Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  Holy shit! This is the girl on my tablet.

  Her eyes light up as I realize who she is. If there is a comparable female image in the community to my male fet pics, it is this girl. “I take it you have seen his work, judging by the um…twitch.”

  “Yes, yes, I have.”

  “When Ashley told me who all was going to be here, my mind went into overdrive because I’ve wanted to meet you for a while. I have spent days drooling over your pictures.”

  You aren’t alone there, sweetheart.

  “It’s time we hook up.”

  Her laughter blossoms with a nervousness. “I would love to,” she whispers, kissing my neck and arching her hips out in an invitation. I grab her chin, forcing her to take my mouth. I’m ravenous and hungry as I plunge my tongue inside of her and devour her need.

  Under the shallow water, my hand drops to her hip, and I thrust hard inside of her warmth as I lift her up. We drip in the steam of our absolute abandon; we do not care about the after effects. She is my water in the Sahara. The oasis for which I can restore my mana for another battle. “Jesus, Sal, fuck me. Please,” she pants, begging. “Please.”

  We are the graceful misfits in the water, the black swans sharing in our reflective pond. Without words, she knows the complex dichotomy between the noise of fame and the quiet solitude we crave. And at that moment, I’m not alone. She is constructed as much as I am, layer upon layer of beautifully shaped clay and hard-earned discipline.

  Trusting my strength, she bows out, letting her body arch backward as her fingers skim the water. We are hungry strangers seeking asylum in one another. I take my time because a mystical screw like this doesn’t come around often.

  Soaring through the rush of being each other’s fans, we unexpectedly capture what we have longed for in one another. Under the dark sky, I find a sanctuary and sacred temple in the chaos. My daily routine of playing the game to render bloodshed in a land I never asked to belong to subsides with every push and pull and passionate mauling of our bodies.

  “Sal!” Kaci startles, breaking our waves with a crash of her shore. I collapse with the inevitable knowledge that Allison is nothing more than a mirage in the sandstorm of my existence.

  From the side of the pool, I note Dom and Jack are flanking her with concerned expressions. I fret this thing of magnificent splendor was an error I won’t soon forget. “Grandfather Earl passed away!”

  20. Just Another Guy Part II

  Monday, December 27

  5 days before…

  Our drive back to Houston that night is silent as I’m reminded of our first trip together to La Chiesa. I pissed her off with my insatiable dick. She maintains a distant stance as I imagine I’ve done it again.

  In becoming the monster she wanted me to be, Kaci failed to see how much damage I would inflict on her. Aside from that, I’m confident she is angry as hell. Allison Randall was not on her “approved” list. I broke her protocol and her agenda in doing my own thing.

  In this, I’m now punished by her quiet reflections out the window. “Did you have a good Christmas? Get everything you wanted?”

  Her gaze shifts to me as we hit the Texas state line. “You bastard.”

  “You sculpted it, baby.”

  “Not to be fucking some two-bit hussy in Dom’s pool!”

  “She is a hand therapist,” I argue, knowing it will do no good.

  She shakes her head with a pissed off scowl. “Her hands were damn sure doing some therapy on you!”

  “What the fuck… Kace!” I pound my fist into the steering wheel as the fury takes hold. “I’m fucked with you if I do as you say, I’m fucked with you if I don’t. Either way, I get fucked over. Besides, you went off with your lover boy.”

  Her eyes open wide. “… Did you seriously call Dr. Jack Kerris my lover boy?”

  “Ya, because you should have married him!”

  “He wouldn’t marry me, or I would have!”

  “Why in the fuck was it so goddamned important for you to marry right before the end?”

  “Fuck you,” she says as I pull into the gas station and notice Dale stopping as well. He is riding one of the Christmas presents from Kaci. I hate the fact I have a watchdog, but there isn’t much I can do about it either.

  Kaci storms out of the vehicle and disappears inside. Shortly after that, I see her stomping towards the back with a large piece of wood and a key attached, great old relics of small town gas stations.

