I’m not sure if the notion is outlandish or he’s giving me a sob story until he tugs his shirt off and shows me his ink. “My father was a cop. The tattoo is his badge. He died a few years before I got in trouble.”
“So, what, you fell into the wrong crowd?”
“Pretty much,” he says, cracking his knuckles. I’m heinously jealous. “I started college and knocked up a girl my first semester. By the end of the second semester, I was married with a baby boy. I didn’t know how to cope, ended up drinking a lot, and skipping classes to hang with a bad crowd. I don’t blame them. It was my dumbass mistake. I’ve been in here for almost three years, but I got some leniency because I testified against some of my friends who were doing a lot worse than me. I finished school in here, but a career in law enforcement is over.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you,” I commend. “We running later?”
“Yeah, but your swift ass can beat me.”
“It’s alright, you lift more than me,” I say, spotting Martinez standing outside. I scowl. “I hate that asshole.”
“Don’t even get me started,” he replies with a chuckle, placing the weights back on the rack. “I’ve been here since he started three years ago. I know it all.”
Wait. What?
“What do you mean you know it all?”
“I know about the shit he does with the campers.”
“Would you be willing to talk?”
He snorts, “If it means stopping what is going on, I’ll talk as soon as I get out.”
“What’s your full name?”
“Moses Hollister.”
I’m laundering again.
Don’t laugh. I know the irony. Ha.
Without Nabs around to torment and tease, it’s pretty damn lonely. It may seem like I’ve made a lot of friends, but in a unit with over a thousand inmates, I’m a wallflower. Our block alone has around four hundred. And today, I have the lovely duty of washing sheets.
It is disgusting, but I take it in stride. If nothing else, I walk out of here every afternoon with my uniform smelling good.
I’m washing, drying, and folding along with a handful of other guys. It’s a mixed, ever-changing lot. I’ve managed to stay here the longest, despite my several weeks of absence with my hands.
These guys hate laundry.
It’s hot. It may be hotter than Hades. But luckily, I function well in a furnace. I’m wiping the sweat off my face when I spot Violet waving at me. “I’ll be right back.”
I slip out, presumably on a bathroom break, to meet Violet in the nearest storage closet. If I didn’t know better, I would laugh at how this appears.
“You rang?”
“We need to talk about Handcock,” Violet says, almost panicking. “Things are escalating since Pico was removed and I don’t know if you had anything to do with it or not, but it’s not good.”
I suspected as much.
I’m calm and cool. “Okay.”
“They’re talking about breaking him out,” he informs, grabbing my arm. “If that happens…”
Calm and cool just turned to furious and hot. “Who did you hear this from?”
“One of the guys at Cinco came to see me.” His voice quivers. “I don’t know what to do; they’re starting to think I’ve snitched and I’m the reason Pico is gone.”
“Who came to see you?”
“Javier.”
Oh. Fuck.
If they’re sending Javier, then the warning is clear. They wouldn’t send an upper ranked member—for all I know, an officer of the club—to Wiggs unless the situation was code red. Change course or accept the consequences. The problem is Violet and I both know it may be too late. “What have you told Handcock?”
“Everything.”
I understand the stress building in the compound could cause fissures, but this isn’t just a fault line. If Violet told Handcock, and therefore Allegiance and Stanis, all of Cinco’s dirty laundry, he’s a dead man. “And Halton?”
“Same.”
Double fuck.
I don’t go back to the laundry. I go directly to Ronnie’s office. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I have a problem.”
She glances up from her computer with a concerned look. “Is it your hand?”
“No, but I have reason to believe Violet may be in grave danger,” I say, sitting in the chair. “Can I call someone?”
“Yeah,” she says, grabbing her phone. “Do you need me to call the C.O. and tell them where you are or would you prefer a stint in solitary?”
“Call,” I answer Ronnie with a smirk as I dial the number.
“Yes, Snookums?” Cruz laughs.
