The Red Shoes

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  He is mine.

  My submissive.

  Dom can borrow him, but he is coming with me. This much I know is true. I hear the count whispered by Deacon’s lips and my mind flares with joy like never before. He is so well behaved, and I don’t praise him nearly enough for the struggles and standards I toss his way. I am not easy. I am a tight ass. Difficult and demanding. I like things a certain way and fiercely hold onto the dogma of my mission.

  “You need to accept your place,” Dom reminds, swiping the wood over his skin. “You need to embrace who you are.”

  Deacon blinks over his shoulder to me. “And you need to find your heart, Sir.”

  “I do,” Dom agrees, reflecting over the words. “I want to find what you two have.”

  “Then join us…”

  “I miss my submissive,” Dom admits, looking to me. “But he cannot come back to me now. We are too far gone for that. We’ve passed the point where he needs tutelage. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

  I gracefully rise and stride over, only to kneel by his leg. “I’ll always need you, Master.”

  “That’s a sweet notion, Boston,” he whispers, running his fingers under my jawline. “But we both know, you cannot go back. You cannot be the young man you once were. You cannot be that naive again. Those times have passed, and I have been searching for an excuse, carrying on like I don’t feel the loss, but the truth is—it is the only thing I feel. You became everything I hoped, but I lost the best part of me when you found yourself. Losing you ripped me to shreds and festered the infection to a lethal level.”

  “Do you blame me for the mistakes you made?”

  “Not at all,” Dom says. “Care for your bottom.”

  Standing up, I peer at Deacon and place a kiss on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.” He smirks, spinning against the tree. “But, you’re hard again.”

  “So are you.”

  “Like you don’t even know,” he mumbles, licking his lips. “Do I make you happy?”

  “Yes,” I reply, pushing him against the tree and passionately kissing his lips as Dom waits in the wings. “Always. But we are sacred and not for show.”

  “… Is that a promise I can hold you to?”

  “Forever,” I swear, knowing I will never push the limits. “We are one.”

  “We are three,” he counters, blinking over my shoulder. “And I don’t mean with Dominic Gennaro.”

  “I’m acutely aware of who is missing between us…”

  “I cannot deny you, but do not cross the lines.”

  “Never.”

  “I love you more than anything,” Deacon professes as the tears bloom in his eyes. “You are my one. And I don’t know if there is another. I don’t know what my future holds. All I know is I cannot give you up.”

  “You don’t have to,” I maintain, staying strong. “It isn’t even an option. We deal with whatever comes when it arrives.”

  “Thank you.”

  “... For?”

  “Being one hell of a Master.”

  “Most days, I don’t feel like it.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he continues, running his fingers through my hair. “You make it okay for me to be who I am. Without any excuses. Without any need to apologize. You give me just enough leash to be yours—as you wish—from behind you to taking care of you. And it is my greatest honor to serve you in whatever capacity you need, Sir.”

  I blink up and let my tears fall. “Acceptance is tough.”

  “Like I don’t know,” he snarks off, smiling. “I know better than anyone. While you’re facing the world, I’m looking at the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. These feelings I have for you, and I’m fucking terrified I am going to lose you to the drugs…or to her…”

  His confession grabs my heart. “I will do better.”

  “All I ask is for you to try,” he mutters. “But, we need to find Dom his heart.”

  “And you, your feelings,” I remind, not letting him forget his own need to journey forth. “I just need to get home.”

  “Have you considered that maybe you already are…”

  Taken aback by his sincerity, I pause, hesitant to show too much. But I understand, in my heart and soul, the irrefutable facts.

  Deacon Cruz and Iris Nakamura are my home.

  And nothing else but their happiness matters to me anymore. It is the cold truth and a hard limit. I have gone from an insatiable manwhore, who was just a boy, to a stable and solid standing man capable of making my decisions without any input from anyone else at all. I have come full circle.

  Deacon. Iris.

  Iris. Deacon.

