Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Not my monkey.

  Not my cirque.

  I’m done saving Cassidy Hope. And in that instant, I draw a line in the sand. I stand with Mock and Je Suis. It’s my first real moment of freedom of choice, and no one is here to witness it. I’m not going up against Cristos; I’m waging war against the entire establishment. If it comes down to saving Cas or Cristos, I’ll take the latter because he is still of great benefit to us.

  “Stay out of it, Cris,” I whisper, giving an intense stare. He picks up on it without saying a word. “I mean it. Split it. Make it disappear. Throw them in the goddamned ocean, but do not let those crates come back on you.”

  “And what do I tell Cinco?”

  Sitting back for a moment and thinking, I urge, “Nothing.”

  “And what do I tell Cas?”

  “Tell Cas to find a new Sugar Daddy because you are taken.”

  He nods, and we say our goodbyes.

  On my way back, the lightbulb clicks on with blinding brightness. Lotus has wanted to talk to me. We sell the crates cheap, so we don’t take the hit. We eliminate any remote possibility of the bangs being located because they’ll franchise those fuckers out faster than a birthday party of kids wiping out pizza. And the best part, Cinco is none the wiser.

  I’m striding through the halls, happily minding my own business. I’m thinking about the ingenious strategy to take out two problems and mulling over how beautiful she looked riding on his body.

  “Raniero,” Violet whispers from the supply closet. “Come here.”

  “I’m on yard duty.”

  “I need to talk to you,” he says, shutting the door. “About what happened that night.”

  I know I don’t have time for this, but I sit on the edge of the table and say, “Go.”

  “I want to see my son,” he says, negotiating. “Halton was my everything, and I walked away from him because I wasn’t brave enough—man enough—to stand my ground.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but he’s hard to find.”

  I smile at his smirk and know he remembers the boy he raised. “You need to go to the darkness. Backwoods boonies. The bayou. Dig deep. You’ll find him.”

  So much could be said about that sentiment.

  I need to go to the darkest parts in me.

  And I’ll find myself.

  “I’ll talk to my team,” I assure, crossing my feet. “I know a guy who knows the Bayou (and my ass) like the back of his hand.”

  “Thank you,” he replies, clearing his throat and turning away. “That night wasn’t what anyone thinks.”

  “What do you mean?” I say, wishing I had a smoke. “Tell me.”

  His aged chocolate eyes compel me to pay attention. He’s wrinkled with a few age spots coming on. No one stays young and beautiful forever.

  “That night…we didn’t go to kill Frederick and Agnes Bindel because they were already dead. We went in as a clean-up crew. We were the first janitors.”

  The code in my mind jumbles as the mainframe sends a loud warning siren. The red lights flash. We’re having a meltdown. Get the fuck out. Evacuate the premises. Get out, or the truth will infect the data.

  I ignore my jargon and stay.

  I stay because everything I’ve done has led me here. I stay because the truth matters. I stay because I want to be like Mock. And I stay because I’m done making fucking excuses for everyone else.

  “… I thought they were shot execution-style?”

  “They were,” he says, shaking his head. “But not by our guys.”

  I glance around the room, almost unable to breathe. “Then, who?”

  The horrific look in his eyes says it all. Kaci wasn’t the only killer they trained. “Holy fuck…I never even considered.”

  “Marshall and I both threatened to talk,” he informs. “We knew they were recruiting kids and training them to be assassins. We knew it was going to bite us on the ass eventually. And it did with Hennessey.”

  Leaning back, I want to run my hands over my face and pull my hair. “Goddammit!”

  “I know what they did to you,” he says, regretfully. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to stand up and say something.”

  “Who all did they recruit?”

  “To my knowledge…there were eight original youth agents, part of the cognitive architecture experiment—CAE. They called them Entropy.”

  Slow decline to disorder.

  “Oh my God…there are eight.”