  I start the pump and spring across the lot after her. The door is just about to close when my fingertips slip inside and prohibit such. She doesn’t get to be alone as I force her to face the facts.

  “What the hell are you doing, Sal? Get the fuck out of the women’s restroom.”

  “No,” I say, standing with my feet slightly spread like we are going to rumble. “Not until we have made up.”

  “Why the fuck do you want to make up with me so bad? Just go on about your merry way and keep fucking every skank this side of the Mississippi!”

  I want to slap her. I don’t do it. But I want to. For all the shit she has put me through, and the lies she told and allowed me to believe. Even when others less intimate to her than I knew such things. We are at war. And this is my declaration as I make one final attempt at fighting for my wife to love me.

  I’m a glutton for punishment. And a masochist to boot. I offer up no excuses for either, only saying I’ve got a big heart and a need to forgive what many would deem unforgivable. Perhaps therein, she found the least resistance in breaking me. I can be vulnerable, overshadowing my own needs to do good for the sake of others. In this way, I serve, but it is my only submissive quality. Maybe it always was. And it was enough of a crack in my framework to let her poaching season begin on my brain. The structure wasn’t rigid enough, and I wasn’t an impenetrable fortress back then.

  I am now.

  And she hates it.

  “Do you hate me?”

  Her head bounces up from staring at the floor as she sits on the commode. “You are my husband.”

  “That isn’t an answer,” I repeat the question with coddling, but firm insistence. “Do you hate me?”

  “No. But I don’t always like you. Especially when I don’t like me. I saw you in the pool with that girl…”

  I interject, “Allie.”

  “Yes,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Allie. And I realized how much I had failed you.”

  The building could have fallen on my head, and I would be less stunned by that than her feelings. “… What?”

  “I failed you. My body failed you. I fell in love and shit went south fast. You didn’t promise forever to a girl with cancer.”

  “No, I promised forever to you. Fuck the cancer. Eliminate the cancer from the equation.”

  “I can’t,” she says, pulling off my Saints cap we bought on our shopping trip.

  “You’ve got a great head babe. And you give good head, too.”

  She sighs and giggles at me as she flushes the toilet and goes to pull up her jeans. “I just wish you understood.”

  Without thinking, I push her to face the wall and grab the foot-long key holder in my palm. I don’t pause as I wallop it hard into her bottom. Her mouth gapes open in surprise as I do it again and again. Spanking my bald wife in a dank gas station bathroom was not on my list of things to do today, but it may very well prove to be the most important thing I do.

  I’m careful with her as I hold back the absolute urge to go at her flesh because she bruises up far too quickly. And while some are nice, these would be too much. When I’m thoroughly done and hard as a fucking rock, I toss the key in the sink. It clanks loud as I spin her around and kiss her slow. My hands are everywhere, lifting her shirt and groping and fondling. She may be riddled with cancer, but she is still my fucking wife.

  I pinch her nipple enough to make her react, and I remind, “You did not fail me. Say it.”

  “You did not fail me,” she sarcastically mumbles.

&n
bsp; I growl, “I did not fail me.”

  Her eyes light up to mine. “Now don’t forget it.”

  I kiss her hard and demanding as her final lesson splits the path between who we were and who we have become. My hand cups her hot, wet cunt, but I refuse to partake. We aren’t making love here. She deserves better. I drop down and flick my tongue against her bud as I pull up her jeans. “I fucking love you. I love you like I will never love another and don’t you ever forget it.”

  Her sniffles turn into sobs. “I love you, too.”

  And with that, it is time to take her home.

  Despite the fact we are both running on empty and full of exhaustion, we stop in Houston briefly to get clothes before heading to the funeral this afternoon near La Chiesa. Not surprisingly, the moment we are back in the Cruiser, Kaci passes out. I hear her snoring which tries to lull me, so I end up grabbing my headphones out of my backpack and blasting a mix of NiN, Five Finger Death Punch, and Thirty Seconds to Mars the whole way there.