  They complete my soul with totality and fullness like no other until I brim over with love and compassion and empathy to do more…to do better…to be the absolute best I can be. My need to escape with the candy contradicts the circle, intersecting it into pieces like a pie, and I know I must stop.

  Running. Denying. Hiding.

  With his hands pressed to my cheeks, I reply with barely a hush, “Not until now.”

  We travel down the path when the gray clouds part and shine a brief ray of light onto the twinkling castle in the distance. “It exists! It really exists!”

  “Of course, it does,” Dais smarts off, galloping in front of us. “Did you think they lied?”

  I shrug her snappy attitude off. She is a dachshund. She believes she is holier than everything. And that her shit doesn’t stink.

  With Deacon on my right and Dom on my left, I feel secure in my position. I practically skip along the golden road as the fog and clouds once again obscure the vision of the castle in the distance.

  A few feet in front of us, the whirling vortex spins from out of nowhere, and Amber appears. “Oh, shit…” Dom replies, pressing his hand to my chest and stopping my walk. “Not now.”

  Deacon swishes right smack dab into her. “Well, well, well…”

  “Leave him alone, Amber.”

  She manically laughs. “Only for so long… He will be mine again.” Her talons latch into his guns, and she swoops closer to lock lips with him. He must have bitten her because she shoves him to the ground as she reaches for her bloodied lip.

  “Deacon!” I bellow out, furiously. “Get away from him, you whore!”

  “I’ll get you just like you did me, my Pretty Boy!”

  Fireballs flare from her hands. The bitch isn’t messing around as the forests on either side ignite into ravenous flames. I hear the screaming from the trees, and I acknowledge the damage she is capable of inflicting.

  With one short breath, Deacon diffuses the blaze on either side. My eyes open wide as Amber whirls away, leaving nothing but a puff of crimson smoke. “What the hell, Cruz?’

  “Skills.”

  “You never mentioned you could do that…”

  He stands and dusts off. “You never asked.” He winks.

  “But…”

  He places a finger on my lips. “Don’t ask, Nero. Just accept.”

  “Ok—ay.” I shoot a glance at Dom. “You have any elemental type of skills I should know about?”

  “No,” he answers, crossing his arms. “Not that I am aware of.”

  “You two are my best friends, and I couldn’t imagine doing this without you,” I sappily say as Dais rolls her eyes. I swear, she just tossed her head back and strutted away. “We need to hurry so that I can get home.”

  “We need to hurry so the Kinky Kingdom can come again,” Dom adds as we march past the charred woods to a deeper, darker part of the forest. The foliage hangs over the path extinguishing almost all of the light. It is creepy, even for a guy like me. Owls and frogs sing a grim chant.

  “I’m a little unnerved,” I admit, ceasing my step.

  “Come,” Deacon bravely says, stopping and reaching his hand out to me. “I have you. Trust me.”

  “I’m not the guy that gets scared of the dark,” I counter, gripping his fingers into mine. “This i
s silly.”

  “This is your fantasy, and the light must be balanced by the dark,” Dom points out. “Unfortunately, you cannot have all of the good and none of the bad, that is not how this works.”

  “… How dark is it going to get?”

  “I suppose that depends on how bleak your mind is.”

  My palm sweats against Deacon’s hand as a sudden howl brings our adventure to a screeching halt. Daisicle barks into the woods as the man covered in hair appears. “… Nicky?”

  The atrocious smell gags Dom as I turn my nose up and cover my mouth. “Why are you in a suit of human hair?”

  “Why do you have that obtrusively large, pink,” Deacon coughs, “…merry bow in your on top of your head?”

  “The bow is from my most prized possession, the Bitch of the Below,” he proudly informs. “And this is the hair of my dolls.”

  I bow my head down and grip the bridge of my nose. “You scalped them?”

  “Oh, yes… after I did… insidious things to them,” he boasts with a gleam in his eyes. “I kidnap the eager slaves wandering their way to the castle. I tie their limbs and…”

  “Enough!” I lift my hand, knowing all too well where this leads. “How many?”