  “The idea was one well-trained, young agent could recruit candidates they saw fit. Their logic being, who better to recognize potential talent. They ended up with several international finds amongst the mix. Children of highly influential and powerful types. You were targeted, Sal.”

  I’ve suspected this much for a long time, but hearing it—legitimately hearing it from a former agent who was on the ground when it was going down—sends a shiver through my spine. They didn’t take the normal kids, but kids whose parents had power and control already. And they turned their offspring into monsters.

  “Go on.”

  “Sibyl put everything they had into their youth program. The opposition was outdoing us. They were younger, smarter, and faster than the ex-military guys. They hadn’t had years of wear and tear on their bodies or minds, but what they didn’t realize is we were sending out little bombs full of uncontrolled energy.”

  “Tell me. I’ve been one.”

  And I’ve fed the machine of recruitment which is why Zoe Hess is in upstate New York.

  “I know you were after they realized fifteen was too young. They modified the program to eighteen plus and started recruiting delinquents, the educated problem children.”

  Nico. Me.

  “How many were there?”

  “Of the older batch?” His brow lines. “More than you want to know, but by that point, they realized the flaw in their system—hormones.”

  “… Hormones?”

  “That’s why they started running the new ones through the battery of drugs to confuse the system and send it into overdrive. You have to understand they weren’t children to them. They were miniature machines. Don’t put a human stamp on it. They were supercomputers programmed to kill.”

  I closed my eyes, remembering how hard training was. They injected me with every possible concoction they could come up with the excuse of preparing me for possible biological attacks.

  It was all a lie.

  Everything they did.

  Everything Kaci ever said.

  But was it her fault?

  She – herself – was programmed to be a minion of their mayhem. “Do you know who was running the show?”

  “You mean the voice behind the curtain?” he laughs once. “I wish I did, but that will forever be a mystery.”

  “Who put you here?”

  “I had friends in law enforcement, and when I told them I needed a cover, they provided. Witness protection wasn’t a solution.”

  I understood that. Witness protection only worked if you didn’t need protecting from your government. And we didn’t know who was running Sibyl. It was easier to eliminate than control us.

  “Who all knew?” I ask despondent.

  “Everyone knew.”

  Everyone. Knew.

  I drop my head to my chest as the agony stretches over his expression like a mask. “But there is more, Sal. And I only know this because Marshall calls several times per year.”

  “What?”

  “He received a call from Tim Abbott.”

  “Wait…what?” I say as my arms spread. “Canary died when I was in training.”

  Canary called me a crackshot.

  Canary named me Phoenix.

  He shakes his head. “Wait, you must understand there was some debate that all the experimental medical treatment Kaci received was firing off shorts in her programming.”

  “… Shorts?”

  “Frying the very expensive computer Sibyl owned in her head,” he clarifies as I take a
breath. “She went to Canary and urged his disappearance after she realized how fucked up things were. That is why she pushed you to go after your father. She wasn’t trying to get you to attack your father for her benefit, but to start questioning what Sibyl programmed in you.”

  Tears well up in my eyes.

  For four years, I blamed Kaci.

  “She didn’t convey that very well.”

  “I know,” he says, clasping his hands. “Canary disappeared with the knowledge of the eight.”

  “How do we know he isn’t just waiting to pop them off one by one?”

  “We don’t,” he concedes nodding. “He may have very well gone to Pappy to receive orders for elimination.”

  Oh. Jesus. Fuck.

  “Who were the eight?”

  “If I tell you…”

  “If you don’t tell me, then I lose everything because my future wife is full of Kaci’s intel!”

  He gives a solemn look. “Hennessey Bindel, Kacilyn Hope, and her sister Priscilla Grace, Janna Hahn, Gabriel Herrera…”

  “Of the fucking Herrera gang—Immortal?”

  He blinks once.

  One blink and I know how bad this is about to be.

  One blink and I don’t know that I won’t have to pull the trigger.

  “Mitchell Daniels and his brother…err sister, Bertrand Jameson.”

