Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “How’s it going?” Abel asks as Dom disappears into the kitchen. “Find anything new?”

  No, because there is no peace and quiet here.

  Nico plops on the sofa across from me. He’s scarfing down a bag of potato chips. “I think we need to party tonight,” he says, grabbing another handful of the crunchy monsters and chomping them to their demise. I’m going to lose it soon.

  “Nicky…”

  “Yeah?” He glances up as I put my finger to my mouth—shhh! “You need to get laid.” I blink. “You’re getting really stuffy.” He takes his greasy fingers and proceeds to make a hole with one fist while shoving said slimed up finger into it. “Like really uptight.”

  I shut the laptop. “I’m going for a run.”

  “Have fun!”

  “I will,” I snap, tossing my hoodie up on the coat rack and closing the door. “Dear fuck…”

  I spend about ten minutes walking around Juliet. I pass by the fountain and see Iris. I pass by the dorms and hear Iris. I pass by the classrooms and smell Iris. My issues are very real because by the time I make it to the track, I can feel her in my blood and bones.

  I run a few laps until the visions of her ass in yoga pants and those damn pink headphones take hold. I buckle to my knees with a hysterical howl. I’m sobbing like a damn baby. “Where are you? And why aren’t you here, with me? How did I ever let you go?” I sprawl out on the track, hoping a proverbial train hits me upside the head and neck.

  Things are so much calmer in my mind when there is an intoxicant.

  I choose the drug of Iris.

  Staring at the few, fluffy, white clouds, I expect Kaci to show, but she never does as my tears sprout like weeds in spring. I’m waiting for some profound act of God. I get a light breeze and a blue sky.

  “Boo!” Deacon screams, looking upside down at me.

  “What the fuck!” I shout and pick up the remnants of what once was my skin. “Don’t scare me like that!”

  “Look what finally turned on!” He holds my three-year-old phone over my face. “I charged it. Oh, dammit… Ma says we need to get home—nowala!”

  “Did she actually say, nowala?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Fuck.”

  We run the short distance to Scarlet House. Damn, Deacon can keep up with my ass. We jog up the steps of the Antebellum, busting open the door to the living room. Trudy looks like she’s seen a ghost. Serene discreetly shakes her head with a no. And Nico gives a huge grin and two thumbs up.

  I sarcastically give him two back as we step further into the house.

  At some point, I should learn to hold my tongue. Spotting Emily poured into a red cat suit with a cleavage dip that might as well be a navel dip, I understand it’s a lesson for another day.

  “What the FUCK are you doing?”

  Hello, Master Raniero.

  Deacon nudges my arm as I storm into the kitchen. “You need to get that off, right fucking now!”

  “I thought we would go to the party tonight!” She smiles. “I told everyone we would. Kate brought the outfit to me.”

  I lift my hands. “There is no way in hell I am walking into Juliet with you tonight.”

  “Then I suppose someone else will take me.”

  Excuse me?

  As you can see, we have a huge communication problem, which is arguably my fault because I refuse to train her properly. There must be flaming unicorns and magic dust in the connection to spark my Dominant and no matter what submissive Emily wants, I will not be her Master, Sir, or Dom.

  No. No. No.

  With my hands tucked in my gray sweats, I calmly say, “Then maybe you need to think about someone else taking you to the altar, too.”

  And I walk out.

  I’m sitting outside of La Chiesa in the back of my truck, sipping on a twelve pack, and watching the sunset. I’ve got the stereo cranked up to some country station. The sky boasts with a swirl of pinks and yellows. Past the dilapidated barn, there is an old rusted windmill adding to the Texan ambience.

  Texas smells like home.

  After two beers, I shuffle over to the barn and open the rickety doors.

  Kaci’s SUV is there.

  I run my finger over the dusty hood and remember all the fights and fun times. “I cannot top someone I don’t feel it with. Maybe that makes me a poon. Maybe it makes me smart.”

  “Maybe it makes you different.”

  I smile and draw a heart on the hood with an S + I.

  “You’re growing up on me, Pretty Boy. You’re becoming the man I wanted you to be.”

