Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)
Page 55
“Let me run this shit.”
“Okay hot ass biker, you go show me what you got, bend over for them. And this suit will bend for you, but you and I both know The Commission ain’t Lotus standard, either.”
He gives me a side-eyed glance as we turn into the fairgrounds parking lot. “No, they’re not, but I am better than you at this one thing, so you’re going to accept my strange talent.”
Oh, baby, do I.
We swagger through the parking lot past the lone car to the broken turnstiles at the entrance. I expect Neves to have an entire gang, but he is alone.
“Neves,” I say, greeting him.
“I told you to come alone.”
“It’s my fault,” Deacon replies. “I want in on what you’re offering.”
“How do you know what I’m offering Cruz?”
Deacon flicks the flame to light his cigarette and the intensity in those sad blue eyes is like nothing I’ve ever seen. He is pissed. His frenzied gusts are erratic with an unparalleled superstorm brewing. “Because you wanted the deal between Lotus and Delirium to be with Cinco, which is why you killed Diaz and brought on this war.”
Wait. What. The fuck whoala.
“Pretty big accusations there, Saint.”
He laughs. “I was fucking your hit-wo-man for months, Neves. The effects from the truth serum in my crotch gun are amazing. And you tried to get me off the gameboard with the rape charge, but that kind of fell through, didn’t it?”
Who the fuck is this Deacon?
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Amber isn’t working for me,” he replies with a chuckle under his breath. “You aren’t thinking big enough, bro.”
My assessments about Amber being a player weren’t wrong, but if she isn’t running hits for Lotus, then there is only one other that she can be working for, and I might puke. “Are you telling me Amber Rosen is Immortal’s hitman?”
“I’m telling you, Salvatore,” Neves warns with a stern resolve. “That you are lucky you are still alive.”
Pulling off my hat, I run my fingers through my curls and glance down, unable to hold back the emotions. I’ve been screwing Amber since 2010 because Kaci wanted her to be my sounding board. Kaci never would’ve put me in the firing line for a known Lotus rival.
Amber played Kaci.
I’m jarred out of the shock by the sound of three quick shots from Deacon’s gun. He holsters the weapon, breathing heavy, and gazes to me. “You needed to hear it for yourself.”
“You lied to me in the truck.”
“I did,” he admits, stepping closer. “Because you needed to know Amber is not part of our tribe. No matter what you’ve done or what feelings you have for her, she is bad fucking news. She will do anything to hold a position of power, even if that means being Muerte’s number one bitch. Never underestimate the plays from the pink.” He tilts his head with the comeuppance look. And then, he winks.
“I gave her everything,” I mumble, still processing the magnitude of the betrayal. “I fucking trusted her… I told her things… she knows where my goddamned daughter is!”
“Because Kaci told you to,” he excuses, understanding the programming she put into me. “But the time for being Hope’s puppet is over. It is time for you to be the Master. You aren’t doing a goddamned thing under anyone else’s influence, not Dom or Sibyl or Emily. You are your own man. And now, you are free from this, so emancipate from your father’s enslavement. Take The Commission’s invite because you deserve it. You earned it.”
With the purest sincerity, I whisper, “… And you and Iris?”
“We would never steer you wrong,” he vows with a confidence like I’ve never seen. He is owning his position as my right-hand man. “And if you ever questioned my intentions, I just blew away any doubt.”
I gaze at Javi Neves dead body as Deacon Cruz wipes my hard drive.
A clean slate.
His death was bound to happen one way or another, but Deacon’s willingness to keep my hands clean is admirable. This isn’t the first time Saint has shown such dedication to me, but it consecrates the hallowed ground on which we walk. Deacon “Saint” Cruz is the great protector over the Church of Salvatore. We are sanctified, bound in blood, and shackled in love.
And my temple eternally belongs to him.
I am trained for this.
But fuck if it ain’t hard some days.
64
Shitswamp
“Harder,” I groan under the weight of Cruz as he mauls my body in the darkness. If I need die, I pray to the Lord it is with my dick in Iris and Cruz in my ass. His hand smacks against the swollen flesh of my ass. “Hell, yeshhhh…” I moan as he snatches every rumination running through my processor and shreds it with his merciless squall.
We’ve been at this for hours.
His redefining of me.
After calling the table—Neil and X—to come clean up the mess of Neves, we made the quiet drive back to town. At the end of the road, with one way back to his house and the other towards Sugargrove, Deacon asked, “Where to?”
”Take me home.”
He didn’t even question what home I meant. He knew. His home, our castle in the middle of nowhere. We stayed silent through the shower as we scrubbed the sins from one another’s flesh. The baptismal water would cleanse and lock our magnanimous souls together until our last breath.
Forgiveness was imperative—of our crimes and tempers and words and even this love. I forgave him for being such a naughty bastard, whose only goal was providing for me, and in doing such, his insatiable, ultimate need to fuck my ass raw. He forgave me for liking it so damned much. We united in an Unholy matrimony with the only vow being my Sal-vation.
We weren’t righteous; we were lucky.
Lucky to have found one another and lucky to be on this journey together. We were born into the darkness of Gods and Kings and our inability to escape brought on the bond of our alliance.