  “Dozens!” he hisses, wiping his bloodied black gloves on the butcher’s smock. “I love their hair!”

  “He’s such a fucked-up monster,” I mumble to Deacon. “Why do we…”

  “Because he is part of us,” he excuses, stepping closer. “And we love him.”

  “Every one of them meant to harm the High Monarch,” he casually informs, like the sociopathic sentinel he is. “They were sent forth by the Wicked Bitch of Woe.” He peers at Cruz’s shimmering silver boots, flashy as they are and teases, “Nice shoes, baby.”

  Deacon’s blue eyes widen as I smack Nico in the arm. “How many have gotten past?” I ask, lighting a smoke. “How many have made it to the gates?”

  “None, Sir.” He kneels on one knee with great respect before me. “I keep her Royal Majesty safe, even if that means embracing my insanity. I want to be normal, but these things are unavailable to jesters like me. She’ll never notice me. She’ll never know what I have done to keep her standing. I’m no one. Just another serial killer to go unnoticed.”

  When he puts it like that, I feel sorry for him, but not everyone is fit for royalty. “Show me.”

  “Sal…” Deacon panics, glaring at me. “No.”

  “Yes,” I insist, letting go of his hand. “Show me your…laboratory.”

  “You want to see it?” Nico broadly smiles, amazed that someone would want to see his work. “I like those red shoes, Salvatore.”

  “I do,” I contend, ignoring his blatant flirtatious display. “You two, stay here.”

  Deacon moves before me. “I do not think this is in your best interest. Your biggest demons are lurking in these forests.”

  “And my Queen is in that fucking castle,” I hiss, pointing towards the Castle of Cum. I’m not a fool; I know who she is. Mostly because she hasn’t shown up yet, which can only mean one thing. My flower is in the presence of the High Monarch. “I need to acknowledge his craft.”

  “Tell me this, what happens when you return and breakdown all over the place?”

  “Bend me over,” I reply with a snarl. “And I’ll quickly remember everything important.”

  He gives a disconcerting look. “… And if that doesn’t work?”

  I brush my lips against his. “You’ll find a way to make it work. You always do.”

  “I cannot be without you,” he whispers against my lip. “Don’t lose yourself to the blackness in your mind.”

  Swiping my finger beneath his chin, I wink. “Nevah, Saint!”

  Despite being some sociopathic killer, I trust Nico Cristos. Yes, he does like a good pair of shoes, but who doesn’t?

  Okay, maybe not quite like Nico.

  But the simple fact remains—Nico doesn’t do the whole gay thing. He’s as straight as an arrow and doesn’t even necessarily condone or accept the relationship between Deacon and me. And I am okay with this because it isn’t his dick in the mix.

  Everyone is allowed to their opinion as long as they don’t put their emo baggage on my lovers or me. Do not sit in judgement and all that jazz.

  We traverse into his crypt, down a flight of stairs, to a place I can only describe as the most macabre sanctum I’ve ever had the privilege of viewing. I am in the mind of the psychopath—ignoring that he is me—and this hole belongs to a murderer.

  Flat out. That is what Nico is.

  Mind you, none of The Unholy are immune from that titular.

  We meander into a room reminiscent of the North room in The Downbelow at Compass. The red splattered walls and examination room had been too much for my emotional state at nineteen, only then it was in farce. This is real, and my mental well being isn’t much better now.

  I scan over the room. “Is this where you practice your art?”

  “Yes,” he says as I spot the cat ears. “Don’t hate me.”

  “The Bitch of the Below,” I mumble, realizing how far Nico would go to protect the High Monarch. I am at a loss with no words of forgiveness.

  He solemnly nods, neither happy nor sad concerning her demise. “There are times when the choice isn’t easy, but my role isn’t meant to be nice.”

  “I thought the Bitch of the Below was…” I remorsefully mutter without condemnation. “If you believed the castle to be in jeopardy, I fully understand and support your acts.”

  “… But will you always?”

  “I have to,” I confide, reaching far into the recesses of my soul. “If it means keeping our brethren safe and sound, then you do what you must.”

