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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I lightly form the bill, swish my curls back, and pop it on my head. Hugging her, I say, “Thank you! I’m going to miss you.”

  Yes, backward—sex hat.

  I smirk at Carmella, and she offers a wide grin. Ronnie watches it all go down. “One sec!” I move back to the desk. “You gotta pen and paper?” I ask Carmella. She hands them both to me and our hands brush. “Here is my private number. Feel free to call, anytime.”

  She gushes, “Be good out there!”

  “I’m always good, babe.”

  She laughs as I turn to Ronnie. She’s shaking her head. “You’re an incorrigible flirt. Do you know this?”

  “I was born this way,” I say, shrugging and smiling. “Can't change this part of me.”

  “Do you need me to call you a cab?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I’m going for a walk. Breathe some fresh air.”

  “Give me one more hug before you go,” she requests, sniffling. “Damn, you smell good!”

  “Ya, someone likes to take care of me.”

  “I think more than one person,” she says, holding my hand as we walk to the exit. “Be careful, Sal.”

  “I will,” I reply, making the hand sign for I love you. With tears streaming over her cheeks, she tosses one back to me along with a peace.

  Making my way out of the dusty parking lot, I check my watch—5:32. We were running late because I wanted to say goodbye to Jamichael. I toss the hoodie in my backpack and find a comfortable stride. The Texas sun is hot in September, and it isn’t long before I’m glistening with sweat. I stop at the last convenience store in town and grab a couple of bottles of water, some beef jerky, and ramen.

  I survived ninety days in prison.

  No one thought I could do it.

  Freedom feels good. I walk for hours, unsure of where I’m going. I stop a few times to piss on the side of the road. I drink my water and munch on my jerky.

  The sky is getting dark with dusty pink clouds giving up to dark purple. I spot lightning in the distance as big rigs and cars pass me. Four stop because it’s a long way to nowhere. I’m polite and carry on.

  Hearing the horn, I lift my thumb. I’m hitchhiking with this next guy. The big Dodge 4x4 comes to a halt behind me. I don’t turn around because I know. The truck door opens and shuts. Less than a minute later, I hear the rumble of the Ducati as Deacon pulls up and parks next to me. He flashed me a grin. She is drop-dead gorgeous, flat black with chrome finishes and sparkling deep purple fades to black. “Damn, I missed you.”

  “Your ride, Master.” He slightly bows with a smirk as I offer my hand. He grabs my fingers, and we embrace. Moses pulls up on Deacon’s Indian, bathed in Americana red and blue with mirrored chrome finishes. “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” I say, offering a handshake to Moses. “Where are you on your way to?”

  “Back home to San Francisco.”

  “You drove it?” Deacon asks.

  “Hell, yes, I drove it,” Moses replies. “I would have ridden, but the wife gets a little antsy when I go off on long jaunts on the bike.” Moses offers a hug and says, “Be good, white boy.” He winks.

  “I will.” He speeds off in the truck leaving Deacon and me alone on the side of the road.

  “You look good,” I say as he smiles.

  “Shall we ride this bitch off into the sunset?”

  “Ya,” I say, grabbing my hoodie and stashing the backpack. “Where are we going?”

  “Wherever the fuck you want, Sir.”

  It means a lot to me that biker boy would let me lead. We ride for about an hour to a small town. I swerve into the motel parking lot and say, “Go check us in.”

  Within minutes, we're in an old motel room Nonna would've loved. The decor hasn't been updated since the sixties, but it’s spotless. Someone loves this joint.

  “Are you hungry, felon?” Deacon teases, flopping in the floral chair. I wave him off as I remove my hoodie. “Fucking hell…” I gaze up and smirk as he stares. Tugging my tank top over my head, I toss it to him. “What did you do?”

  “Changed.”

  He can't stop staring as I stretch and pop my hands. I pull the owl from the backpack and plug it in. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “A nightlight.”

  Flipping his middle finger, he says, “It’s creepy, Sal.”

  “I'm kind of creepy, too,” I reply, spreading out on the bed and grabbing the remote. I find sports and say, “Yes! Gonna spank the monkey and then watch some baseball.”