“Deacon… I need you to hold off freezing the funds to Cinco. Shit is getting bad.” I hear the clanking of tools. “What are you doing?”
“Working on the bike.”
If I weren’t losing my shit over Violet, I’d be ecstatic. Deacon hasn’t worked on a bike in ages. It’s promising and shows hope. “We have a thing next weekend for Labor Day.”
“A thing?”
“Reckless Rebellion is riding in the parade and doing a benefit for Anna’s Charities on Saturday, and then we’re doing a big barbecue over at the house for everyone.”
Wishing I was there, I complain, “Gah…”
He picks up on my grim outlook fast and says, “It’s not the end-all.”
“When you’re used to being the life of the party, even missing one is enough to cause jealousy.”
“Babe.” His rough – but so smooth – tenor catapults me to a different place and time. “I got you. I got this. It will be okay, I promise.” Few people in the world can calm me down like Deacon Cruz, and for that, I’m genuinely blessed.
The throbbing in my cock is thankful, too.
I can’t deny the attraction any more. I’ve avoided it for years, but there is something about being behind bars causing the dams in my mind to fail. The boundaries drop, and the floods rush in until I’m the solitary fire surrounded by his waters. He is my moat, my protection, and my shield. I cannot define us any clearer than that. I have no desire to send him flowers or marry the guy, but if our D/s scenes take a sordid, sexy turn, I won’t pull away—physically or emotionally.
If Iris can accept the trinity of us, I should.
“Stop it, and one of you fuck me,” she firmly protested. Her eyes drifted over Deacon and landed on me. She was searching for my guidance, needing my permission, and wanting to please me. “Please, Sirs…”
Her deferment sent an ache from my heart through my belly as her willingness to accept two Masters was more than I could’ve ever wished for. Bravely, I growled, “Fuck my girl, Cruz.”
With his head propped up on his elbow and his golden threads scattered, he lifted his hand to pull back the sheet from her breast. His finger circled her nipple, arousing her to a peak. If I couldn’t handle him feeling her up, there was no way I could watch his dick repeatedly plunging into her. Testing our stability, he was smart for doing such.
“I won’t fuck her, Nero.”
“Then we’re going to have a problem…” I said, giving a punishing glare.
“Don’t say Houston,” he snickered, blinking his stalking blue eyes at me. “I’ll make love to her, but I cannot just fuck your girl. I love you, and I love her.”
With his heartfelt words, my cock threatened to explode against Iris’ hip. I took a breath and uncovered her other breast before my mouth savored the tenderness of her flesh. We weren’t ignoring our fetish, but playing a strategic mind fuck. There was no need for whips and collars in this advanced lesson, but I feared, stumbling over my own need to control.
The physical was easy; the psychological was tough.
I could’ve easily locked them together with a pair of cuffs and swished leather across their backsides, but there was a profound beauty in our depth and the security that it produced.
From all of my prior experience, I knew to find a balance like th
is—with two submissives willing to explore their darkest landscapes—was a rare treat, and I was being offered a feast.
With Deacon and I each on a nipple, our hands met at her core. I slid my fingers in slow as he amused her clit. Stroking our cocks, she was gloriously moaning and getting high off of love. Breaking the magic spell, I pulled my mouth from her nipple and passionately kissed her.
I felt Deacon nudge my hand as he rose up on his knees. My hand slipped over the nipple he left barren, and I cast a glance back at him. He was kneeling between my girl’s spread thighs, on the precipice of sinking inside of her.
There would be no turning back once we plummeted off the edge of foreplay and into the real. His fingers laced with hers around my shaft, urging my validation. He wouldn’t just pounce because that wasn’t Deacon. He was thoughtful and caring and well-disciplined.
“I’m not doing this without your go ahead…”
My hand traced from her breast over her belly and dipped again into her wetness. I slathered his shaft in her moisture as I lifted and locked my lips to his.
