Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, stepping back and stumbling off the step as I hurl up breakfast into the yard. I'm coughing and puking, and it’s truly mortifying in front of Marquesa. Not because she’s the help, but because she's a woman and I'm behaving like a weak ass pussy bitch. Bent over and heaving, I ask, “He’s… Kaci’s?”

  Marquesa nods.

  “… And Deacon Cruz’s?”

  “Yes,” she says with a concerned look as I toss more up into the grass. “Would you like a cold cloth?”

  I drove all this way in search of discovering which brother was a traitor, but I honestly no longer care as the only traitor seems to be Kaci.

  Without a doubt, she was not alone in her lies. And I have a new, bigger fish to fry, and he just so happens to be my brethren in New Orleans—Dominic Gennaro.

  “When will they be back?”

  “Not until after Christmas,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  I wipe my mouth on the hem of my shirt and pull out a smoke. I light it up and exhale. “Why the fuck are you sorry?”

  “Because they were not expecting anyone.”

  I spit far into the yard. “… Does Deacon even know?”

  She shakes her head. “No one knows but you.”

  “Where was Merritt when we visited?”

  “With my family—at my house, same place he will be on Christmas morning.”

  This is all kinds of wrong, and I cannot believe Kaci would do something so terrible. I’m angry and hurt. My fucking wife has a child—with Deacon Fucking Cruz. Reckless Rebellion. Saint is a grandfather. Trudy is a grandmother. Javier Diaz is a horrible man. Delirium. Cas is a drug addict. Juliet. The fetish world. Kaci is dying of cancer. Cinco. Brothers. My sisters. My fucking father. Iris.

  Kaci had no other choice, but to seek solace and sanctuary with her adoptive family. Dom knew. He had to, and he told her what to do to keep him safe—put him under lock and key of the five thousand-member strong Cinco. Protect this child, and in return, we will protect you.

  The missing guns aren’t just about losing weapons.

  We are paying for the safety of Kaci’s son.

  My knees buckle, and I hit the ground crying tears of sorrow and remorse. “Someone should have done something! Something better! Something more!” I’m sobbing and spewing all of the heartaches out for Marquesa to hear. “He’s just a baby. He needs a Mama and a Daddy… He’s just a baby…”

  In my words, I speak not only of Merritt but for me. I was innocent once before Daddy picked my ass up and took me to the fishery. He taught me all kinds of things—how to clean the fish, market the meat, test the value of the snow, hide the money, and kill a man without remorse. Daddy taught me lots of things. Things we don't ever speak about. Merritt is a child caught in the crossfire of a Gods war. He won't be innocent long.

  Hell knows I'm coming as heaven slowly departs.

  Marquesa quietly disappears inside but leaves the door open. At the end of the hallway, I see the wide-legged stance of Saint’s blood come running at me. I don’t have a fucking clue who Deacon Cruz is, but if his son is any indication—he is the spitting image of his father.

  “Why cry, Sal?”

  “Sometimes big people have shit cards,” I say, glancing up at the blue sky and holding onto to the tot like a life raft. Someone help this child. Someone help me. Someone help us. We’re dying out here, starved and unforgiven for sins our parents racked up in a massive garbage dump of moral debt.

  “Shit cards,” he repeats, rushing down the sidewalk to the bike. “Shit cards!”

  “Here, Mr. Salvatore,” Marquesa says, handing me the cool washcloth. “Would you like to come inside and sleep for a bit? You must be tired.”

  “I’m fucking exhausted.”

  “I can only imagine,” she replies, compassionately. “I talk to Kaci often.”

  Holding the cloth to my head, I scan the property as my training kicks in with a rapid response. “… Anyone else here with you?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “You have kids or a husband?”

  She shakes her head. “I live with my sister and her family. Well, Merritt and I do when the Neves are out of town. I came here today so he could play with his toys while I cleaned. They left yesterday.”

  “You have a bed I can crash in?”

  “Of course,” she says with a smile. “Merritt, come.”

