“… Kaci?” Trudy asks, lighting up a smoke. “She doesn’t deserve a lick of what she is dealing with, you know?”
“Does anyone?” Her head tilts as her hand rises to display the bruise on her face courtesy of Diaz. “He’s gonna die eventually. When you let me kill him…”
“Not yet,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Not until Deacon is safe and sound.”
“What about the missing guns?”
Her eyes drift over mine with a scrutinizing gaze as she counters, “Will you get Deacon home?”
“I will get your boy back in the states one way or another,” I confidently assure. “I care about you, and you care about him, which means so do I.”
Leaning closer to me, she rests her hand upon mine. With an almost reluctant look, she whispers, “Javier is working with Cesario.”
“What?”
“We were staying at the club one night when I came downstairs for a glass of water, I walked past his office and heard him talking to your father,” she says, stating the facts without any emotional involvement. “I have been waiting for weeks for the whole gang to leave so I could get into his office. They had a big party with Cinco this evening, and I pretended to be under the weather. With the warehouse empty, I broke into his office and managed to hack into his computer.” Her hands slither away as she stands up and drops her panties. Squatting slightly, she removes the silver tube from between her legs. She swivels it open, and the USB stick falls onto the bed. “All the evidence you could ever need.”
I reach for it, but she rapidly smacks her hand over mine. “So…Deacon?”
“He’s yours. I swear to you. I will not break my promise to get him out of harm’s way.”
Relinquishing her grasp, she sighs, “Take it. Take it and fry my fucking husband.”
I know this woman well enough to understand how she manipulates people, especially those she doesn’t like. “You caused the fight tonight?”
“Does it matter?”
Standing up, I walk around to face her straight on. My fingers gently caress over her cheek. “It matters because he hurt you.”
“I needed to get out of there. I know you leave the loft every night around ten o’clock. You either go running or riding.”
“Are you spying on me?” I tease, holding her arms in my hands. “You certainly wouldn’t do that, would you, Ms. Howser?”
“You have no idea what I would do for my son, Sal,” she implores with a pang of sadness as I embrace her in my strong arms. Despite her average height, her small frame feels like I could break her easily. I breathe, acknowledging the wrong play by me could destroy her heart. “Deacon is everything to me.”
Placing my hands along either side of her jaw, I reply, “I will get your son. And that bastard Diaz dies.”
Her sniffles turn to remorseful sobs as her eyes dart up to meet mine. “Sal…”
“I got you,” I affirm, lowering to kiss her lips. I don’t expect her tongue, zipping against my own and demanding more, but when she does, I cannot say no. She may be a client, but this is personal. I break from the intense moment and say, “You don’t have to fuck me to save Deacon.”
“It’s not that,” she replies with a smirk. “This isn’t about what you are giving me, but what I’m taking from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can take the pain away for just a little bit.”
In front of damn Trudy-fucking-Diaz, an old lady of the Delirium MC, I finally broke and let her take the pain as no amount of Amber’s pussy or Jaid’s flirtations could erase the fact that I was going to lose Kaci. Trudy didn’t want to cover it up or put a bandage on it. She wanted me to wail like a hysterical, bawling infant.
And as I collapse to my knees, I do.
Love is messy; death is messy, but our spiraling emotions which spin involuntarily up and down the helix are tragic. I can’t escape them as they chase my ass down. I hate them. All of them. I always believed emotions were weak, but on the stained paisley carpet of a run-down motel room, Trudy taught me to embrace them and face the demons head-on. Stop running. Stop ignoring them. Stop putting a goddamned maxi-pad on bleeding, gaping wounds. Sooner or later, an infection will fester with the hostility as succumbing as her cancer.
On the floor, she cradles my head in her lap. I drool and snot all over her inked thighs. “She’s going to leave me. What the fuck am I going to do?”
Her fingers trickle through my curls as she whispers, “You are going to say a prayer, get up off of your knees, and go fight. That is what you are going to do. Kaci gave you all the tools.”
