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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “And what am I?”

  He kisses her hard against the door and mutters, “The girl I’m in love with.”

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  Cat turned Cruz’s feelings back on after years of being broken.

  And that gives me hope because I miss Iris so much. I try not to stare, but I’m practically sobbing at the pure love between them. I’m so going to say I told you so for the rest of his life.

  “Raniero?” Deacon moans, glancing at me. “… Can we?”

  “Go,” I encourage, blessing his affair with my sister. “Use my spare room.”

  With tears streaming over her cheeks, Cat steps closer and ruffles her fingers through my hair and over my cheek. “Get up off your knees. Strut like a Raniero tonight. And call it the fuck off.”

  “I intend to,” I lie, kissing her hand. “Go ride my boy’s rod.”

  Walking away, she smiles as he swoops her up in his arms. “I intend to.”

  With Deacon and my sister going at it, I glance in the mirror and decide to screw shaving. I’m not in the mood. They can take the shadow. I toss on my favorite ripped jeans, a Henley, and my ball cap. I’ll dress when I get to the church. I grab the hanging bag with my suit in it and walk past the spare room. The bed squeaks and I hear their pleasurable moans. I grin.

  Bout fuckin’ time.

  Stuck in traffic on the freeway, I wait in amongst the lost souls as we merge to one lane to pass the wreck. Someone is going to have a bad Christmas.

  Ya, asshole—Emily.

  The guilt is unbelievable because no matter how I feel about the wedding, I do love the girl. She is Baby Emlee. Dom nailed it when he mentioned how she was like Iris. And maybe that is warped and wrong, but it’s also accurate. I don’t want to break her heart; I just don’t want to be her husband.

  But I have to—because she isn’t the one.

  Cars inch forward as as my phone rings. I’m so pissed Cruz took the fucking phone, but what was I going to do? Break up their moment? Nah, I’m not that guy. Let the lovers have their happy hiccup. It won’t be a happy ending.

  And someone is going to get hurt.

  “Raniero.”

  “I just wanted you to know the Lotus has landed,” Mass says. “And I’m sorry if I was grilling you last night, but I’m a secret admirer of the work you’ve done.”

  “It’s alright,” I reply, letting the car next to me go in. “If I ever make it to the church…”

  “… Are you stuck in the wreck?”

  “Ya. I’m going about a car length every ten minutes.”

  He snickers, “You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Funny,” I challenge, merging over to the one open lane. “I think I’m running out of time.”

  “You won’t say that when you see her.”

  “Don’t fucking tease me,” I laugh. “I hope they don’t get stuck in this mess.”

  He coughs, “She won’t.”

  “… How long have you known Iris?”

  “A long fucking time,” he answers. “Since she was working for Gennaro.”

  “Damn…” I glance over to the lane on my right as some jerk is going way too fast. “This is such bullshit. This fucker is going to cause another accident.” He tries to wedge in, but I’m riding the ass of the SUV in front of me. We file in and he zips in behind me. I grab a piece of gum and light a smoke as we pass by the collision. One lady is on a stretcher. Another is covered. Meanwhile, fuckface in the rearview is trying to slide up my ass.

  “… You okay, Boss?”

  “Ya,” I say, gunning it, as all the lanes open up. “I’m getting the fuck outta here.”

  His lighter flicks. “Lotus is on the move,” he informs. “Did you see my email from earlier?”

  “No, I’ve been busy,” I reply, driving it like I stole it. “It was a long day.”

  “Cristos backed out of all of his business in Houston completely.”

  “… What?” I mumble, slowing down, as asshole whizzes past and flips the finger. I take the next exit, unable to breathe. “When did this happen?”

  “This morning,” he says. “Everyone was talking about it.”

  “Shit…”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he snickers. “If Cristos isn’t down there, Immortal is coming in.”

  “They aren’t the only one.”

  Someone blares a horn. “What do you mean?”

  Seeing the wreck causes a worry in me. “… Is she okay?”

