to distract Cinco, and it worked for a little while. No one had heard from Cas in ages. I promised never to tell Pico the truth of his mother’s suicide because, in essence, it was. Regina wanted Serene to kill her just to prevent Pico from having to watch her decay.

  “A mother’s love knows no end.”

  I talk to Trudy over Memorial Day weekend, and I understand why she married Delarte. The bulk of his fortune would be hers, and subsequently, Deacon Cruz’s. And she forgives my indiscretions with her gay son.

  That’s right!

  I get the bulk of the blame.

  But she finally concedes—he’s gay!

  I don’t argue because I know there is nothing to say that can explain Deacon and me. She believes I seduced him.

  And I am the vixen, the tramp, and the whore.

  His innocent dick had nothing to do with my pussy. Yeah, right. It just flew right on in there without Deacon’s knowledge. Bullshit. I take her demerits because she’s never going to like me.

  But I’m forgiven because he and Sal are still together.

  You can’t please everyone.

  Even old MILF biker broads.

  “A mother’s love knows no end.”

  I cuddle with Daisicle at night and listen to the ocean as I cry. In a surprising twist, Nicky shows up night after night.

  No. Not for sex. Pervs.

  Besides, you know how I love my shoes.

  Nicky catches my tears.

  “They should be together,” I argue, every midnight hour. “They belong together.”

  “He calls Deacon his man-cination.”

  “… Huh?”

  “Fascination,” he informs. “His hound. They’re just butt buddies.”

  “Oh, Nicky…”

  His emotional depth is about that of a turnip—with me. Keep in mind, my frame of reference is a mostly closeted gay male and his fabulously brilliant boyfriend that I want to marry. That said, Nicky is terrific at keeping things locked down, secure, and continuously under threat—Don’t piss him off or he’ll use you as supplies for his art.

  Things are up and down with him and Serene. I know they’re trying for another baby because he did tell me that one night when I asked why he smelled of sex.

  What am I going to do?

  Politeness went out the window with the sons when they all took note of my perpetual bleeding for months on end. It was horribly embarrassing to have Nicky recommending different brands of tampons. How did he know? He’s a sociopathic killer. That’s how.

  Thanks, Sal.

  I will get you back for sharing all that one day.

  My point—we’re family.

  The morning I’m supposed to get on board the Lotus jet and leave for Sugargrove, Mae comes bouncing into the room. I have on my standard, new Sal-attire—baggy jeans, tank top, hoodie, and ball cap with pink sneakers similar to Deacon’s faves.

  “Do you know where I am going tomorrow?” She crawls onto my bed as I pack.

  “No,” I say, leaning over. “Where?”

  “I’m going home!”

  “To Texas?” I excitedly boom.

  “Yes!” She sticks her juice box on my bed, and it spills as she claps. I run to grab a towel from the bathroom when she yells, “Daddy! Daddy!” And the little hooch stops my ass dead in my tracks. Tears fucking pour from my eyes like a tropical storm. I bend over onto the bed with my head between my arms, hysterically wailing. “Is something wrong with Daddy?”

  “Oh, God!” I shoot her a mascara stain glare. “No!”

  “Argh!” she screams in horror. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Fuck!” I mutter and then realizing what I said. I drop a—“Shit!”—for good measure cause I’m so excellent at this new Mama job.

  “You have a dirty mouth!”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You need to have a time out?” she asks, crossing her arms. I do the same, only slouching it up with some gangsta and a pout.

  “I probably need a spanking.”

  “I will tell Daddy.”

  I furrow my brow. “You probably don’t want to tell your daddy. Maybe you should tell your babysitter uncle.”

  “Sally!”

  “Yes.”

  She points to the necklace. “Give!”

  “You’re rather demanding,” I reply, hearing my mother’s British inflection in my voice. It’s odd, jarring my self-awareness. “What should you say?”

  “May I please wear your pretty necklace, Ma’am?”

  “Very good.” I smile, unlatching it. We’ve been doing this since I arrived. She also likes to try and wear my “tiny” shoes. I told her she has tiny feet too.

  She laughed and said, “I will have extra-large feet, thank you.”

  Prancing around the room, she spins and dances and admires herself in the mirror. I smile and hurry about as I finish packing.