  Falling to the worn earth, I grip my hair to cease the noise and stop the talking, but it doesn’t help as the broken memories lash at my soul. They aren’t cohesive but fragmented pieces of our past like an old television airing hazy screens on a stormy night. The droning hum bursts in the symphony, rising like a crescendo, but the sound of her voice barely purrs.

  “Just love. And love frequently. Don’t be stingy. Just love. You don’t have a choice. Embrace who you are—a special, pure magic, flaming rainbow unicorn. Your kind of mess should be a national fucking treasure.”

  For so long she has stayed static, weighing on my mind but unmoving. Her movement symbolic of departure as I recover from loss and sanction to love the living. I cognitively know what is occurring, but I want to pull the emergency brake. I want to stop it. I’m not ready to roll. And the harder I tug, the faster I go. I’m losing my footing as the ground floats me.

  I twitch—painfully—knowing I’m losing her…and I know it…and I feel wobbly without her reassurance. I’ve had Kaci in my head for nine years. I buried her once; I’m not sure I’m ready to lose her again.

  “Dom says I need to stop talking to you.”

  “He’s right. This isn’t about me anymore. This is about you. You love Iris… You love Deacon, too. You don’t need me to hold your hand. Kiss me farewell and give me my dying wish. Kill it like only you can, Raniero.”

  Sobbing, I whisper, “Hope.”

  “That is all you ever needed.”

  “Thank you…”

  “I’ll see you on the other side, but don’t go expediting your trip on my account. Stay and have fun. Laugh and make babies. Love and hold on to those you love because you are about to go on the ride of your life.”

  I slam the doors of the barn and decide to go take a walk through the old restored mission. I brush by the beds of lavender to Earl’s overgrown roses brushing the tops of the old wooden doors as I look at the cryptic cathedral. There was a shoot out here before my stint in prison. While the janitorial crew came to clean, I can tell even in the dim twilight, the place is a wreck. I snap the light switch on.

  I never came back to investigate the scene. I pull my phone out, praying for a decent signal. “Hello, handsome!”

  “I have a question.”

  “I may have an answer,” Georgia says. “Give it to me.”

  “Do you remember the shootout at La Chiesa years ago…spring 2015…they were supposed to be my father’s goons?”

  I hear her winding the toys. “Yes.”

  “Who cleaned the bodies?”

  “I have no idea,” she replies, letting the toy go. “Why?”

  “Any record of who they were?”

  She clicks her nails on the keys at supersonic speed. “There were four shooters. No records. No clue who they were. … Which is weird, right?”

  “Who filed the report?”

  She groans, displeased. “Dr. Jack Kerris…”

  “That’s how she fucking got the heavy trap door open,” I realize, running for the door. “He was here the whole goddamned time. He opened it.”

  “Sal…wait…what are you talking about…”

  “Everyone but me knew who she was…” I stutter, seeing the puzzle coming together. “Everyone knew she was the fucking granddaughter of Lotus.”

  “And you know now, too,” she points out. “So, why does this matter?”

&nbs
p; “Because everyone I know lied to me. Those men weren’t coming for me. They were coming to pick her up, put her on a plane back to Japan, and she killed them. She murdered her own fucking men because I was the Lotus asset and no one could know. She was afraid they would kill me.”

  She is silent for a long minute until she cautions, “If what you are saying is correct, not saying it is, this means she was protecting you as much as you were her.”

  “Why the fuck did Lotus want me dead?”

  She makes a gurgling noise. “I…I… That I don’t know, Sir.”

  “I was a goddamned middle player – paltry to them – nothing. A goddamned peasant.”

  “Sal, you’ve never been a peasant.”

  “No, but I’m damn hungry.”

  I hang up the phone, return to the truck, and pull the black box out of the backseat. I assemble the rifle before driving down to the barn. I put on my gloves and twist my hat on.

  From the back of the truck, I grab one of the two gas cans and douse the whole fucking thing as I walk around the perimeter. I toss it in my truck bed, back up to the old mission, and repeat the process. I drive up to the top of the hill.

