People rarely understand.
But Sal does.
“Thanks.” He pockets the phone and pulls a sheet over her head. “He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“… Who the hell is Tor?” I curiously ask. I’m his mistress, and I know many things, but in almost six years of having an affair with this guy, I don’t remember any Tor.
Wrapping his hand around the small pistol in my fingers, he answers, “You don’t want to know.”
I’m half-tempted to put the barrel against my temple and fire. Blow my fucking brains out on top of the woman who ruined my life. I don’t want to do this anymore. None of it. Not my past. Not Dale. Not the men in fancy suits who control everything.
I’m panicking at the worst possible time. Correction, I’m freaking the fuck out. I know better than this. I’m trained to be around these men and their ruthless ways. Dare I say—I’m built to withstand their rule. I’ve submitted to their collars and sheltered their sins, but why now—at the start of Sal’s battle cry—do I feel like simultaneously throwing up and hysterically crying?
“Give me the gun.”
“You shot my fiancé’s mother!”
“Give me the fucking piece, Amber,” Sal pushes with a low growl. My eyes flick up to meet his shadowed, emerald gaze. His dark brows lift just a smidge, rekindling our trust. Without hesitation, I give in. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I promise you.” I release my death grip and follow his lead onto the battlefield. Suicide isn’t an option. I’m his practice slut. I’m his grounding mechanism. I’m his words of wisdom and his coach. He won’t win without me, this much I know. He needs me. “You killed a woman for me.”
“Ya,” he says with a slight smirk as I let go. “Because you didn’t need her blood on your hands.”
“So, you did it?” I question, growing irritated. “I didn’t ask you to play a hero. What are you saying in your report?”
“Exactly what it was.” He pulls the magazine from the gun and stuffs it in his inner jacket pocket. “Don’t worry about my report,” he confidently snarls. “That’s the easy part.”
“You just took out the biggest baby dealer south of the Mason-Dixon.”
“I did,” he proudly gloats. “And I have zero regrets about that, but I need you to snap out of it. I need you with me.”
Waves of paralyzing shock roll through me, hiccuping my thoughts, and stuttering my words. “You just started a war…”
“Nah,” he passively responds, gripping my hand. “That was a warning shot. And even if I did start a war, I did it for you.”
Oh.
Dear God, I don’t want to know this.
“No.” I shake my head, refusing to move. “That’s money you took from their pockets, and we both know it.”
“And I watched it burn,” he hisses, striking his lighter and inhaling on the cigarette. A cloud of nicotine fills the room, and a man I don’t know appears behind Sal at the door. His imposing stature draws my attention as he strokes his dark beard and smirks.
“You causing trouble again, Nero?” He chuckles, and they greet one another in some secret boy’s club bro hug. With intense, almost silver eyes, he stares like I’m the prize package waiting after work.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
“Always,” Sal alleges, planting kisses on the stranger’s cheeks. “Thanks for coming.”
He lifts a finger and points at Sal. “You owe me one. I was about to get laid.”
“You act like a cum dump doesn’t happen nightly for you.”
“Hey, I got to appreciate the gifts,” the man replies. “Unloading is always a good time.”
“Amber, this is Tor,” Sal introduces formally as I discreetly roll my eyes. “Tor, this is Amber.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” he politely greets, taking my hand and bending to kiss it. “I’ve heard many amazing things.”
I’m somewhere between really fucking pissed off and a desperate catatonic state when I smugly ask, “Who the hell are you?”
“Jason Torrente. My friends call me Tor,” he informs with a shrug. “Or, if they’ve seen my dick, they call me Jas.”
Shocked, I gasp at Sal. Instinctively, I don’t make any sudden movements in the presence of these two. I don’t need Jason Torrente’s resume to know he’s a killer.
Just like Sal.
His smooth, coaxing eyes say plenty about sinful and sexy as I scrutinize over him. “What’s your position here? Your job? Your place. Do tell.” I’m furious Sal has been keeping secrets. Apparently a six-two, inked, and sly motherfucker. “And you,” I angrily spit, directed to Sal. “Does the rest of your gang know about him?”