Hey, you’re fucked up.
I’m fucked up, too.
Let’s be BFF’s forever.
And if we’re lucky, maybe we can run our own show.
“Why do you do this?” I ask as he presses my body against the bed.
“Fuck your ass?”
“No,” I reply, reaching a place of vulnerability. “Creep into my shadows.”
He swats my butt playfully and pulls out. I can be such an emotional basket case at times. I roll to my back and he hovers over the top of me. He refreshes the lube and thrusts in, slow and gentle. He’s got me—open and pure and breakable.
“Because a good number of years ago, I met this guy I thought was fucking incredible. He had a good heart and a solid grip on the shit he’d been handed, even though his warped mind was a little spastic at times. He was high strung and good looking. And I thought, damn, I want a piece of that ass.”
“You know, I probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
“Here in general or here with my dick in your ass?”
“Both,” I admit, crying quiet tears. “I accepted Dom’s position because I trusted he could heal me from the rape. And he did.”
“I don’t tend to think of us as anything other than what we are.”
With warm droplets falling from the corners of my eyes, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I mean you are my brother, my lover, my best friend, my partner—it’s all encompassing, but I’m not sharing this thing with anyone. This is our thing—you and me. Don’t expect to put me on a rack at Juliet because it just won’t happen. I kneeled for you when you were going nuts and needed to be sideswiped out of the headspace you were in. Don’t think I’ll be making a habit out of getting on my knees in front of you publicly.”
“I would never expect you to,” I confide, understanding the unwritten limits of our widespread display. “I was stunned when you did it.”
“Everybody knows we’re fucking; that doesn’t mean they’re privileged to the juicy deets.”
He lifts up on his hands and makes love to me—the kind of purposeful loving strides to illuminate our growth. His cock is a flashlight shining like a beacon through the caliginous corridors of me. “Are you fully dedicated to the trio?”
“Yes.” He dips down and nuzzles my neck. I’ll have bite marks by morning as I get lost in his momentum. “Are you?”
“Absofuckinglutely,” I promise, squeezing his taut ass in my hands. He’s going to come soon. And so will I. His release will trigger mine, and his belly will be covered in my cum. I’ll lick it up, or if I’m still hard, I’ll slather his ass in it before claiming what is mine. He is mine and we are the epitome of topping from below. I am his Master; he is my boy. And these things we do have no room for anyone’s else’s opinion. He harbors my fears in his draft, and I protect him from the surface. The ground suppresses his currents. And this is our love. “I’m running out of time.”
“Only when you die,” he mutters in my ear before moving to kiss my lips. “Don’t rush your orgasms. And don’t rush your time.”
Good life advice there, Saint.
Early Wednesday morning, I wake up naked in Deacon’s bed with a note on the pillow. We’ve spent the last two days in bed. “I have to work today. I’ll see you later.”
I want to go for a long run. The kind of run that exhausts my mind and body and brings about clarity. If I go back to Juliet, I’ll be haggled. And while I could do the old standby cemetery loop, I’m just not in the mood to talk to a dead girl or God.
I need to talk to my Angel and my Saint.
Tossing on a pair of Deacon’s gray sweatpants, which I think are mine he stole, I lock up the house and fire up the Challenger. I don’t bother to take my gun because then I’d have to put on my holster and right now that idea sounds cumbersome. I’ve got a couple waters, a fresh pack of smokes, my ball cap, shades, phone, and AirPods.
I wish I had the phone from three years ago, but it’s at Juliet and I’m not going back right now. I’ll be there tonight to help Anna with the pies. I decide to go to Main Street, park, and run around the area. I’ve never done this before, and I’m excited about the new adventure. You see things when running that normally don’t matter. I tend to think it’s because the brain is on survival mode, fighting through the pain, and the changes in perception can be dramatic.
The streets are busy with foot traffic but not packed. I park at the On the Square Chapel, tie my shoes, toss my hoodie in the car, and take off. It’s eight in the morning and the cathedral bells are filling the air with a sweet lullaby.
I run past Kate’s and the pharmacy with old-fashioned soda fountain, Mario’s Authentic Italian Deli, and Ruby’s Salon. This is my home. These are my people. There is a constant stream of cars, but everyone seems to be in a good mood and aren’t showing any signs of road rage. I glance over at the buildings which suffered through the shooting. They’re back together again but not the same.
I suppose we never are.
Hopefully, with Neves elimination, my quaint little town will calm down. I run past Lamb’s House and reach the corner when Skeeter cuts me off in her new Camaro. She stops, barely missing my foot.
“Hey, you!”
“Hi babe,” I say, leaning on her window. “Where have you been?”
“Delivery out to Dr. Risen’s house. The order was huge. Get in.”
I glance over my sweat covered skin. “I’m filthy.”
“I don’t give a shit.” She grabs a towel from her backpack. “It’s not used.”
I’m not sure if I would care.
She speeds west, down the farm to market road. I’m going to say something which some might find offensive—snickers. Not all girls know how to drive. Skeeter is not one of those girls. She owns the road and makes zero apologies. From the time I first met her in Nebraska at Lady June’s house, Skeeter could drive and shoot shots of booze with the best of us. She was a bright, eager, young sub, fresh out of the south, and ready to grab life with gusto.