  He darts up to us, and I snatch him into my arms. I’m his step-dad. I close my eyes tight as tears leak from the seams. I'm drowning inside. “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

  “Sal, I would never forgive myself if I sent you away looking like that and you didn’t make it home to Kaci. Please, don’t put that burden on either of us.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter, ruffling up Merritt’s platinum locks. “He’s beautiful.”

  “He has beautiful parents.”

  “Did you know?” I sleepily bark into the phone.

  Jaid yawns. “Did I know what?”

  “The big Merritt secret…”

  A gap of silence crosses the line, followed by a—“Oh, fuck!”

  “Ya,” I grumble, lighting a smoke in Neves house. Like I fucking give two shits. “Did you know?”

  “Of course, I knew. Kaci and I were together. Her decision to follow Dom’s advice was the number one reason for our break-up. I wholeheartedly disagreed with it from the beginning. That child is Reckless Rebellion and Delirium blood, not Cinco.”

  “Does that matter?” I hiss, angrily as I stab out the cig and ball my fists into weapons. “It’s a fucking child!”

  “In this case—Yes, it matters,” Jaid snaps back defensively. “If you were a Raniero being raised by… Hell, say Cristos, would it affect you in the long-term?”

  I know she’s right as I close my eyes and drift off. In the distance, I hear her mumble, “Get some sleep, babe. I love you.”

  I want to say it back, but I'm too groggy, too emotionally worn out. The phone falls from my hand.

  The black and white images play out like we’re there and this is real. Kaci smiles and spins Merritt wild as laughter fills my heart.

  “Take care of him, Pretty Boy.”

  His tiny hands set flowers on her fresh grave, not understanding how the mother he never knew until now—suddenly vanished. Years pass, and I’m the stand-in for the missing piece.

  “Lucas Salvatore…” Iris whispers in a wedding gown as she grips my hand. “We got this.”

  More siblings come. Along with the white picket fence, I have been running from my whole life, but it doesn’t matter because Merritt is graduating from high school. I smile at Iris as they say his name, “Merritt Raniero…”

  We are in the parking lot. I see my gorgeous wife and hear the ghost of Kaci cry out, “Get the fuck down!”

  Shots ring out, and I lose them both in a puddle of red. “You should have eliminated your father as I trained you to do! This is all your fault, Sal! My baby is dead because of you!”

  I startle awake to the bundle of energy, now sleeping in my arms. “He crawled up there,” Marquesa whispers. “I’m sorry.”

  Rolling onto my back, I pull Merritt closer. “What time is it?”

  “Almost five.”

  I nod and fall back asleep, clenching tight to the only thing I will have left of Kaci. Tears cover my eyes when I awake hours later. My lungs are substantial, and I cannot breathe. The strain is too much; I cannot handle this load. Hit the auto-pilot, call Dom, check out, and go. I would disappear into the mountains and become a gay lumberjack so that I won’t have these pretty little things. They smell so sweet and taste so good, tempting me at every turn to fuck it all up.

  Flopping my arm up onto the pillow, I hear the crunch of paper beneath the muscle. The words are always there - under the skin, flesh, and bone - where my soul should be. These hieroglyphic sentiments known as words replace my spirit. Words with letters I cannot tame, and the shame that forces the quiet speech from my eyes because they no lon
ger have meaning.

  I fucking love my wife, and she's damn dying. I want to hold her close and spend every moment with her, but all she does is push me away. Have a free for all on Amber; she is yours. I don't want to use Amber for her glory hole any longer, that isn't what we were, and that isn't what we are. I fucking care about her, or at least I did until Kaci turned her into some blowup, walking and talking sex doll.

  And do you know what she tells me every night before we go to sleep, she says, “I love you, Lucas.”

  When we're alone, she calls me by my name in the dark and quiet. She knows I can be me. Not me the Raniero boy. Not me Salvatore the sex machine. But for me—Lucas.

  My mother named me Lucas. She wanted me to embrace the melting pot, but my dad…my dad, was hellbent on making me as Italian as he was—a little mini version of himself.