  Slithering out of the chair, he drops his cut and shirt and lays beside me. “You look amazing.”

  “I'm feeling pretty amazing.”

  “You want to make it even better?” Raking his blue eyes over mine, he whisks his finger along the waistband of my jeans. “Because I need to know we’re okay…”

  “Do you know how much I’ve missed sports?”

  “Don’t ignore me, Nero,” he mutters, perturbed. “You don’t get to check out.”

  With my forefinger tucked between my teeth, I peer down. “What do you want me to say?”

  “If I have to tell you what to say, we’re already through.”

  Deacon moves fast to get up, and I latch my fingers around his wrist. I notice all of my bracelets and wristbands on both of his arms, and my dick abruptly quakes. It is sudden, jarring, and very real.

  I pull him back, and he hovers over my chest and settles between my legs. We are skin on skin, much like Jaid and I. My fingers tauntingly glide over his sides, and he lifts to allow my hands room to undo his jeans. Hanging on every breath, I wish I could stay in this happy place without worrying about tomorrow.

  “You don’t want to go,” I counter, blinking up to him. “You know that, Cruz.”

  “And I don’t want to stay if you’re not here, Nero.”

  IV

  Chasing Rain

  51

  Pure Love

  His Butterfly

  Slick against the sheets after being in the pool most of the day, we found comfort in the king-sized bed. I peered at the boys sleeping, flopped lazily. Deacon was stretched out with his arms propped against the headboard, and Sal was turned the wrong way, with his head at the foot of the bed. Drooling ever so slightly, he was laying on his belly with his leg draped over mine.

  If I moved, they would wake up.

  Deacon was a light sleeper, and while Sal could pass out from sheer exhaustion, this was not one of those occasions. So, I laid there thinking if this was all just a dream or a messed up reality. I wondered when our perfect snow globe would shatter.

  I had spent almost all of Saturday high as a kite, but I remember waking up to a blurry vision of skin…so much skin…in the hot tub. One of them was standing in the water and the other one…

  I closed my eyes, getting turned on, and trying not to disrupt the bed.

  The boys must have carried me here, but I don’t recall which one. When I woke up, I found Sal in the kitchen, flipping pancakes, and frying bacon. I groggily asked, “Where is Deacon?”

  “He went to get stuff for dinner,” he said as I bit my lip and stalked closer. “Are you okay? You smoked a lot yesterday.”

  I nodded. “I’m good, really good.”

  Rising on my tiptoes, I kissed his cheek. He sat his spatula on the counter, moved the pan from the burner, and swooped me into his hunky arms.

  “What are you doing?” I giggled as he put my bottom on the kitchen table. “Oh, God…”

  His fingers traced up my leg. “… You got on panties?”

  “I’m here with my Master—s, what do you think?” He grinned, accepting my use of Masters, and it pleased me greatly because it pleased him. Spreading my legs, he wedged his way in as my eyes skirted over his hard abs to the growing protrusion tucked beneath the gray sweatpants. The shadow of his erection caused my mouth to water and my heart to pound. “You know I can see what you have going on.”

  “You don’t say?” His teeth pinched his lip as he g
ave a devilish smirk. “And do you like what I have going on?”

  “Yes,” I gasped with a serious. “I do.”

  “I need breakfast.” Dropping to his knees, he planted little kisses along my inner thighs until he swirled his tongue around my bright nub. He ran his wetness along my slit and dipped inside. My hands gripped his shoulders as I wanted more. But this was Sal, and he was in beast mode. “God, I love pussy on my face in the morning.”

  “And you love dick in the middle of the night?”

  His eyes angrily flicked up to mine.

  Whoops. Holy shit. Wrong thing to have said.

  Standing up, he asked, “Does it matter?”

  “No,” I whispered, laying my hand on his chest. “I just wish you would share all of you with me.”

  “I don’t share myself with anyone.”

  “You do Deacon.”

  Shadows elevated in his eyes as he shook his head and stepped back. “What would you like me to say?”