  “Car is here, Iris,” Nicky loudly warns, cracking open the door. Mae runs to his arms, and he lifts her high. Her effervescent giggles fill the air as I look in the mirror of the bathroom. I lift my shirt and press my hand on the slight curve of my belly.

  Fuck.

  This is happening.

  As soon as the plane takes off, I gasp in horror, knowing I left my “cheap piece” on a toddler. “Shit!”

  I call Serene, who thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

  Sal will kill me.

  It won’t even matter if I’m pregnant with his kid. “You lost a quarter in diamonds?”

  I try and call Deacon just to talk.

  I try and call Sal to profess my love.

  Neither answer.

  And I sleep until the bird touches down in Texas where Megan picks me up in her new 4x4. “Jesus, you’re getting fat!”

  “Hush!” I mutter as we hug. “I love you too.”

  She means well. And I know what she meant. Because it’s true. I am getting a bit…swollen…like I swallowed ten pounds of buttery mashed potatoes layered with marshmallows doused in dark chocolate sauce and smothered in whipped cream—just for good measure. “What time is your appointment?”

  “Three,” I giggle, knowing we might not make it. “This is such a mess. I left my collar on Mae. Don’t worry about my bags.”

  “You left your…. Oh, my fucking god!” All I can do is try to grin. “You want to drive?”

  “No,” I say as we get in, and she hits it. “Is Hannah…”

  “She is still at the shack,” she informs as I fume the rest of the way there. We whip onto Main Street, and with the kids out of school, the town is freaking packed. “Go! I’ll find someplace to park and be right there.”

  I carefully hop out and go directly into Dr. Elaine Johnson’s office. It’s a beautiful, sunshiny day for a doctor to tell me all the surgery was in vain, and I’m just gaining random pig weight, and I’m not adult enough to properly urinate on a stick.

  “Hi! I am Iris…Nakamura,” I stutter, forgetting I am not married yet. “I have a three o’clock appointment.”

  “Fill these out,” she snips, shoving a stack of papers on a clipboard to me. She’s about as friendly as a flea. I spend the next ten minutes rinsing and repeating my name, birthdate, and basic info. I sign the papers and walk back to her window.

  I’m off to the side, behind the wall, but I hear Lani speaking with someone. “If you have any problems with the IUD, just let me know,” she comments. “You have my number, and so does Sal. Call anytime.”

  What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck.

  “Thank you,” Hannah politely says, walking into the w
aiting area. She takes one glance in my direction, only to scurry for the door.

  I shove the papers at the bimbo behind the desk as Lani asks, “You ready, Iris?”

  “No. No, I am not,” I say, rushing after Hannah. “Give me a moment.”

  “Don’t be too long!”

  “Hey,” I shout, running after all that ass. He probably eats it. Oh. God. I see the old blue Raptor she is driving around town. He hated it when I drove it. I’m not sure what to say. “Hannah!”

  Swinging open the door, she looks at me. “Yes?”

  I scan over her youthful face and spunky appearance. “How old are you again?”

  “Nineteen,” she says as I note his watch on her arm. “You?”

  “Old enough to know better,” I sass and turn away. She catches my elbow as my foot hits the sidewalk. Feeling my cub being threatened, I fiercely warn, “Whatever you are about to do…don’t.”

  “I was going to say I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Taking my fiancé, stealing my future husband, or just being a fucking whore?”

  “Ms. Nakamura, I have not been bad to you. You chased me, not the other way around. And I have nothing to say to you.” Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she pivots back to the truck. “Have a good day!”

  Oh. Fuck. You.

  “When did your thang with my fiancé start?”

  “After your affair with Deacon Cruz.”

  She goes to get in the truck, but I grab the door. “You tell your lover, he can fuck the hell off! And so can you!” I flip her the bird and scream at the top of my lungs.

  With a fresh strawberry ice cream cone in her hand, Megan asks, “What the fuck happened?”

  “Fucking Hannah Cruz is riding Sal’s dick.” I spit. “If I wasn’t pregnant, I would so beat the fuck out of her.” I angrily pace in a circle before stealing half a scoop in one bite. “There is only room in Sugargrove for one of us.”

  I pull out my phone and call the pilot.

  “We’re leaving in an hour.”

  After insisting I drink a bottle of water and calm down for half an hour (my blood pressure was through the fucking roof), Lani finally makes an appearance in the room.