“I do not have a gang,” Sal quickly chafes, irritable. “Don’t insult me.”
“Clean up services, Ma’am,” Tor says, nodding like a damn proper southern gentleman. “Straight to the point and out in ten.”
“You called a fucking janitor to come and take care of this?” I blow, spewing the first of my fiery emotional shrapnel. Careful, the fallout can start a blazing inferno. “Really, Salvatore?”
He spreads his arms wide, making that classic daego move—who me?—as my heart and mind explode in unison at how infuriating he can sometimes be. I can’t decide if I want to tell him to fuck off or beg him on my knees to fuck me…please, Sir. “… What?”
“Did you not feel the need to tell me you had a custodian?” The word is offensive; I can tell by the raised eyebrows from both men. “I get you have your little party going on, but as the resident house mistress, I’d like to know who is going to be in attendance.”
Tor snickers. “… Is that so you can serve me better?”
“You wish, fucker.”
Stepping closer, he counters, “Look, do you want me to sweep up your mess or would you prefer to do it? Cause I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing your ass bent over.”
I have good mind to slap his devastatingly good looking smirk right off his face, but I know it will only add fuel to his fire. He’s slick like a pound of bacon—hot and sizzling in the pan—I can’t wait to consume. “If you want to see this ass, you got to go through the Boss.”
Shit.
That was the exact wrong thing to say. I peer at Sal, cocking one eye up to me and grinning like he’s about to devour the whole pig.
Fuck the bacon.
Figures.
He always liked oinkers.
It isn’t just white meat to him. It is the only meat—girls who function in strife, ignore their broken bits and march on. Attaching to them like an n52 magnet, he likes them sweet, sassy, and slightly unstable.
A nice rack doesn’t hurt, either.
And yes, I, too, am a proud, card-carrying member of his pink posse.
Feeling a strange pause between the three of us, Tor says, “I’m going to get to work. Got to pay the bills.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, leaving the room. I run downstairs and spot the delivery truck in the back yard. It’s big enough to hold the motorcycle Nico pulls up into it, and the body Tor brings down in a black bag. “What about the mattress…”
He stops mid-step by me and snarls, “Ma’am, I’ve done this professionally for over ten years. I’ve been working exclusively with Sal since he started. I think I got this.”
“I think if you get in my way,” I challenge with my hands on my hips because I run this fucking show. “I will bury you.”
“I understand you’re pissed,” Tor softly consoles. “But you didn’t need to know.”
“What else don’t I need to know?” I rhetorically bounce, betrayed. “He’s got some magic genie on standby waiting to clean up bodies he leaves behind. I should know about shit like that.”
Tor or Jas or whatever the fuck this asshole wants to be called grins. The kind of panty-melting smile to make women do stupid stuff.
“… You want to rub my belly?”
“Fuck you,” I seethe, blinking up at the human-shaped sack on his shoulder and realizing this is my fault. I h
aven’t exactly behaved since meeting Tor. In fact, I’ve been a bit of a cunt. I should be nicer. “Thank you,” I whisper, laying my hand on his hard bicep. Dear God, he’s built like a Greek God. “For everything. This,” I say, pointing up to Virginia. “Taking care of Sal. Thank you.”
“Everything is going to be okay,” he assures. Those sparkling silver eyes are enough to make a pissed off mama tiger purr like a kitten, and I hate him already. “I promise.”
Naughty boys and their promises.
I nod, uncertain. I want to talk more with Tor, but I know he’s got a slab of dead weight on his shoulder. I watch him walk off as Sal brushes against my arm and jars my attention away from the heart-stopping Tor coma I had slipped into. His back muscles, his ass in those jeans, and the mop of light chestnut with blonde highlights I-don’t-care hair. The back is shaved up nice and close, but the top and sides are what little girl dreams are made of. He looks like a bad boy. A punk. A skater. A rowdy one. Trouble on two very well-equipped legs.
“… Are you drooling?”