  “I’d like you to start by being honest with yourself and giving me access to all the privileges he has.”

  “You are my fucking girlfriend,” he shouted, using his hands. “You are going to be my wife, the mother of my children.”

  “I want to be your lover.”

  “You are,” he argued.

  “I want that deep level of intimacy.”

  He took to pacing in the small space between the breakfast nook and the kitchen. “Are we not like that?”

  “Only if I’m tied up and you have a crop in your hand, Sir.”

  He gazed up to the ceiling. “I cannot give you what I don’t have!”

  “Whoa!” Deacon said, bringing groceries in from the side door. His eyes scanned over my bare legs and the quite visible hardness in Sal’s sweatpants. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re fighting,” I said.

  “We are not fighting,” Sal rebuked, tightening his fists. “She’s gone off the trolley into lalaland.”

  Deacon furrowed his brow with a smile. “Did you just say—gone off the trolley to lalaland?”

  “Ya,” Sal snorted.

  “Is it so wrong to want what he has? I mean I can accept, embrace, and even love this little trio, but I won’t be the leftovers, and I won’t take scraps.” I glared at Sal and switched my focus to Deacon. “From either of you.”

  Sliding off the table, I ran outside and plopped in a lounger. I grabbed the pack of smokes from the glass-top table and found two with a matchbook tucked in the cellophane. With trembling hands, I tried to light the match, only for it to go out by the breeze. I tried again. And it went out. “Fuck.”

  From behind me, Deacon flicked his lighter.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, lighting his smoke and sitting down on the edge of the chair closest to me. “You want to talk?”

  “About the fact that Sal is void of any intimacy with me unless we’re in the middle of a scene?”

  He paused, looking overwhelmed, before nodding once and saying, “Yeah.”

  “I was fucked up last night, and that’s on me, but I know there is something more with you two. I saw you kiss. I’ve seen you grope one another. And more importantly, than either of those things, I’ve seen how you look at one another.”

  His blue eyes intently stared as he took a drag and exhaled. “Have you seen how he looks at you, though?”

  “How would I do that?”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Perceptions are weird things,” he marveled. “You learn a lot about how another person feels by hearing it back from others. And I’m telling you, Sal loves you, Iris.”

  I sighed. “But I want the guy I see when he’s with you; not the guy he is with me. He tones everything down with me like he’s a diluted version of himself, and I don’t want that resentment on my conscience. I want the dirty bad boy, mafia swagger, hat on backward, cursing like a sailor asshole.”

  “That’s quite an order,” he said, arching his brows and smiling. “You want the pure.”

  “I want the motherfucking pure Lucas Salvatore Raniero.”

  “Ya, well,” Sal interrupted, carrying a stack of blueberry pancakes. “They want ice water in hell, too.”

  “Why won’t you give it to me?”

  “Why are you being such a bitch about this on our last day?” he snapped, carelessly tossing the plate of pancakes on the table. “I was going to eat your fucking pussy, make you come, and give you a damn princess breakfast! Just say fucking thank you!”

  Deacon smirked. “Okay,” he said, pointing at Sal. “You, no more name-calling during fights, ever again. It’s fucking rude, and you’re a better man than that.” My eyes opened wide as I prepared for Sal to knock him one. “And you have problems, too.”

  “What are my/her problems?” Sal and I both said at the same time.

  “You both have trust issues. Iris, yours manifests in self-doubt and lack of loyalty. Sal, yours shows up in not communicating and assuming the whole damn world can read your mind.”

  “How the hell did you get so wise?”

  With a snicker, Deacon said, “Have you met my ma? She’s as blunt as they come. Straight-shooting. You ain’t got time to be fighting over this shit; you’ve got enough built-in shit for ten lifetimes. Stop fighting one another and start fighting as a team.”

  “Do I want to know how much your sessions are?”

  “You gotta swallow.” Deacon winked.

  A few seconds passed, and Sal deadpanned, “I do.”

  “And that is why you and I are more fluid.”

  With a puzzled look, Sal asked, “… Because I swallow?”