  “She is fine,” Mass assures. “Who else is going in?”

  “Raniero Enterprises.” Cristos convinced my father to go in fifty-fifty down there, and he fucking pulled out. We’re about to get annihilated. The losses will be staggering. “I need to go. Keep an eye on her.”

  “I’ll be in the shadows.”

  I hang up the phone and try to figure out what the fuck to do. “Goddammit,” I yell, pounding my fists on the steering wheel. “Think, fucker. Think.” I won’t risk Lotus. And there is only one person I know who has enough money and man power to come close to making a difference. I pull into a gas station and make the call. “Morpheus, I need a favor…”

  Half an hour later, I’m waiting in traffic at the church. The vast amount of luxury cars and limousines is ridiculous. There should be a line of trucks and hay on the ground and bare feet and barbecue on white shirts. And instead of an open bar, we should have a champagne tower and fountain because she loves bubbles.

  My girl, she loves bubbles…

  I see my family and friends and Oh, God…I’m going to puke.

  Parking in my reserved spot, I get out just in time to see my Raptor pull into the lot. “Who the hell is driving my truck?”

  I grab the sexhat and a smoke as I watch my truck veer off into the muddy lot where the excess cars are going. I text Deacon. “Are you in my truck?”

  His reply comes quick as they park on the front row. “No, I’m stuck in traffic on the highway.”

  “Who the fuck brought my truck from Nebraska?” I hit send just as the door opens and I see Dom’s new cane.

  “Hey, Raniero,” Nico says, pulling my arm. “You might want to get in there.”

  “Wait,” I say, breathing, as Dom makes his way to the passenger side and I see her gorgeous auburn hair. She’s colored it again, but it could be fucking fuchsia and she’d look amazing. “Get some protection on her nowala! Get those fucking punks away from my damn girl!”

  “You mean Dom’s nephews. You need to chill,” he says, tapping my shoulder and pointing at the line of ten matching black SUVs. “She’s got fucking coverage.”

  “Who is that?”

  “That is Reckless Rebellion.” He smiles as I realize Deacon sent an army for one Queen. “But you need to come on, there is a debate about who is sitting where.”

  We head inside to a barrage of questions. The noise is so loud.

  “Would you please come tell your bride she does not get the right side?” Stella furiously says. “She’s being very rude.”

  I sigh, wanting to wait for my girl. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  I walk through the crowded vestibule and enter the chapel to see Emily in her white cocktail dress. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

  I glance at my watch. “Because I have forty-seven minutes. Bride is on left. Groom is on right.”

  Emily snarls like she might actually bite. “The right has a better view.”

  “I’m sorry, traditions, babe,” I mutter, keeping my voice low and walking closer to Mama. “You need to settle down, right fucking now.”

  “What the hell is up with you?” Emily snaps, stomping her foot. “You better behave or I will walk out.”

  Pity.

  Don’t do me any favors.

  I kiss Mama and shake Dad’s hand.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling Emily aside. “Did you invite a Petra Soryn from my address book?”

  “I don’t know, Lucas. There is going to be over two hundred people tonig
ht and close to six hundred tomorrow. I gave copies of your addresses to the wedding planner.”

  Ugh.

  There will be a banner hanging up across Main Street—

  Iris & Sal’s Wedding at Juliet!

  Everyone is invited!

  “I have to go check with the caterer to see if the tuxedo strawberries ever arrived.”

  Fruit should never wear clothing.

  Nico bumps my shoulder, eating his way through a bag of popcorn. “Bite?”

  “Are you preparing for the big show?” I ask, waving at Dale, holding baby Mae. She grins and I laugh as I spot Georgia and Jas and Lady June. Everyone I know and love is here for my big celebration.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  It’s all so depressingly ironic. “Why did your father pull out of Houston?”