My eyes widen, aghast that Sal would even suggest my frothing at the mouth was anything other than my absolute rabidity towards Jason Torrente’s efforts. “Would I do that?”
“Ya,” he replies, looping his arm to mine. “Come on; we’re going for a ride.”
Straddling around Sal under the darkened sky, I consider what I know as we ride the motorcycle. Iris and Dale are safe at La Chiesa. Sal shot Virginia, and I’m his. We head deeper into the desert. I love this man between my legs, but I know there are limits—boundaries with high, razor, and barb wire fences marked with signs that say:
Do Not Cross.
Violators will be executed on sight.
This is how he holds the inner sanctum of his heart. Vigilantly, without reprieve, his sentinel guards the watchtower, the old ticker, and the warmest place I’ve ever known. It is rare for Sal to let anyone in, and my offense of his hidden sweeper lies beneath the layers of bone, muscle, and tissue in the pounding flood of his chamber.
The truth is in the blood.
And I need to know I’m his.
He’s building his group for a sole, unified purpose, but beyond that construction, a desire exists to connect us like family. The bike comes to a stop outside of a warehouse between La Chiesa and Little Bee. “How many?”
Getting off the bike, Sal strips off his jacket and asks, “How many what?”
With a heavy stare, I clarify, “How many members are there?”
“… Total?”
“No, main leaders.”
“Nine,” he replies, lighting a smoke and helping me off.
“And are they equal?”
“I tend to think they are.”
“Who are they though, Sal?” I quiz following him. “Do you even know them?”
“Better than I know myself,” he says, unlocking the door and pulling me inside. “You know Dom.”
“Yeah, but there are others, and I deserve to know who they are. I’ve earned that right, and you know I have.”
“Dom, Deacon, Nico, and Jas. And I’ve brought on you, Jaid, Serene, and Iris. But I’ve got a few others helping us, too. Like Trudy, Georgia, Mierne, Jack, and Fink.”
I don’t know all of them, but what concerns me the most is the omission of my guy. “… What about Dale?”
“That is complicated.”
“Why?” I ask, biting like a sharp-tongued devil with a bitch face. “Because you fucked him for a quarter of his billions or because you don’t trust him?”
“Because his loyalty is wherever his dick points at the moment in question.”
“You son-of-a-bitch,” I snap, stomping in a tantrum around the dimly lit warehouse. “Are you completely out of your mind?”
He scans up from the box he is digging through. “No, actually I’m not.”
“If you don’t trust him, then why the fuck didn’t you protect me?”
“I don’t exactly trust Dominic, either.”
I furrow my brow as my entire body jitters with disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” he deadpans, pulling the tactical vest from the box. “Come here and take off your shirt.”
I do it because I don’t know what to say. Words are gone, and all I have are twisted, burly emotions with thorns prickling my skin and bleeding uncontrollably. If Sal doesn’t trust Dale, why should I?
“Now, there is a sight,” Tor boasts from behind us. I don’t look but offer up my middle finger. “Fine, I won’t give you the coffee I brought you.”
“Taken care of?” Sal questions as he tightens the straps around me.
“Yep,” Tor says, sitting on the table and watching us. He pops the top of his coffee and takes a slurp. His noise is irritating, and I know he is doing it on purpose. “Mmm, coffee!” He snarls before slamming back the entire steaming cup and tossing it to the trash a good twenty feet away. “Score! Nico is handling the deposit.”
I glance down, despondent, and aware. I’m listening, but I have nothing to add. Why I am so worried about my monogamy to Dale when he is fucking everything from here to Florida is beyond me. I’ve been outplayed—again—by a man. And to add the bittersweet to the salt, Sal suspected—knew—and didn’t stop me from spreading my legs.
“You know Iris is with Dale,” I point out. “And you are okay with that?
“He should be careful with her,” Sal cautions, crouched down in front of me. “She bites.”
With Tor studying our chat, I repeatedly blink. “… And I don’t?”
Rising, he says, “Not when you’re in love.”
A single tear streams down my cheek because the pain is too much. Not that it matters. I was going to kill his mother, and if that isn’t a deal-breaker, I’m not sure what is.