  I’m hyperventilating. “… What?”

  “The brothers were both recruited by Kaci,” he thoughtfully reflects. “Though I understand Bertrand is undergoing some changes in her own right.”

  “She was killed.”

  “Did you see a body?” he asks.

  I never saw a body.

  “Kaci removed Bertrand to save her life. She knew her days were numbered, but she tried to throw life rafts where she could. She put the girls on your radar and removed Bertie because of her brother, Mitch.”

  Violently shaking, I stand up and wait to hear the last nail of the coffin go in. I can’t stop crying. It hurts—all of it—the lies, the deceit, the level of betrayal. “Say it.”

  “You don’t need to hear it.”

  “Say it!” I angrily hiss. “Just say it.”

  “Iris Nakamura—because it isn’t the Kettles that matters, son.”

  I crumble to the ground, heaving, and slobbering, and realizing how very alone I am.

  “Kaci recruited me to clean up the fucking mess.”

  “Yes, Sal,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “She did.”

  I look to the old man named Violet and whisper, “What do I do?”

  “You do the only thing you can.”

  27

  Pour Mon Mal

  Walking out of the supply closet, I feel everything moving in slow motion. I cannot escape the terror chasing me with each step. I spot Ronnie at the end of the hallway. She is waving and smiling until catching a glimpse of my expression.

  My heart hurts.

  I run—full steam ahead—and stop before her feet.

  “Mr. Raniero, there is no running in the hallways, but are you okay?”

  “No.”

  She dismisses where I’m at with a wave. “It doesn’t matter. You have a visitor.” She winks, turns, and sashays to the elevator.

  Jesus not now.

  Silently, we arrive outside the small room where I met Mierne. In my mind, it will forever be the grief room with its worn love seat, endless tissues, and yellow glow from the one light.

  Thankfully, I don’t need more than that to see the Reckless Rebellion cut and sun-kissed blonde hair. “Fucking hell Cruz.” I fall into his arms, full of desperation and despair. “It’s so fucked up…it’s so fucked up…it’s so fucked up what they did to all of us.”

  “You gotta slow down, Boss,” he says, holding my cheeks. “Breathe with me and calm. I can’t help you when you’re crashing.”

  I decide to tell him everything—Mock, Naby, Cristos, the plan for the bangs, and Violet. I’m laying on his thigh, taking comfort from his fingers in my hair. His expression has been serious since I finished telling him about Mock. His eyes dart from side to side as his jaw grinds.

  “Tell me.”

  “Nothing.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t get to do that shit now, Cruz.”

  “You’re telling me…all of it…the training and programming were planned for these children whose parents were of significance.”

  “That is exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Fuck!” he bellows as his nostrils flare. “Not on my fucking watch. They aren’t getting Jaid, and they aren’t getting Iris and they damn sure ain’t fuckin’ getting you!”

  I laugh at his passion. It’s good to see and even better to hear. I need to know he’s on my team. Stretching out my arms, I moan with discomfort as my hands are bound in the casts.

  Studying my moves, he asks, “You like those things?”

  “It’s the difference between getting a blow job from a cheap whore that bites and a sweet one that will finger your asshole.”

  His boisterous laughter fills the room. “The hell! I miss you!”

  I grin and hop up to inspect the door. I was hoping for a lock of some kind, but there is nothing. “Fucking shit,” I mumble, disgruntled. “What the hell was I thinking, checking into a cage?”

  With his elbow propped on the arm of the sofa, his fingers tuck around and frame his face. “What do you need, baby?”

  “A goddamned burger, some pain, and a blow job!”

  “I can satisfy one out of three,” he says, inching his brow up flirtatiously. “If you would like.”

  “… Is that even a question?” I curl my arms up the side with a giant shrug before plopping on the opposite end of the loveseat. “I mean, really.”

  Tossing the vest to the side, he tugs off my shirt and pulls the string on my pants. They’re big and loose. “I’m not used to seeing you unpierced.”