  Putting on the headpiece for my phone, I hook everything up before getting out, grab the sniper, and hit the button to call Vega.

  With a snarl, I growl, “What do they know?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I breathe. “Why the fuck was Lotus trying to kill me?”

  “Lotus was never trying to kill you. Cesario had a hit on you for years and The Commission kept everyone at bay because of Luca Raniero. Iris knew because she was The Chairman’s granddaughter and tried to tip you off by saying Cesario issued the hit on Angelo.”

  Shaking my head, I snicker, “Dom issued the hit on both Ballister and Daddy Gennaro. And he admitted it!”

  “Because you missed Iris’ tip.”

  I dropped the fucking ball.

  “You were never supposed to go to jail. Or get involved with the business. You were supposed to kill Cesario to end all of this, but you were a bit distracted by a pretty girl.”

  Blinded by the pink pussy.

  … Or the coral lipstick.

  “Iris played me. Kaci played me. Even Serene fucking lied to me.” I rip off my gloves and light a smoke. “Why the fuck did Amber know Cody Cameron—who admitted doing lateral work for Lotus?”

  “You really don’t want the answer for that.”

  “Ya, I really fucking do,” I hiss, pissed. “Tell me.”

  “Iris knows talent. Just like Kaci did,” Vega reassures. “It’s hindsight now.”

  I snarl. “After Kaci died, Amber was my mistress and you’re saying Iris knew. That means all those fucking renegade Amber-get-your-gun shots wasn’t her doing, but issued by goddamned Lotus.”

  “Sal…”

  “Don’t fucking Sal me! Lotus didn’t want the deal with Javier Diaz to go through, so they ordered the hit. And they didn’t want Rampage MC aligning with the any of the north or south outfits, so Lotus issued the hit on Virginia Archer because they knew it would fall apart with Jerry Pock’s fucking daughter—Amber. I may have pulled the trigger, but it was a Lotus order. They were Lotus orders executed through Amber.”

  “We’ve been building the case to put Cesario away for a very long time,” Vega nervously segues. “And sometimes, we bend things to make them fit. Lotus thanks you greatly for your continued efforts.”

  I take a long drag and question, “How long have you been working for Lotus?”

  “Since before my sister was murdered, I’ve been a proud member of a Lotus franchise,” he confides as I close my eyes and smile. “This is almost over, Agent Raniero.”

  “It may be over for you,” I mumble, letting my rage out. “But it isn’t over for me. You plunged me into the middle of a damn inferno and expected me to be able to escape, but it’s not that easy, is it? I’m fucking caught, getting my skin singed off, while everyone else is sitting pretty on a hill. And this is mild compared to the discomfort I’m about to unleash.”

  “Upon our purchase of you from Jack Kerris, The Spider assured you would not fail. Your cognitive programming was the best.”

  “I was never for sale,” I huff, livid. “And the synapses have been sizzlin’ under great duress. That kind of trauma, Vega, ya know…it just doesn’t go away. It scars you. It changes you. It makes you do things you might otherwise never have done.”

  The tone of his voice shifts to one of panic and fear. He’s scurrying like a rat trapped in a cage, like I have been caught in the web of lies and deceit for nine damn years.

  “Cesario is going to do something drastic soon because he’s blockaded.”

  “So am I,” I warn with a contempt. “In twenty minutes, send a fire truck to La Chiesa.”

  “Sal…”

  “If you ever come near Lotus, my father, my associates, or me, I will send you up in flames. And if you don’t think I can, I suggest you consider the fact I have all of this recorded. And from now on, you can call me Boss, asshole.”

  I hang up.

  And I do what I do best.

  I say a prayer and watch it burn.

  In my rearview, I see the glowing orange embers as I drive away. I know there is no going back. My decisions must be sharp and executed with flawless precision. These are my choices.

  Damn, I feel better.

  Like a fucking elephant just got off my chest.

  There is a section of puzzle pieces I don’t have, nor do they appear anywhere on the table or nearby. Like—who the fuck owns La Morte?