  And now, I'm supposed to take him out. I'm supposed to kill him. I'm supposed to right all the wrongs and find redemption for the kid with the busted nose and broken arm who was told he would never amount to anything. I was worthless, he said, and the source of all his problems, couldn't I have been born with a cunt?

  Fuck you, Dad.

  I'm screaming in here; can you not hear me? Do you not understand what all of this shit is doing to me, Kaci? I wouldn't need an alphabet if I sat by my father’s side and took his throne. I'd need numbers to count my cents.

  But then, I'd have no sense…

  I wrinkle the note between my fingers as I take it off the pillow.

  Salvatore,

  I will say nothing.

  I hope you do the same.

  This is our secret.

  Marquesa

  I crumble it into a ball. She is gone. More importantly, Merritt is gone. My guess is she called Kaci, and I imagine the frantic words went something like—“Where do I go? What do I do? Help me! He knows!”

  Kaci helped Marquesa get away from me—the perceived bad guy. But all that did was run them right into trouble, and now she and the future Saint are on the run. They could be anywhere in the whole fucking world. I grab the phone.

  Fuck you, Kaci.

  “Hi Nissa, could you please put Saint Cruz on the phone—now.”

  A long pause serves to elevate my nerves as I wait for Saint to respond to the news—“You’re a grandfather! But the baby is missing!”

  He put me on hold with instructions that if we should disconnect, I’m to call back and keep calling. Pacing around the bedroom, I ruffle my fingers through the blinds as I peer out into the darkness. It’s desolate here—lonely—creepily so. Not that I worry about being in my in-laws home. Regina and Juan Neves, Kaci’s adoptive parents, adore me. No surprises there. But what was—the brothers cut side-eye glances and snide remarks at our engagement, marriage, and even during our visit. They don’t particularly care for me. More they tolerate my presence in order not to cause strife with their dying sister.

  They have little to do with Cas. Her drug addiction has spanned almost a decade, and she is on a trajectory to end up dead unless an interception is made. Everyone knows, but with the primary concern over Kaci, no one seems to care. Feeble attempts have been made to place her in rehab, and every single time, she relapses. Kaci believes it is her fault—or more accurately, the crabs. Kaci and Cas are close, texting and calling often. I hate to think about the responsibility I will have for the junkie when Kaci passes.

  It’s daunting.

  Hell, all of it is.

  From my leather jacket, I unzip the inside pocket and grab one of two burner phones. I say a few words, “She knows. M and M flew the coop.”

  “Gotcha, I’m on it,” Jaid responds without a glitch. Her voice is reassuringly calm, steadying me through this storm. “You want Georgia in on it?”

  “Ya, give me all you got.”

  “… Dom?”

  Lighting a smoke, I exhale and grumble, “Negative.” I take another drag and whisper, “Get Amber.”

  Truth is—I don’t trust my wife. I realize I have never actually had a reason to believe her. But I have made foolish, elementary mistakes. And those mistakes have cost me, Merritt Cruz.

  He’s my step-son.

  For reasons even I don’t understand, I instantly become the biggest supporter of Deacon Cruz ever. He likely has no clue he is a father and that alone seems unfortunate. He is as much of victim of Kaci’s deception as I have been. Quite possibly, even more so. My aches with Kaci have been over the course of months – a long-term infection, but the severity of the blast from withholding a child is life-altering. Losing Kaci will change me; Deacon and Merritt not knowing about one another is devastating.

  “Salvatore…” Saint says with his rough, three-pack-a-day-since-he-was-twelve grumble. I don't know that, but fuck it sounds like it. “What can I do for you?”

  Clenching my fingers repeatedly, I ask, “Who did you call?”

  “The one person in the world that I trust. Who did you call, Mr. Raniero?”

  “Same,” I reply, lifting a brow at his chess moves. Saint Cruz is a refined man, unlike my father. Saint isn’t the kind to threaten in a rage with fists and guns drawn but issue staunch, military-like commands. Those warnings should always be heeded, or so I have been coached by Dom.

  His laugh booms through the phone. “Would you like me to do something about the issue?”

  The fact he is referring to Merritt as the issue causes my jaw to constrict and pop. “No, but I thought you should know.”