  “I keep having these fucking dreams.”

  “About Iris?” he quizzes as I nod. “And I’m there?”

  “You’re always fucking there,” I admit, wanting to touch him so bad it hurts. “Suck me off…”

  “I’m going to, but first I’m telling you, we got this shit,” Deacon maintains, brushing his fingers over my face. “You can punish me when you find your hands.” He flicks both brows up quick and grins mischievously.

  “I adore you,” I whisper as our lips find a place where we control the future.

  We’re dangerous as we collide into one another and volatile when we smash. The core of who we are pumping hard and hot leading us to a place where there is nothing left to do but surrender to the love. It builds and builds, blooming with more than we can stand, and it spills out onto everything we touch. We are magnetic.

  He dips the front of my pants, briefly exposing my cock to the air, but it isn’t long before his mouth offers shelter and warmth. I lay my hand on his back as his fingers curl around the base, and his tongue stroke up the shaft. His tongue slithers out, tasting the first droplets of my desire.

  We’ve been here so many times before, but the rush of adrenaline and exultation is always new. We are bad boys, hungry and greedy with lust. I don’t need the details of his life, all I need are his stars—shining, glowing, and healing me with every whimsical, frivolous memory our young men ever had.

  We are reborn by our choices.

  His sad blue eyes muse over my emeralds as we dance in the erotic and savor in our kink.

  I am his Master; he is my boy.

  And nothing else matters but the promise to love and keep and stand for one another.

  “Suck my cock, babe,” I inwardly groan, tethered by my stupidity and the confinement of the casts. “Harder, Deacon… harder.”

  He moans deep and vibrates my skin as his tongue careens along the vein to the tip. He repeats the smooth motion as my eyes lull back, and I shift my hips forward.

  Shit. Here. We. Go.

  The back of his throat open
s eagerly and succumbs to the length and girth. It’s a new feeling for me because I’m a polite young daego who doesn’t believe in choking anyone with the jewelry.

  Fuck—that.

  All bets are off as I thrust up hard into his mouth. He’s sucking and drooling all over my unkempt mess of hair. Neither of us is likely to stop the glide when I reach this point. There is no turning back. I’m coming and soon. I swirl my hips and punctuate each thrust with a gentle pound of my forearm onto his back.

  “Take it all, you little bitch,” I warn, staring at his sinfully gorgeous face and wishing I could whip him. “Don’t you dare quit on me now.”

  The devilish glint in his eyes says more about where we are going than where we have been. We’re headed to paradise—our sparkling version of Eden—with glittery naked girls riding damn unicorns under a flaming rainbow sky. And it’s fucking good.

  I mean—good.

  “I’d kill to have some pussy on my lips right now.” And that triggers the sharpness of his teeth lightly grazing up my ridge. “Oh, fuck, yes…. Cruz!” I feel the bubbling of my orgasm, fueling up and threatening to erupt in his mouth. “Slow down…slow down!”

  He’s sweating as his jeans slip from his hips and I see the tiniest bit of his inked skin. “God, I’m so doing unforgivable things to you when I get out of here.”

  He stops.

  Motherfucker.

  “Are you sure you can wait that long?” He smirks from the corner of his mouth and lifts to kiss me. I taste myself and think of him. My cock draws the attention of his hand. He paces the strokes—steady and painstakingly slow as I ache with need. I soar on the taboo love we share.

  “I just want you to know,” he says, nibbling my lips. “How much you have me…there will never be another Boston in my life…no one can do what you do for me.”

  “I love you, Ride.”

  “I know,” he eases, rubbing my mushroom with his palm. “I was in love with you yesterday, and I will love you tomorrow. This never ceases. We never stop. No matter what happens.”

  He drops fast, cinching his lips tight around me, as I buck to greet him. I thrust hard, pounding his mouth like the relentless bastard I am and begging for more.

  More lips. More tongue. More Deacon.