“The hell…” Iris moaned, arching her hips to meet his cock. “Give him to me, Sal. Don’t be a greedy slut.”
With my tongue in his mouth, I cackled at her words and erupted into a smile. Deacon and I were sharing breath as I whispered, “Take my girl for the best ride she’s ever had.”
His eyes closed as I rubbed the tip of his wet cock against her opening. I considered swatting his ass and forcing his thrust, but his practiced discipline left me awestruck. I had a hand in constructing his ways—his tenacity and fortitude, his will and demeanor—and I was nothing less than a proud Master. I handed off the skills to another, a man I desperately loved and respected. We were sensual and emotional as he eased in and groaned, “God, she’s tight.”
“Ya,” I agreed with awe. My reasons for loving Iris weren’t all that different from the reasons I loved Deacon. They understood the basics of expected behavior. “She’s good.”
“This is going to take all night,” he muttered as my hand cupped his ass. “And I’m never forgetting this.”
“It could take the rest of our lives,” Iris whispered, gliding her body into his moves. “And I wouldn’t complain.”
Neither would I.
42
The H.B.I.C.
The Grand Dame
September 7
“Say something, Salvatore,” Anna whispers, reaching her wrinkled, dainty hand across the table.
I stare at the mess we’ve made over several hours: piles of tissues, the empty bottles of water, the three packs of smokes, and the ashtray full of butts. The box of half-eaten crustella dusts the table with powdered sugar.
“I don’t care what. Just say something. I will suffer for my sins. I’m not asking you to absolve them. Just please…”
“… You were in love with Old Poppa,” I declare after she confesses the story of her life.
I’m dealing with the shock of knowing the Grand Matriarch of Juliet and my grandfather hooked up countless times. Anna is high on the list of people I respect, and yet, I cannot process the new intel. My brain sizzles as I’m quickly overclocking to a catastrophic error. My mind isn’t just a blue screen, but a randomly zigzagging skittering of graphical malfunctions.
“No,” she corrects with a smile. “I was in mad love with your old poppa.”
She brought her journals and spoke of days gone by as she confided the truth to her lovers’ grandson—me.
“… May I?” She points to the pack of Camels. She takes one, and I flick the lighter. “Thank you. I wasn’t going to come, but I needed to tell you my story before it was…too late.”
Running a hand over my bare cheeks, I stroke my goatee and thumb at my soul patch. I cleaned up to meet Anna, even had my hair cut, but I’m agitated I didn’t know Luca Raniero helped her build the fetish school.
Juliet is a target.
Anna Ford poses a threat with her association with old mob money, namely Luca Raniero, and I understand why Iris insists that Anna secretly runs La Morte. She built her outfit to keep her castle secure. It was a brilliantly deceptive idea. I have serious doubts if she’s running bangs and blow, but at this point, nothing would surprise me.
Suddenly, I feel a profound responsibility as the burden of my past comes into play. I didn’t make the deals fifty years ago, but I must maintain them. If Anna hadn’t already been taking measures to shore up our boundaries, Cesario Raniero could’ve tried to claim his unrightful stake.
After all, Luca was his father, but the fetish outpost will remain as a sacred place, even if I have to fucking walk the perimeter myself. My father will not touch that which is holy to me.
“How did I end up here?” I question, asking not about prison, but the big picture. “Was it all just a ploy?”
“I knew when your father sent you away. I kept in contact with Paloma…”
With my heart on the verge of collapsing, I mumble, “Nonna…”
“Yes, Nonna. I needed to make sure you were okay. I owed it to your grandfather. Through Serene, I knew Sibyl, and the Feds were investigating the Raniero’s.”
“That was nothing new,” I point out. “They were always up in our business. And they had every reason to be.”
“Kaci wanted you, so I asked one of our upper ranked submissives, Deanna, to go bring you home.”
“I just don’t understand how you did this,” I mumble out, stunned.