  “Because Trudy broke up with him to be with that guy,” Nico says, nodding towards the couple. She’s riding his side hard, like he can save her from the perilous gusts of one pissed off son.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  That’s being way too polite though because it actually comes out like—Who da fuk iz dat?—quite loudly. And yes, it was a dat because this Boston boy has been with his Saint way too long.

  “Some guy named Donatien, which sounds a lot like Donation.”

  Covering my mouth, I snort and snicker, “I take it Trudy is accepting his donations?”

  “You could say that,” he says, dumping the remaining popcorn into his mouth. “But she looks happy, so… Does Cruz know…his Ma is fuckin a teenager?”

  “No,” I reply as speak of the Saint, and there he is, walking in with Cat. And they’re sticking together like a mated pair on a wire. I fear they may be about to get a jolt to their system. I spot Allie, mingling with Kate and Anna and making her way to them. “Oh. Shit.”

  “This is such a fucking fiasco of a circus.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, patting Nicky on the shoulder. He isn’t wrong. It’s a goddamned shitshow. I turn to see Reckless Rebellion ambling in formation, led by none other than Pico Neves. He nods with respect. “Never thought I’d see a group of bikers cleaned up and in suits.”

  “Cruz…”

  “Ya,” I say as Deacon gives me a nod.

  “You know for years we’ve been trying to keep Iris hidden from your father,” Nico mutters, opening a package of candy. “And it turns out all you needed to do was get married.”

  “Not quite,” I say, understanding that without The Commission’s presence here, it would be a slaughterhouse. “Rebellion may be the escort,” I inform, pointing across the way to the twenty or so men in suits. “But those guys are barricading the flames.”

  With one purposeful jerk of his head, Deacon smiles and politely requests my presence. “I’ll be back.”

  I walk through the mess of people and follow him out the side door to the dressing room. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light. I hear the click of the lock as he pushes my back against the door in an unedited kiss of a lifetime. Our entangled tongues crash in the battle for supremacy.

  “I’m in love with Cat,” he breathes against my lip, pressing his forehead to mine. “And I’m in love with her brother.”

  His erratic breaths guide the way for the passage of unshed, cloistered tears after so many years of oppression. He’s freeing them and his emotions. “I want all of this with you, but I need you to not say I do today. No matter what happens. Because we both know, it isn’t right and you can’t handle making the same mistakes I have. You’re too emotional.”

  “I won’t,” I whisper as his hands course over my body without consideration. “And I’m only emotional with two.” He handles me—challenging and rough—and I don’t dissuade his advances. His fingers tug my shirt up and he presses tender pricks against my flesh. “When is she coming in, Prez?”

  He’s on his knees when my hands skim over his cheeks. I feel his grin. “She’ll be in when I damn well go get her.”

  “Who is with her?”

  “The table.”

  “… the entire table?”

  “Yes, Sir,” he mumbles, unbuckling my belt and releasing my cock. “May I do this?”

  “No…” I mutter, moving away and searching for the table. We toured the church months ago—one of the few things I was a part of—the choice of being married in a Catholic Church; Emily’s only religion is me. The dressing rooms contain a table with four chairs, a sofa, and a make-up table. There is a built in, open, tall closet for hanging clothes. “Now…”

  “This isn’t going to take long and I’m sorry,” he says, placing his hand in the middle of my back.

  “Tell me you didn’t hold out on my sister…”

  “We didn’t fuck,” he grumbles with the gravelly voice I love. “I fingered her…”

  “That’s my sister you are talking about,” I groan as he thrusts hard into my ass. “So, she didn’t reciprocate?”

  “That’s your sister,” he cajoles, pumping fast. “And no. We talked for hours.”

  “Jesus…” With every rock of his hips, Deacon claims my soul, but it is only because I have accepted the grace and responsibility of his surrender. He is the Saint in my hell; the rabid watchdog guarding every move surrounding his Dark Prince. “God, yes… Fuck my ass… Harder, Cruz… Harder.”