  “You thought I should know the men who are after you and I are also now after an innocent child. You think this matters?”

  I furrow my brow and insist, “It should…”

  “It doesn't,” he calmly corrects with his heavy European accent. “A life is a life and no matter the age is it worth any more or less. You see that is where they fail. They put all of their worth on the future, and they forget all about the present, what it means, and the ground in which they stand. Their perspective is blurred.” He coughs loud in the distance before clearing his throat and saying, “Pardon me. You know of The Arrangement.”

  Clearing my throat, I reply, “Yes, Sir.”

  “So, why do you come to me now with this? When you know about the deals, we made… The sacrifices we decided to endure to end this war.”

  “Because I thought you just might give a shit,” I bait like the street punk I am.

  I end the call and throw my phone against the wall as I vehemently howl. I collapse to my knees, trembling with fury as the burner rings.

  “Raniero…”

  “You're reckless and wild, Salvatore,” Saint chuckles.

  I snicker. “Maybe I should be joining your club.”

  “Perhaps, but I will do you a favor and break my allegiance in The Arrangement. One time for two favors.”

  “You mean you won't have Merritt hunted down and murdered?”

  “You're quick, too!” He points out cheerfully. “You watch over my son and my lover.”

  With my fingers gripped in my hair, I interject, “…And?”

  “I will make certain your Merritt doesn't die, but you must promise me this—you can never tell Deacon because if you do, my lover will die. Are we clear?”

  Reluctantly, I reply, “Yes, Sir.”

  “And you cannot know where he is, but I promise you—he will be alive.”

  I nod, accepting his terms as we dodge our way through The Arrangement. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  He chokes again. “You’re welcome, but don't call me for any more favors.”

  Favors I end up doing for you.

  I hear the click and know we are done. Not telling Deacon is the easy part, I don't even know him. I only have to worry about keeping Saint’s lover alive if Deacon finds out—who just so happens to be mine as well—Lady Mae.

  As I hunker low to the ground and ask for help, I accept the hardest part is dealing with my conscience.

  “Are you spending the night there?” I ask from our bedroom.


  “Yes,” he replies, softly. “Where are you?”

  I giggle as the suggestion in his voice warms my heart. “In bed.”

  “… Are you alone?”

  “Yes, Sal. All alone,” I reply, eagerly as I take a hit from the glass pipe. “Amber crashed out watching a movie.”

  There is so much I have yet to do and say to Sal. I suffer mass amounts of guilt in my leaving. I know—it’s not my choice. If it were, I wouldn’t choose to be dying at 24 from cancer. I’d live to be 92 and die naturally, safe and warm in my bed. I try not to think about what’s coming and if it will hurt. It already hurts. I’m on a prayer for so much morphine in the end that I don’t know what is happening as being conscious enough to say goodbye before my last breath will irreparably scar Sal.

  I know it; I think he does, too.

  Better to hit the zone of mentally gone. Maybe it’s selfish, but right now, I feel good, and I need to hear Sal come. “Why don’t you…”

  He snickers. “Alone in your parents’ house? You want me to stroke one off…”

  “Pretty much,” I contend with an honest sincerity. “Turn me on, Sal.”

  His sigh rattles the line, but the deep breath a few minutes later lets me know, he still obeys. In that there is a promise, he will honor my wishes for a gracious departure at home. I smirk, keeping the control just a little bit longer—I won’t always have it. I will be forced to surrender it all to the man I built, and he will be rewarded accordingly at my passing.

  His guttural moans succumb to my wishes as my fingers find the dampness in my slit. This isn’t our first journey into phone sex, but it always makes me abundantly wet. I feel like hell, but this is good as I pant and his grunts fill my ear with the sound of his pleasure. We rarely do this via video as it’s so much better with what we cannot see. The blindfold of our distance serves as the restraint.

  He’s getting close, and I pick up the pace as he suddenly stops. “Why didn’t you tell me about Merritt?”

  My heart and breath and hand all stop simultaneously. I stutter with shock and horror and grief for the child I gave away. “Sal…”