“How do we do anything, Sal?” she asks, solemnly. “How did you send Iris away?”
“Iris is different.”
“How?” Anna calmly asks. A single tear drips down my cheek as my mafia ties intersect into my fetish world. I want to collapse and disappear. “She may be playing for the other side, but you are still going to great lengths to keep her safe. I’m not telling you how to live your life, but I’m encouraging you to find your freedom someplace else than being alone.”
“You mean, don’t live the fucking half-assed lie that Kaci fed me?” I furiously rebel against the system. “I’m here because of that fucking cunt I called my wife!”
“So, get out… You aren’t weak. Suck it up, Pretty Boy, and do whatever the fuck you got to do to get out of here. And then fix the problem.”
“The problem is my father!”
With a shake of her head, she says, “The problem has always been your father.”
My fingers curl into loose fists, and I shout, “Tell me something I don’t know, Anna!”
“Salvatore, my boy, you have to find the calm,” she eases, bringing me down a notch. “You cannot think when you worry.”
“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me how the fuck to get out of this because I don’t want it. That mafia you knew then, isn’t who they are today.”
We cry over a dead man we both love.
“I wish like hell he was still here,” she mutters, grabbing my hand briefly and letting go. I get up, unable to take the strain. “Sit your ass back in this chair right now, Lucas Salvatore.”
Losing all sense, I crumble on the floor and sob, “You should’ve been my Nonna!”
“Exactly,” she consoles, tending my soul and rubbing my back. “Which is why you seriously need to think about what you’re doing Salvatore. And if proving a point to your father is worth staying in here much longer.”
“Where do we go from here?” I stress, fearful. “Help me understand.”
“I will answer five questions, and then I want to give you some time to think. Let things settle and clarify. I can come back, Sal. I know where you are, and I know how to drive. I can get to you.”
“… Only five?” I challenge with a tease. “Let’s start with the granddaddy of them all—no pun intended—” I say with a smirk. “Who was Chance’s father? Please don’t say he was my uncle….”
“Chance’s father was Phillipe Kerris,” she informs as I realize there weren’t just two Kerris brothers but three—Chance, Jack, and Tristan. “I later confirmed my su
spicions with a paternity test.”
“Thank fucking God.”
“One brief interlude in a barn was all it took,” she says with a wink. “So, be careful.”
“Don’t I know it…” I mutter and take a sip of water. “Is anyone still living? Anyone at all. I need to know if there is anyone. I don’t care how insignificant they may seem. If they had a connection at all to you or my grandfather, they might be able to help me take down my father.”
“That’s why I came to tell you my story. I’m getting older, and there are no promises. You need to know how you got here. You need to know that without your grandfather, none of this would’ve occurred.”
“Answer the question, Anna,” I demand, unwilling to accept her detour.
“You’re so much a combination of Nonna and Luca,” she elaborates, smiling. “I wish you would have known him into your adulthood. All of your perceptions would be altered.”
“Nowala.”
“Okay… Let me think,” she pauses. “Everyone from my Vegas days is gone. Phillipe is gone. Desirée is still alive in France, but I doubt she knows anything.”
“I know,” I say, jotting her name down.
“Wilma Manley died in 1998 when I lost William. She was old as the hills, but ran Highlandale Hawthorne with her blasphemous ruler until the end.”
“Who else?”
“Luca was left-handed, too,” she muses, studying me. “Mario Senior!”
“Of the authentic Italian deli in Sugargrove?”
“No, the one in Boston.”
I blink up to meet her gaze. “The one by Old Poppa’s house?”
“But yes, Mario Junior was their kid. He came to Sugargrove to open the restaurant because Luca was trying to help him stay out of trouble.”
“… Had he been in trouble?”
“I know he had some run-ins with the law.”
With a snicker, I offer a priceless grin. “Not unusual with this group.” Realizing I don’t know everything about Old Poppa, I frown and meekly ask, “Luca never went in, did he?”
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 34