  “You want my hand on your cock?” he asks, knowing the dance we commit to every time we step out into the limelight of this love. My cheek rubs against the table as I become aware of so much more love available to me if I will just let go. I find God with a Saint nestled in my dark path.

  “No,” I grunt, slobbering. “Just use me. Hurt me, so I can go do what needs to be done.”

  My feelings aren’t uncommon for those in positions of power. Mistress Serene built her entire business off catering to the high-brow. Too much control in the board room or the back alley leads to an unrelenting desire to lose it all.

  Deacon Cruz is the only one I will ever lose this part of myself with—he sees the blackness surrounding my life and ensconces his breezy aura around it, bringing about a vibrant, refreshing clarity for me to go do what needs to be done.

  For me to kill my father.

  I could never have done the things I’ve done since my wife died without Cruz by my side and it is for that reason alone that I am thankful and welcome his hot white cum in my ass—time and again.

  He needs me; I aim to please and provide.

  But he never once has taken advantage of me. And I never bleed out emotionally trying to make our relationship something it is not. Things happen organic and natural as I walk the path of the Buddhist biker monk. He takes my mind, body, and spirit to a higher plane and I return with a heightened sense of awareness.

  He is my secret weapon.

  Tell no one.

  “I’m going to blow, baby,” he moans, gripping onto my hips with his calloused hands. “Fuck… I’m so not ready for any of this yet…”

  “Stop thinking and shoot.”

  “Yes, Master,” he defers as I consider the benefits he gets out of this. He finds the emotion he denies, the passion he shuns, and the love he refuses. I am his. “God…” he growls, pulsing his jet into me. “I won’t give you up…”

  “I would never ask you to—ever.”

  Pulling up my shirt, he flops against my bare back and I feel the trickle of tears slip over my sides as he kisses the lotus brand with reverence. “Be good, my Dark King.”

  I close my eyes tightly, knowing how close we are to escaping from the torrent we’re in. “I love you, Deacon.”

  “I know, I love you, too.” His hands slide over my back as he pulls down my shirt and pulls my jeans up from around my ankles. He spins my body around in his hands as the passionate kiss seals our secret pact. “You ready…”

  “I guess,” I begrudgingly say as he clicks on the light.

  “I need my suit.”

  “Is it in your car?”

  “Ya,” I reply, propping against the table. He mov
es to leave and says, “Oh, I forgot, I brought this for you.”

  He hands me the fucking phone from three years ago.

  This damn thing has become my nemesis.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says with a nod. “Lock the door.”

  I grab my hat off the table and loosely toss it on my head with the bill off to the side as I scan over all the messages between Iris and I from 2014. I smile and hit the lock on the door. I look in the voicemail and see the “1.”

  I hit play and press the phone to my ear. Her strong yet delicate voice fills the infinite voids where the time lapses and the singe ignites.

  She is all I ever want to hear again.

  “Salvatore, I need to tell you why I walked away. You need to know to the whole truth and it took my leaving to be able to say it because I couldn’t do it with you staring at me with those eyes.

  I don’t know what I have and what I don’t. I only know what I know and I cannot pretend to have access to everything in my mind because we both know, I don’t.

  But there are a few things I do know. I know I have never loved someone like I love you. You are my everything—my good and bad, my sunshine and rain, my laughter and tears. And everything has brought us to this point, so when I walk away just know it was never because of you.

  Or anything that you did.”

  Warm tears build in my eyes as my hand trembles. She sounds so young, intimidated, scared.

  “I cannot trust myself. And I cannot come back until I can be safe again with you. And right now, I am just not. Maybe when I come back I can be braver. And stronger. And be your savior.

  In Chicago – at the same bank you left my keys – there was another safe deposit box filled with a stack of papers from Chance. I finally went through them. He left an envelope in amongst the journals and I never said anything because I never thought it mattered, but maybe it is all that matters.

  Maybe one single thread changes everything.

  And if that thread isn’t there, the whole thing unravels in your hands.”

  The tears crash over my cheeks as I breathe.