  I know Iris mentioned Anna owning it, but that doesn’t make any sense. Anna is aging way too quickly. She couldn’t even remember me asking her to keep the kids coming home private.

  I pull my personal phone out of the console and check the messages. Henney is leaving France soon in amongst the holiday travelers between Thanksgiving and Christmas. They’ll blend in like the perfect family with the son, the daughter, and the baby.

  Dale is in Washington State conducting interviews. My gut—and I don’t like this one iota—is somehow The Brethren or Pico is involved in all of it. I hope like hell I’m wrong.

  Jaid got too close to something.

  And something evil snatched her away.

  The phone flashes with Saint’s safeword, “Bayou. Juliet Cabaret now.”

  I hit the gas and floor it back to Sugargrove. I don’t bother to find a parking spot in the crowded lot and stop at the valet. “May we park your truck, Master Raniero?”

  “No, I won’t be staying long,” I contend, not bothering to flash my card. They all know me. Juliet and Sal Raniero are synonymous thanks to all the advertising Anna did almost a decade ago. I make my way through the entrance and run smack dab into Deacon. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Emily is on the rack.”

  He should’ve just cold-cocked me because my head is spinning with a dizzying amount of letters and symbols. “… Pardon?”

  “Emily is on the rack under Mack.”

  “Who the fuck gave my fiancée to Larrabee?”

  “I think Jack did,” Deacon mutters, glaring at the man. “Breathe.”

  Tensing, I growl, “Where at?”

  “Dungeon room 411.”

  “And 413,” I hiss as my nostrils flare. “Get a damn bullwhip. ASAP. Stay here!”

  “Sal, Kerris is trying to trip you up.”

  I glance at those blue eyes and kiss his lips solid. “I already know, beautiful.”

  “Be careful.”

  Walking off, I spin back and taunt, “Of what? This is my element.” I dart my brows up a few times and grin like the devil. “I own this shit.”

  I trod across the campus to the dorms. A few young subs are mulling about, whispering and pointing. I give them a look. “Be good girls.” I wink.

  I keep walking and hear the delightful squeals behind my back and grin. I slide my card and the door opens. I don’t bother with the elevators as I s
print up the steps two at a time.

  “Hey, Raniero!” Tank says, heading back into a room. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just getting something, I forgot.”

  “We should have lunch tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing,” I say. “Who you got?”

  “Cute little number into shibari, name is Allie. I picked her up in town at Mario’s.”

  Oh. God. Fucking. Dammit.

  Deacon.

  Fuck-itty-Fuck-Fuck-Fuck-itty

  I don’t have time to get lost in the emotional maelstrom of a devastated sub at the moment, so I simply say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll give ya a buzz. Good luck finding what you lost,” he replies, opening his door and disappearing inside to Deacon’s newest girl.

  I never lost it.

  I just ignored it.

  Until now…

  I zip my card over the reader, thumping the door open wide, and stride up to Mack, who looks like he is about to piss himself. Little fucking poon.

  “Lucas!” Emily says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  He’s holding a riding crop and my girl’s reddened boobs are on display. All the anger, rage, and frustration builds up to one blow striking Mack’s ugly mug. I hear the crack and he falls to the ground with a groan. “You fucking broke my nose!”

  I say nothing because there is nothing to say.

  “Lucas, please… Oh, my God… I am so fucking sorry… Please say something!” she screams as I unhook the cuffs from the rack. “Say something!”

  “You can call me Master Raniero.”

  Tossing her up onto my shoulder, I march the steps back down. She is complaining with squeals and more nonsensical gibberish about how she didn’t mean to…blah blah…I put her on ignore…

  Because really…

  How the hell…how the fucking hell do you not mean to get up on a rack with another Dom?

  Oh, I accidentally stepped on this rack and this pseudo-Dom came to punish me.

  Please, bitch.

  I’ve had three subs from hell for nine fucking years—Kaci. Deacon. Iris.

  Save your sob story for someone who might care.

  I approach the entrance when the valet skitters back and says, “… Do you need anything, Sir?”