Running off a program installed by another, I quickly acknowledge the only thing I can do. The only choice I have is to overhaul and reconstruct her to serve up a different form of medication—one fused just for me. Her sole function will be in surrendering to me and calling me Master from her heart.
I have to repair the girl.
SAL
As typical, nothing ever goes as planned. We celebrate my birthday at a club and long story short, Amber ends up fucking missing. It’s actually all my fault. My encouragement sends her chasing the past, confronting Iris, and stealing Serene’s car. I do it all for a reason, needing to see how my lovely—fucked up—wife built the beast of Iris.
She is way too complacent. She takes a suggestive lead off another, even Amber’s way too quick. And thus, I start making a list late at night. What I want and need, but how I expect her to react. The psychological game is the game. The rest is all whips and chains, rose petals and wine.
In the confines of my bedroom—“laboratory”—the list lengthens quickly, followed by flowcharts and outcomes, all which follow the rule of three—three solutions and three deviations off of the solutions. Nine possibilities.
I hate that fucking word.
I want a guarantee; I won’t get one. The best I can hope for is to implement a course of attack which will force her to see my hand and cause her to break.
So, I am thinking of the best ways to do this. And I understand anything I can do also puts my ass at risk.
We won’t survive this way though. In my plans of deconstructing her, I also have stops in place to reconstructing my own program. I don’t need to be Kaci’s whipping boy anymore. I can do this on my own. The only issue I can see is that I am going to have to walk through hell to get the girl. Maybe that was always part of Kaci’s plan.
Take the present of this girl, reprogram both of you at the same time.
The danger is everywhere, spiking at my body like a thousand spears, but I cannot get distracted by that. I have to focus on the one thing that insures my plan works smooth as butter—the goal is freedom together.
After several days of birthday celebration, I go for a run in the dark and plot my course at the farmhouse. Despite putting her apartment up for sale, I call Serene in New York and sound the first warning shot, “Amber took your car.”
Immediately, she gets a flight home.
I should worry about the sacrifices Amber is making, but I don’t. I built that bitch, there is nothing she cannot handle. I’ll owe Serene a couple favors and pay them off quick cause I hate being indebted.
At 3:15 AM, I take a shower and head into Sugargrove. There is only one person I actually trust, and why I fucking trust Jaid is beyond me. Probably because Kaci gave her to me, too.
“Jaid is your secret. She will have your back forever.”
Slipping my key into the lock of the apartment, I know what I am about to suggest is unreal, but I do it anyway, knowing how strong Amber is.
In the dark bedroom, Jaid sighs and sits up in bed after I have told her my plan. “You want me to distract Dale?”
“Ya,” I snarl, sitting on the bed. The street lights cast eerie glows through the sheer curtains, revealing a shadow on her stunned expression. “There is no other way. I need him off my back for one weekend.”
“He’s with Amber,” she whispers the inner conflict. I nod in acceptance as she scrunches her nose. “If I agree to this Nero, where are you going?”
“Austin for one weekend,” I say.
“I’ll do it but only if you agree to my terms.”
Furrowing my brow, I confirm, “Terms?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles, swigging back a gulp of water. It trickles over the sides of her mouth. I take my thumb and wipe it away. “Let me work the case on Iris from the backend, I cannot do that here.”
“You want to leave Juliet?”
“You are my boss, make it happen. I’ll take an extended leave. You get it passed with Anna and I will go stay in the loft in Houston,” she says, lighting up a smoke. “I will go figure this shit out. No one can strat like me. You know that. Trust me.”
The orange embers glow in the dark as she offers me a drag. The thing about Jaid is she gets me—all of me. If there were ever a female version of me, Jaid is it. Black-ops Agent Priscilla Grace is constructed with a precise function—she is an assassin. No excuses. No hesitations. Get in, get the job done, get the fuck out. And it is that mentality which makes my convoluted plan reality.