Something about the way she says the word – tools – sends my thoughts back to Kace and her fascination with my tool. She hasn’t been declaring she wants her own dick; she’s been saying she wants her own life back. She gave me the tools to succeed at her grand scheme.
Not moving, I silence my tears and query, “Who is Diaz working with in New Orleans?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles as I lift up. “He is moving large sums of money to a local bank there.”
“Pharm,” I mutter, thinking. “But he has never moved anything other than drugs. Are you staying the night here?”
“Probably,” she says from the floor. “I’ll have one of the boys come to fetch me in the morning.”
“Can I take this?” I ask, holding up the stick.
Her smile spreads across her gorgeous face. “Honey, I put that in my pussy just for you.”
“Deacon,” I emphasize, grabbing my jacket. “I will get his ass home.”
With the enlightenment between us, she interjects, “Sal…”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Kiss me goodbye,” she giggles as her fingertips extend, requesting my assistance in helping her up. “Whatever you do, you never found out from me.”
I smirk. “… Who?”
“Give me a kiss already and get out of here to go play with your gadgets.”
Careening my lips against hers, I think about how this sinner became my guardian angel in the darkest of times. I was supposed to go out and fetch ice cream. Instead, I was given my future dipped in the cream of an old lady as she reminded me of my purpose—freedom—and the sacrifices Kaci has endured on my behalf. And the risks those closest to me have been willing to take without hesitation – Amber and Jaid and Trudy. I’m never alone. I never was. I never will be.
Bandage me, bitches.
Life has never been so sweet.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m in Jaid’s loft as we search through the contents of the USB stick. “I cannot imagine this is going to be a clean cut.”
“No,” I agree, swaying back in forth in the chair. My fingers skim over my bare belly as I process all of the new intel. “… The question is—who is the middleman?”
“You are right about that,” Jaid says, examining the bank records. “Diaz isn’t going to connect himself directly to Cesario. Someone has to… oh shit…”
“What?” I ask as I stop spinning in the desk chair. “Please tell me it’s no one involved with Juliet.”
“Not directly, nope,” she says, leaning back. “Javier is sending the money to a local bank in Nola, and it’s immediately transferring to another outside of Brownsville.”
“Fuck,” I grumble, closing my eyes and rubbing my hands over my face. “Could it be any worse than one of Kaci’s brothers?”
She swivels to face me. “You suspected?”
“Only because I don’t trust any of them,” I mumble from beneath my palms. “They are all sketchy.”
“Which one is the sketchiest?”
I drop my hands to the arms of the chair. “… All of them?”
Her blue eyes as bright as a full moon peer sympathetically at me. “What can I do?”
“Keep digging,” I reply, grabbing a smoke and tilting the chair back as far as it will allow. “On another note, you find out who is doing Campanelli’s dirty deeds?”
“Not yet.”
>
“I have to get Deacon Cruz home,” I stress point blank, like that is an easily attainable thing. “I need something babe. Anything.”
Her lips close together as her nose twitches ever so slightly. There are moments when damn Jaid looks so much younger than she is. Her innocent appearance bodes well for her deceitful acts. Clasping her fingers together, she suggests, “You could always ask the man that stashed Deacon away for safekeeping.”
I pause, and my hiccup is enough for her to lean forward and place her hands on my knees as I expect a come to Jesus moment. “Don’t say it.”
“Keep your feet on the ground and your head in the game.”
“Asking Dom is like begging Daddy for a favor…”
She briefly smiles and shakes her head. “You don’t think I know what a hardass he can be?” Her hands fly about with a grand exaggeration that impresses my Italian sensibility. Tennessee whiskey got it going on. “But you are running out of options, and now, you owe Trudy Diaz. You are not the kind of man to walk around indebted to anyone, Sal.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” I stand up and pace about the room cracking my knuckles and neck. I need to get to church. Go to confession. Pay some penance for all these sins I’m racking up. In lieu of that, I offer, “Pay Dom’s fee and let him do it?”