  “I want her,” Nico whispers in the quiet darkness. The gloomy tomb is his sanctuary as he slides comfortably onto the table. “So bad.”

  “Who?”

  “The Wicked Bitch of Woe,” he mutters, pulling out a blade. I’m not intimidated in the least. He won’t hurt me. “Thankfully, I have one of theirs…”

  I’m starting to sound like a hooter—I still don’t know much about owls—when I repeat, “Who?”

  Sharpening his knife on a razor strop, Nico blinks up to me. “Cas.”

  “You,” I stutter in disbelief, “you...have Cas?”

  “I do.”

  I contemplate asking the obvious question. “Is she…”

  “She’s alive…for now.”

  “Do you want to see her?”

  Running my fingers through my hair, I snarl. “What difference would it make? Really? She’s out to harm.”

  “She is…”

  My eyes drift over the room one final time, and I’ve seen enough of this place to walk away. I know the kind of man Nico is because he is a similar type to those I have put handcuffs every day for practically a decade, but I observe the notions of Nico for the greater good. And it is that very contradiction which leads me to a place of considering my destiny and the fate of the only Raniero boy and the expectations of not just my famiglia, but everyone surrounding me. Who do I bring harm to by not assuming my rightful throne? Who do I risk by questioning the fates?

  I walk away from the blood-stained laboratory of Nico’s undoing. The door swings open, and I expect to find Deacon, Dom, and Daisicle, but they are nowhere to be found. An offshoot to the main road exists nearby the exit, and with some trepidation, I waver down it. I stumble into the world of my father and my past, portrayed on big screens to either side of me.

  The long hallway goes on for what seems…ever.

  And there he is—the terrorist inhabiting my thoughts and stream of consciousness for all twenty-eight years—Cesario Raniero, the biggest monster of them all.

  With my heart pounding in my chest, I panic and run. Hyperventilating, I run faster. I’m losing ground as the images erupt from the screens and reach out to grab me. I close my eyes and shoot straight ahead, but the voices grow louder—my father and me—the constant war.


  Nonstop. Tragic. Debilitating.

  The catalyst funnels my mind to my addictions and a dire need to flee at any cost, including losing my shit and ending up in a wicked dreamscape.

  “You have a responsibility to the family.”

  “You are my only son.”

  “You have no choice.”

  The rules were drilled into my programming since day one, but I slowly began to disintegrate them one by one, even with my little rebellious fires. The love I expressed for Deacon Cruz was one such fire, as was the desire for Iris Nakamura. An Italian mafioso’s son should never, ever engage in that kind of activity, nor should he wish to marry outside of the culture.

  I chose Iris and Deacon, but my renegade acts wouldn’t go unnoticed or unpunished. My father believed these atrocities were an offense worthy of cinder blocks and cigar cutters. I might as well have spit on the Raniero name.

  I was a traitor to him, but to Iris and Deacon, I became an oath keeper and a truth seeker, vowing time and again to vigilantly guard the promises sworn. Where sex once ruled my agenda, a greater force now reigned supreme—the love took hold, and I was unstoppable.

  The demon of my past chases me as I open my eyes and sprint towards an end that never comes. Ironically, it isn’t my father, but the little boy—Lucas Salvatore—who seems so intent on seizing every good notion and turning it into pitch-black darkness. He blames me for failing him, and I am to take the brunt of all of the violence that happened to him.

  “Get away from me! Get away! I didn’t know how to defend you! I didn’t know how to protect you! Get away! Scram kid!”

  He flies in front of me as I stop dead in my tracks. His green eyes envelop mine, and part of me wants to heal him…hold him…until he pulls the gun from his waistband and aims it between my eyes. “I will kill you!”

  My jaw tightens as I look him straight in the eye with all the love of Deacon and Iris inside of me and roar, “Fuck you!”

  With my eyes locked tight, I run past him…faster…and faster…until I tumble. I blink open my eyes to see the silver shoes, Italian loafers, and stained white sneakers of my brothers. “What the hell?”