“Pris…” I mutter, grabbing her hand. Rarely, do I ever use her given name because to do so throws off the deep immersion of her role, playing student Jaid Chambers at Juliet. So, when I say her name it is akin to a safeword.
“Yes, Lucas?” she counters, holding onto my hand as much as I am hers. “You aren’t going to get out of this unscathed, but I promise I will not let you go down in flames.”
I snicker at the remark. I am already deep-seated in my own inferno; the flames no longer burn. What worries me more is the water, dousing and extinguishing me—which, if I continue with Iris like we are—she will.
“The ball is already in motion, gathering momentum as we speak,” I mumble as she moves closer. “I cannot stop the landslide.”
“You don’t need to stop the landslide, but you best run like your life depends on it.”
IRIS
In the cabin with Dale Archer, I try and assess the man. I have been fucking him off and on since before we went to New Orleans. Sal knows because he was in Dale’s garage when it happened. Our pleasant little foursome—Dale, Amber, Sal, and I—have been at it for months.
I don’t think any of us ever plan on the fact that the entire thing could turn toxic with one misplaced flirt. I have watched Sal with Amber. And he has witnessed me with the big oaf.
Now, I am sitting in the cabin, formerly owned by Mack Larrabee, wading in the memories of my history. I have become one of them. I am accepted and embraced. I am praised as Sal’s devout little submissive Angel.
I think about the text that came suddenly before we left for the cabin. “Hey baby, lace that corset up with the chain and lock it. The chain and key are in Kaci’s room in the nightstand drawer.”
Smiling bright, I text back, “You’re serious?”
With a reassuring message, Sal wrote, “I have the other key. I’ll be there to get you undone.”
Sal will be here soon.
I have no fear with the ginger stallion sitting across from me. He is good and kind as we mutter back and forth, shooting marbles. D poses a definite threat to my continued happiness with Sal. His partner is in love with him. Call it womanly intuition or watching the warning signs, but I know Dale loves Sal in a way I cannot explain.
They have a history together.
A history that includes the ghosts of Sal’s nightmares. I cannot compare to this. I cannot compete against this. I cannot replace the dead girl. This heavenly celestial being everyone has built up to be immortal.
Kaci Hope.
I do not deserve such things.
I am never going to be enough to sustain Sal. His constant need to honor her memory pains me with every prayer, kneel, and kiss to his cross.
I feel distended—hollow and elastic. Like I am expected to stretch to his bearings, move within his world, and ignore my own parameters. I have crossed boundaries for this man. I have battled demons for this man. I have lost wars within my own soul for this man.
And I question—is he worth the emptiness?
Sal claims often to not get caught between the bullet and barrel, but what if the bullet is already lodged in my brain?
The ticking time bomb buried deep within my own gray matter. It is only a matter of time before it explodes and I will be responsible for ruining lives and pulling the house of Sal down upon us all.
In his bringing back Ainsley, I become even more aware of the clicks. The brushes against the hands march forward to an ultimatum unknown. The players continue their calculated moves,
but from my vantage point I am the only one stuck spinning.
Keep Iris down.
Do not let her out.
She is the catalyst.
I have heard it for months now. Everyone knows the trigger waits to be pulled. It is hot and loaded and one wrong move changes everything. I don’t want this on my hands anymore. I don’t want this in my cerebellum anymore. I seek cleansing, holy and dynamic. Absolution of it all saves us from the sacrifice of the grave.
I cannot continue like this—his puppet and he as my Master.
I count the breaths I take far too often, saving them like collected pieces from mismatched puzzles. The Gennaro’s, The Raniero’s, and the torment of the vile chasing after me—crashing and taking and using—only to repeat the whole vicious cycle again.
Maybe my husband put it there.
Perhaps Gennaro did.
But I know Sal has.
I question where to go and what to do. The last thing on my mind is always Sal and though I think I cannot do it, I feel compelled to cut it out. Slit my wrists and set the bullet free. I will be out of the way then. It is the only thing that makes sense anymore. Check out and kill the program. Shut down the machine.