  “No, you dipshit, because you actually com–mu–ni–cat–e with me,” Deacon sarcastically barked, rolling his eyes and stubbing out his smoke. “Forget the sex for one damn second. Forget the off-the-charts, hot chemistry you two exhibit with one another. You need to communicate. One needs to talk, and the other needs to listen. Real talk. Real listening. Not half-assed with your phones in your faces or a group with other people or even with you balls deep in her hot twat. You need to genuinely like each other for this to work. You like me, Sal. And you grant me access to the real you.”

  “Are you saying he doesn’t like me?” I asked.

  “No, I’m saying you are complaining about intimacy issues, and it starts with communication. You two, more than anyone else, ought to know—sex starts in the mind. For reasons I don’t get, you both forget all of the rules around each other and turn toxic quick.”

  “Because I don’t fucking want to lose her!” Sal yelled with an impassioned plea.

  “If you don’t change, you won’t make it. And it has zero to do with your enjoyment of squeezing my sack.”

  Sal gazed at me. I blinked up. “I love you, Angel.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “More!” Deacon shouted.

  “I’m sorry I blew your comment out of proportion,” he tenderly said, crouching at the end of the lounger. “I didn’t want to be judged, especially by you.”

  “I… I think it’s amazing and hot and I’m fucking angry with myself that I missed it.”

  “Oh, we do that all the time. You didn’t miss anything,” Deacon added, laughing. Turning his head slowly towards Deacon, Sal broke his serious composure and smiled as I giggled with a substantial number of tears. “Just sayin.”

  “You want this?” I asked, lacing my fingers with Sal.

  “I want this. And I will do whatever I think we need to do to get us there. Deacon is right. It isn’t about what happened in the hot tub; it’s about what doesn’t happen with us.”

  “I want pure Sal.”

  “I’ll go get him and introduce you,” he teased, letting a single tear drip onto my thigh. “I think you’d like him.”

  “I love him,” I confessed as he pressed his lips to my shirt where it covered between my legs. His teeth snapped onto the fabric and lifted. “Make love to me.”

  He crawl
ed onto the lounge chair and kissed me. Our tongues danced in the morning light. With a swift move, he pulled the front of his gray sweatpants down and sank deep into me. I tilted my head back, and Deacon caught my lips with his. Sal thrust with a slow and steady pace as we weren’t aiming to get to the finish line.

  After so many months apart, we were relearning each other, and Deacon was our tour guide. I brought my purest self, and so did he. I didn’t know how long we could last as three, but it didn’t matter. We resided in the present, honored the past, and walked into the future holding hands.

  We were beautiful and blissful.

  And when my love cup was spilling over, Sal tugged on Deacon’s jeans, and we birthed a new holy trinity. With lips and tongues and skin and so much wetness, I stepped up onto their pedestal.

  Driving his cock into my waters, Sal proved insatiable and quickly excited by my mouth wrapped tight around Deacon’s shaft. But when he leaned up and kissed my lips surrounding the hardness of our saving grace, I came like I never had. I let go as all of the wants and needs, and lust and desire filled my soul with a sweeter, kinder love.

  I had no clue how we did it.

  And I knew I could never replicate it.

  The world would all believe The Unholy was the trio of Dom, Deacon, and Sal, but the three lovers in the morning’s rays knew better. Washing all of our sins away, we bathed in light when surrounded by nothing but evil creeping darkness.

  Two Masters claimed me as their princess.

  And two Masters loved me.

  52

  Swallow Tail

  We’re on the road at dawn and driving north to Colorado to meet with Dr. Harry Looper. After our flubbed up night, Deacon persuaded me to call (on a Sunday) and see if he could get me in. Thankfully, his lovely wife Connie answered, and I managed to charm and finagle my way into Dr. Harry’s one opening tomorrow afternoon.

  I ended up telling Deacon everything about Jaid’s deal.

  We’ll be in Boulder by nightfall, but his office is somewhat remote, near where the mediation center is that I met Henney after Kaci died. I’m hoping this ride doesn’t trigger a slew of bad memories.