Skeeter has got balls—big ones.
And in some ways, she reminds me of Iris.
She lights a smoke and offers me one. I don’t typically smoke Marlboro Reds, but when in Rome or Skeeter’s car…
About fifteen minutes into our trip to nowhere, I ask, “What are we doing?”
“Driving.”
Now, I should mention, I trust Skeeter to a point. I wouldn’t want under her fledgling Mistress, but I don’t think she means me any harm, either. But there comes a point when I realize I am a known mob boss in a car on a desolate road with this girl and that notion makes me a little uneasy. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” she says, pulling onto the dusty, gravel road. “You’re going to love this.”
“How do you know about it?” I inquire because remember, I’m a small town boy and these are my stomping grounds. I tend to think I know everywhere.
“I come out here and get high with my friends.”
Sounds reasonable enough.
After making another turn onto a road shrouded with overgrown trees, we stop at the dead end. “Come on. We have to walk. If I had a truck, I could take the path back, but my car won’t make it to The Fields.”
O—kay.
We’re going to some remote area, and Skeeter is going to kill me.
This is how my story ends.
With a random girl blowing my brains out. In a place where they will never ever find my body. I’ll be consumed overnight by hogs and coyotes with the final bits picked apart by assorted carrion the next morning. Iris will be heartbroken. Deacon will be devastated. All because my curiosity and need to connect got the fucking best of me.
I follow her down the beaten path, past the poison ivy and brush, until we come upon a rocky covered hill with a magnificent view of the Texas landscape. There are a few oil wells and rolling hills in the distance.
“Oh God…”
What a place to die!
The clear blue sky is open for my arrival in the heavens. But she sits upon a well marred up rock, marked with names and dates, and sits down to light a joint.
What the fuck am I doing?
After taking a few tokes, she hands it to me. “Where’d you get it?”
“I got a dealer up in town. He’s a cop. Name is Cody. We’ve been dating.”
I fucking choke.
Literally.
Me, who has been smoking on Cruz’s ganja and snorting white shit up my nose and doing tabs and pills…I’m coughing my lungs out because fucking Cody Cameron is her dealer. And to boot, she is fucking him. The weed sucks, by the way.
Realizing I just stumbled into a massive fire ant bed, I quiz, “Who is he working for?”
“He’s freelancing right now. He was doing contract laterals for Lotus.”
Laterals, an equestrian term, based on moving any direction other than forward.
In this case, Cameron was scouting new opportunities for expansion. Kind of like headhunters for talent, but they scope room for maneuvers. They aren’t looking for people but availability—empty spots to stake their flag. It is a practiced theory amongst the upper middle and top tier. The idea is to remain fluid within the mindset of the focus. In example, Lotus funnels are their franchises in one direction, but the laterals come in to find unique and exciting possible untapped resources.
For instance, one could say, I’m getting tapped by Skeeter this very moment over a joint on a hill in an outlying area.
Or haggled by a pink posse on behalf of her man.
How chivalrous of her—I’m seriously impressed.
“What do you want Skeeter?”
“Shelter.”
“From?”
“The war,” she laughs, stretching out. “Cody knows shit is going down with Immortal and Cinco. He’s looking for a spot and knows Cruz has you
r ass. He wants in and would like to know what he can do to garner your attention.”
Skeeter is delivering his resume because he can’t.
“How seriously are you involved with him?”
“We’re exclusive.”
“Is he willing to buy in?”
She breathes. “He has limited resources, but he’s willing to put any money back into the business.”
She’s knocking quite loudly on The Unholy door.
“Why not join Reckless Rebellion?”
She pauses and says, “He’s not the type.”
I smirk at Deacon’s argument about cuts and suits, but her hesitation tips me off. This isn’t really about Cody Cameron. It’s about Hannah Beth Nelson. “Is he playing your bitch?”
“Not that it matters…” Oh, believe me, it does, sweetheart. “But yes.”
“Is it fair to say Skeeter and her boy are asking for shelter?”
She smiles and brushes her hair from her face. As a side note, Skeeter is adorable. All-American girl, hint of a southern accent, with blonde hair and big blue eyes. If I wasn’t married to Iris, I would tap that. “Yes.”
I’m not sure why in the fuck I’m humoring the idea of letting her in. I certainly don’t need them, which sounds rather snobbish, yet true. Cameron and Skeeter have nothing to give me and everything to gain from an association with me. She’s a good girl and he’s a dirty cop.
“You gotta stop waiting tables because my bitches don’t wait tables.” Her eyes widen at the hint of my acceptance. “You will get a job at Juliet and when it is time to further your Dom training, I will do it. No one else.”
“Oh my God… Sal…”
Angels and Saints must be singing on high or maybe I’m just buzzed on bad weed.
“Are you willing to forsake everything for this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m only taking you and Cameron. Your friends aren’t in this.”
Her mouth opens as she stutters, “I can make new friends.”
Iris would love this girl.
And I’m not sure I don’t.
I offer her my hand and she slips her fingers into it. “I cannot thank you enough.”