Archer rambles, “You mean, you wouldn’t have been raw…”
“Right,” I say as the darkness shadows over the light and I return home. “And there is beauty in rawness. At least, Sal believes so.”
Raw. Little girl. Dom. New Orleans. Sal.
Don’t stop fighting.
If I keep collecting words, can I quit the program and reboot my psyche all on my own?
I really don’t want to leave, but I cannot stand the thought of losing him either. The wings of the butterfly may be torn apart and shredding as he tries to tape them back together so carefully. Her ripped wings cannot compare to these flaming wings he has given me. I rise up because that is what he trains me to do. I do not falter out of my mind because that is what he trains me to do. I do not stop because that is what he trains me to do.
I do not deserve such things.
But I am trained for this.
SAL
The cabin on the lake is beautiful. The tree filled lot offers plenty of places for an intruder to take advantage even in broad daylight. Or in this case, for me to sneak in the backdoor. My phone vibrates. It is Dale. He wants the fucking key for Iris’ corset. I repress my laughter, knowing how pissed he must be.
Stepping inside, I make my way quickly through the house to find her on the bed. I press a finger to my lips. Her beautiful smile beams my direction as her eyes sparkle with a delight.
This girl adores me.
I slip between her legs, take the chain with the key off of my neck, and unlock the closure, latching her balmy lips together. Carefully, I remove the small sterling silver hoops from her own and pocket it all.
“Thank you,” she mouths as I set my sights on the heavenly garden tucked between her thighs.
“You are so fucking welcome…” I mumble, distracted by her lips. They are the perfect heart shape and the most perfect shade of pink. I enter into some sort of hypnotic state every time we are together, frying the synapses in my brain which pertain to any logic.
“Fuck it,” I grumble and kiss her hard. “I cannot do this without you, but we have to get out of the position we are in. I have Pris—Jaid—working on figuring it all out now. But I need you to stay with me, I need you to put your faith in my hands.”
“I trust you, Sal,” she breathes against my lip as we slip away into another passionate kiss. “Don’t leave me. Just don’t leave me.”
“I am not leaving you, but I may have a quick little errand to run soon,” I say elusively. “But first…”
“Ahem,” D coughs. “Where is Amber?”
“I have no idea,” I lie, knowing exactly where she is. Amber is integral in the plan because I have to get Dale out of the way just in case he decides to pitch for Jack’s team. I don’t think he would, but it’s not a risk worth taking.
After a lengthy pow-wow, Dale and I decide to go back the farmhouse. I smirk as the garage opens and the car is back courtesy of Serene. Everything is going according to plan.
The curious thing about strategy is in anticipating the unexpected. I didn’t know D would take Iris to the cabin, but I can dance on the fly and make up for the unplanned details. I am good at it, and so is Prissy Pants. If I am too rigid in sticking the set coordinates, it never fails that I fuck up. I have to stay loose and ready to bend and sway with whatever the flames and waves flick in my direction.
Finding Amber’s phone with cryptic messages that didn’t send, Dale and I end up getting into it as Iris watches on. The force behind his swing is brute and rough. I had not quite planned on a black-eye or cutting his hand up, but I understand sometimes these things just happen.
His girl is missing.
Amber’s not really missing—she is tucked safely away in Serene’s bedroom—but Dale thinks she is missing.
Realizing the two of us could continue this tango until we kill one another, I play a deviant, manipulative card. I fake a subdrop. Now, it should be said I have never actually had one of these meltdowns, but I have witnessed plenty of them. They can range from a complete mental shutdown to all-out rampant attacks on those closest to the sub.
With his limited submissive contact, I use Dale’s ignorance and missed steps in my favor. I play it up good until he ends up whispering Pixie in my ear and I fall to the ground. I am bellowing, inconsolable, and gone. He does what any good Master would do and assesses the situation fast. Iris needs to be removed, her inexperience in the fetish world could cause her to falter. So, Dale leaves and takes Iris back to my house like the good little soldier I expect him to be.