With the vest adjusted and secure, he rips it from my body as I mumble, “How long do we have?”
“We need to be back in less than an hour and a half,” Sal informs, tossing my shirt to me. “We’re like vampires.”
Spiking the shirt back to Sal, I unfasten my jeans and whisper, “Fuck me.”
Sal’s eyes pivot to Tor as he considers the proposition. “… In front of Jas?”
“Yeah, why not?” I tug my bra off and flip it at the sexy janitor. “Certainly, he qualifies.”
“I think I’m offended,” Tor mutters, bringing the fabric to his nose. “What am I qualified for?”
“Helping a girl out of her head.”
There are a few things I know. If Sal wanted me not to do this, then he would’ve already put a stop to it, and he is terrible at resisting me.
I step out of the jeans still tethered around my ankles and turn my back to them. I have on heeled leather boots that lace above my ankles. They’re a sexy version of a female combat boot, complete with rhinestones and trim. I pull my hair down and let it drift over my back. It’s long, almost to my ass, and a gorgeous dark auburn color with hints of ginger, chocolate, and a few sparse highlights.
Hooking my thumbs into the sides of my pink lace and silk panties, I pull them sexily off my ass and bend over in front of them.
“You keep her around, and she is this cruel?”
“I keep her around because she is this cruel,” Sal snickers as his white t-shirt lands at my feet.
“Masochist,” Tor alleges, crossing his chiseled, inked arms. “Impressive.”
“Maybe I’m the sadist, torturing you, Jas,” Sal says, running his hands up my back and bundling my hair into a rubber band from his wrist before tossing it over my shoulder. He swats my ass with the back of his fingers. I bite my lip. “Want to play?”
“I’ll play with the sadist and his mistress.”
“You can call me a slut, Sir,” I speak the truth. “Because after I’m through with you, I will have damn sure earned that.”
“Is she always so aggressive?”
“Amber is a beautiful butterfly with teeth,” Sal marvels, rubbing my ass cheek and dipping his fingers dangerously clo
se to my dampness.
“Now, I get chompers…as long as I’m not in love,” I sigh.
“It’s okay,” Tor segues, interrupting Sal and I. “I like girls with teeth.” He quickly spins me around. Without a breath, I drop to my knees to find his cock, bare, and engorged.
“Dear fuck,” I mutter, staring at the magnificent package. “I guess you are Jas now.”
Before I know what has hit me, I’m swallowing Jas’ cock as Sal nudges in beside him. I open wider, allowing both men to have at my hole. I’m wet everywhere—spilling from my mouth, sliding between my legs, and dripping from my eyes.
I’m custom-built, and this is my element. I’m not marriage material; I’m a party girl living for the next high, the next ride, the next surge of adrenaline.
They’re bucking in synchronicity, like a well-choreographed routine of dicks. My mouth is their stage, my lips are the curtain, and my teeth perform with a delicate touch. “That’s my girl, suck us like the good little bitch you are.”
I give a doe-eyed blink to Sal. He swoops his hands beneath my arms and tugs me up. Jas hastily moves the boxes from the old wooden table. Laying on the hard surface, Sal pulls my body to straddle over him. He sinks his dick into my wetness with one determined thrust. I note Jas, stroking his cock, and scold, “Stop that. Take my ass.”
Sal smirks, as Jas asks, “Is she serious?”
“Ya,” he says, glowing. “She’s my overachiever.”
Sal loves the kinky.
I understand why he has chosen the girls he has for his punchy pack of mafia mercenaries. Sal can’t breathe in healthy air. He feeds in the darkness to survive in the light. And that is why he is so good at everything he does, whether it be saving girls or assembling an army to take on the kings.
“I assume you’ve done this before,” Jas mumbles as I bend to kiss Sal and forget how I’m cheating on my fiancé. It no longer matters. We don’t matter. What matters is this man beneath me. He needs me now more than ever. If I cannot be there for Sal during the most stressful time of his life, then I never deserved to be his mistress.
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 2