“How bad can it be?” From the shadows, I give her a side-eye glance that says more than my words can ever express. “What does he want?”
I take a deep breath and reply, “Me.”
Lifting the sheet, Sal slides into bed with me. His body hovers over mine as his lips run kisses over my mouth, cheeks, and neck. “Kaci, baby, I need you to wake up. I have to go.”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes. “Where are you going?”
Choking back tears, he says, “I have to trust the abilities you have given me.”
My hands rub over his chest as I spread my legs wide with an invitation. “Where are you going?”
“To stop a war,” he replies, thrusting slow inside of me. He is gentle, barely moving, as our souls crash into one another. “I have to try.”
“… Which one is it?”
“You knew?”
I snicker once. “I had an idea one of my brothers was fucking over Cinco. You aren’t going down there.”
“I have to,” he whispers as his lips urge on the seduction of my outer shell. “I have to try.”
“Take Jaid with you.”
“No fucking way,” he mutters, pushing deeper. “I’m going alone.”
“You are playing kamikaze. It’s a suicide mission,” I say as the tears pour out. “You are not going to get out of that alive.”
His eager dance enlivens my body to want more. I remember this. I know this. I may be being eaten alive from the inside, but I have practiced this choreography and knew it by heart. His lips brush against mine to silence my thoughts.
“I’m coming back,” Sal whispers as his hands skirt over my body and demand I ignore his plan. “I promise.”
“Good move,” I compliment, running my fingertips over his back and clenching his ass. “Fucking your wife before you go all crazy.”
His thrusts stop—still—but he remains buried within my walls. “I’m making love to my wife, thank you.”
“I love you so fucking much,” I whisper as he lowers down, bracing on his forearms, surrounding my head. I nuzzle his curls and ear with my lips. “When you find out which brother is fucking us over, end them.”
“… Are you sure?”
“Don’t pansy out on me now,” I counter, urging his thrusts on. “I had this supposedly awesome sub at my disposal…”
“You never mentioned sub was a keyword for an assassin.”
I giggle. “You never asked.”
12. Terrible Lies
Sunday, December 19
13 days before…
I drive close to the coast all night. The smell of water nearby laps the memories of my childhood in Boston. The salt water fills my nose and stirs the fires of my cauldron. Sometimes I wonder how I got here, but deep in my heart, the answer rings evident—Kacilyn Hope. She is responsible for all of it. Maybe not directly, but her hands are involved.
I think about what I will say to the brothers. Will Pico be the snot-nosed brat he always is? Will Javi stand up for the club? Will Cam sit apathetically? Will we meet as four and scurry away as three?
They don’t know I’m coming; I like the element of surprise.
I dosed Kaci up good before I left with a muscle relaxer, pain, and sleeping pills. She will be zonked out for hours, and Amber can get some time alone.
I kissed Amber when I left. The way lovers do. The way a married man with a dying wife should not ever kiss another woman, and yet, it is what Kaci has instructed me to do. I aim to provide her every last wish, and if that means sucking it up and fucking Amber, so be it. I cannot fight with her on this now. We do not have time.
On Sunday morning, the Neves clan will be at the Catholic Church—where I should arguably be as well. I decide to stop at a diner for a cup of coffee and breakfast before ransacking their Sunday lunch. Members of Cinco will undoubtedly be there because this club – unlike Delirium – is an actual embodiment of family. It almost seems unbelievable that one of the Neves boys would be betraying the family to this degree.
Could I do it?
Aren’t I already?
I finish the decent fare of toast and eggs, pay my bill, and enjoy the anonymity in the sleepy little town outside of Brownsville.
The Neves estate is a vast, sprawling piece of rural Texas landscape fit only for those accustomed to the heat and grit of the Rio Grande Valley. It’s a beautiful, colorful locale full of grand culinary feasts and festivals. The eccentricity of this world speaks of Kaci.