Beneath my fake tears, I grin maniacally, hop in the truck and take off through the woods. I stop behind my house and wait for D to leave. Jack’s car is gone and Iris is going to be alone. If there is ever a time to move hastily it is now.
The second Dale departs, I am in the house with my hands-on Iris. The whole con has given me a hell of a fucking hard-on. I am a twisted fuck, remember.
She is startled and stunned by my duplicity as I push her against the wall. She expects a wild animal and I am, but not under my raven curls. I am all present and aware as I rip her panties down and undo my jeans. With one solid thrust, I am inside of her wetness. Her arms latch around my shoulders and her lips devour my neck.
“You tricked him,” she whispers as I hold her against the wall.
With a smug grin, I accept her accusations—because I cannot lie to this girl as I pull out my phone. “I did and now, I am going to send him a text message telling him I am in Chicago.”
“… Sal?” she urges with a slight concern, “We aren’t in Chicago….
“Baby, you are Chicago,” I mumble, revealing her code name with a push of the send button and a thrust of my hips.
“Oh…” she says with a slightly perturbed glare. Rocking my hips, I just find the rhythm again when she asks, “Did I have to be a city?”
Dropping my hands from her body, I keep her braced tight by my staunch frame as I raise my hands above my head and gaze up at the ceiling.
Dear heavens, why is she asking me this now?
“I named you Chicago almost six years ago when Chance dropped your folder on my desk in a dank, dark cell,” I recall, the memory of my eight-month training at Sibyl still fresh in my mind.
“But it’s a city…” she whines, refusing to get out of her head and allowing the pleasure to succumb us both.
“Babe, it’s a beautiful city…” I growl, frustrated. “Now, will you please shut up and let me fuck you?”
Iris nods agreeably, but the pacification is short lived. Not giving up, she asks, “What’s your code name?”
“I have always been Phoenix,” I mumble into her hair, thrusting slow and deep and getting into the feel of her wetness sheathing around my cock.
Straightforward, she asks, “Did Kaci
name you that?”
“No,” I grumble, increasingly agitated and about ready to cover her fucking mouth with my hand. “My first trainer, an old sniper named Canary, called me Phoenix.”
Rolling against my movements, she inquires, “Why?”
With a deep sigh, I stop going at it and pause still buried inside of her pussy. “Because I was nineteen and a hot shot. I have a photographic memory and a keen ability to hit a target, I always have. I am a crackshot and he wanted me to always rise above…”
Biting her lip, she questions, “Where is Canary now?”
My eyes flare up in a rage-fueled dilemma as I really need to get off and I would like to do it in her warmth. With an angry calm, I say, “Dead.”
Silence drifts between us as I impart the tales of my history. She doesn’t speak as I bask in her glow. Her grace and beauty alter my consciousness and beg me to forgive her inquisitions. I cannot be mad at my Angel.
Taking her hands, I pin them against the wall with my own above her head. I resume my thrusts, gradually bringing us back to a sustained intensity. Her body beckons mine, deluging my cock in her waters. I cannot say no as I am captured by her soul and catapulted into her abyss. I find serenity in her raging, wild seas.
Commanding my fires with the ease of a beguiler, she says, “Fuck me, Sal… Fuck me.”
And I do.
IRIS
After Sal comes, fear strikes through my core like a lightning bolt. I am alone in this with him. We head to the shower, washing the stress of the past few hours down the drain.
I understand our relationship is built on an accommodating trust regardless of actions. He fucks; I fuck. We come back together because we cannot exist without the balance we find in one another.
Reflecting upon the word—dead—I feel his word is a jolt to my system, knocking abruptly and skimming out of my orgasmic high. His eyes fall into a serious, intense stare as he watches me towel drying my hair.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 37