I push in the code for the gate. The twelve-foot tall wrought iron glides smoothly along the rails as the stone-encased mansion rests deep inside of the property. A few Longhorns graze in the pasture underneath the mesquites, and a flock of guineas pecks the ground, surrounding a pond. I ride past where Kaci and I went fishing when we visited and pulled around the circular drive with the obtrusively large, absurdly looking pineapple fountain. The damn thing is taller than two grown men stacked on one another. It’s hideous. I smirk at how Kace and I made fun of the damn thing which resembled a ribbed butt plug.
I park between the atrociously ugly fountain and the grand front entryway. Having seen Kaci’s childhood home in Corpus Christi, which was a modest 4-bedroom family home, I can attest to the fact that something has changed. Money is good. Drugs. Guns. Trafficking. Extortion. Blackmail. I know it all too well as I walk between the two large gold glittered lions. I pull off my shades and glance up at the enormous crystal chandelier dangling above my head before ringing the church bells. When I say the whole thing is gaudy, I mean it’s fucking repulsively tacky.
There was a reason Kaci didn’t want to come here after our honeymoon.
I forced the issue, and I shouldn’t have. Add it to my growing list of mistakes.
“Oh! Hello, Mr. Salvatore!” Marquesa, the housekeeper, greets with a smile. “The family is not here.”
“Are they still at church?”
“No, Sir. They went for a vacation.”
I look away distraught as I contemplate my next move. “Do you know where?”
“They are traveling along the coast.”
New Orleans.
“Sasa! Sasa!” A barefoot little boy runs to Marquesa's side. His long blonde hair and radiant blue eyes are almost too perfect. I watch him curious as my mind stumbles with the—which one of these is not like the others. “Sasa!”
“I will be right there, go play,” she sweetly says, discouraging his further intrusion. “Go on.”
He maintains his ground with a full step forward. “Who are you?”
I lower down. “I am Sal,” I say as I blink up to Marquesa. Her face shows the panic I recognize. I stumbled upon a secret I was never meant to know. “What’s y
our name?”
“I’m Merritt,” he replies with his strawberry colored lips.
“How old are you, Merritt?”
I peek up at Marquesa, who is somewhere between smiling with happiness and vomiting. “I’m tree.”
“You’re three?” I offer a smile as he steals my sunglasses from my head.
“Is that yours?” He loudly squeals and points at the Ducati before dashing his tiny babe sized feet to the bike.
“Be careful there, sport,” I say, chasing after him. I pick him up and set him on the bike as he drops my sunglasses over his eyes.
“Vroom! Vroom!”
I glance back at Marquesa, crying in the doorway. I shake my head and mouth, “What?”
Her hands lift with an apology as I study the tike on my bike. I have no idea whose fucking kid this is, but I can guarandamntee he did not come from any Neves. I swiftly scoop him up and lift him high above my head. “Sal! Sal!”
I set him down and say, “Can you give me a hug before I go?”
“You come back?”
“Yes, I promise to come back and see you very, very soon,” I reply, taking my shades back and scowling at Marquesa. “You go play, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
His chubby legs carry him across the marble floor through the house as I eye the trembling woman. I take a few minutes as I try to form the words. I understand, no matter what I say, it will come out wrong. So, I opt for what I know—intimidating daego.
“We can make this difficult, or we can make this easy,” I suggest as she nods and tears splash over her cheeks. “Whose kid is that?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “If I say anything…”
“If you say nothing, I ask Mr. Neves,” I warn, leaning against the door frame. “If you tell me the truth, I was never here.”
She gulps down a breath of air and whispers, “His name is Merritt Amos Hope Cruz.”
There are few moments in life where you feel every cell in your body threatening to fall apart and crash to the ground. This is one of those. I'm not stable, but a gelatinous glob as I pray the glue sticks. I must hold it together. I'm Sal Raniero. I'm the Dark Prince. I'm the fucking antihero in this goddamned story, and I just got sideswiped.
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