  Earl passed away in the early morning hours of the twenty-fourth. No one knew where we were until Serene finally got ahold of Jack on his work phone. He had it off for his rendezvous with my wife. I haven’t asked, and I don’t intend to, much like I do not offer the sordid details with my side pieces. I merely want to pretend it didn’t happen.

  None of it.

  But in my heart—I remain worried about Amber. Amber is building a relationship with The Preacher as Georgia finishes the final touches on a room stashed with the latest security. We’ve installed the best in Amber’s room and spent a damn fortune. I don’t care. Money comes, and money goes.

  Jaid is remaining at The Dollhouse until I decide how long Nick Veramonte continues to breathe. It won’t be long. I fear she may be compromised and that could end up being her death sentence. She maintains Vinny and Marcello didn’t see her, but I know Fink did, and he saved her—thankfully. The merger with Cristos will solidify Fink’s continued silence and allegiance to me because he may be flamboyantly gay and love his paddles on the asses of some amazing women, but he isn’t stupid. If Fink rats me out, Cristos will kill him.

  And after I’m done processing all of that, I think of Allison and her divine presence in my life. I’m thankful and humble. She’s normal. Well, normal for me. Her only game is one involving ropes and submission, and that is something I can fuck with without fear. She represents the freedom to be that which I do not know.

  The guns have been returned to Cinco, and I know Kaci was to blame. Yes, in essence, she stole guns from her adoptive father’s motorcycle club to put me in a better spot. I owe her one. I speculate she hired Pharm and his crew to do it only to elevate my standing amongst the three seas—Cristos, Cruz, and Cinco.

  Dom muttered the three C’s were at bay as I was saying goodbye to – read: making out with – Jaid. I took his notions a step further and said, “Those aren’t bays, they are fucking seas full of secrets.” And thus, the term came to be.

  He’s excited as am I. Our merger with the three seas may not be the best choice, but it is our only choice. He is staying behind in New Orleans to watch over Jaid’s recovery. And the best part of it all, Ashley spent the night with Dom. I only know because her gorgeous figure was stuffed into a short pink silk robe.

  Allison hastily disappeared after we were caught fornicating in the pool, but I managed to wrangle her number out of Ashley before we left. Sweet charmer I am.

  I really liked my dick in your sister, may I have her number so I can finish the job?

  Actually, I was nicer than that, but not by much. Direct works well with some people. Ashley is not one I have to worry about skirting the edge with and in that regard, I kind of hope her and Dom do work out.

  But until they go public, his secret is safe with me. I understand his reluctance. Everyone we touch becomes infected with our virulence and swiftly earns a scope focused on their head. It’s dangerous and not one in which we take lightly. I’m glad Allie chose to make herself scarce.

  The only other one who knows about those girls is Delarte Cristos, and he has such a boner for me, I doubt he would do anything to put our relationship in jeopardy.

  After word got out that Kaci’s grandfather passed, I was inundated with condolences from all over the world including Saint Cruz. His call surprised me the most as he seemed so distant, an island unto himself. I respect that, but props to him for going out of his way to check on us. I wonder if his son, Deacon, is a loner as I know the day will be here soon enough where I will need to become his best friend somehow.

  I hastily pull into the driveway of La Chiesa. I hate coming here as all I see are red and blue lights and the body bag of the woman I once genuinely loved—Bertrand. The bloody massacre has long been cleaned, but the memory of that night will forever remain etched on my soul.

  “Baby, come on,” I urge, waking Kaci up. “You have to shower.”

  “Shit, what time is it?”

  “1:34.”

  “Ok,” she says, yawning. “And the funeral is in town?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will be full of a bunch of old people from the nursing home.”

  “I’m aware,” I say before grabbing our bags out of the back and going to open her door. “I cannot go in there,” I say, trotting through the memories. “I’m going to change out here.”

  “Okay. Can you promise me something?” I gaze down at her sleepy expression. “I want to be in Sugargrove. It is my home.”

  “I know, we have the plot,” I remind, knowing her memory is slipping. “We had to track down the owners of that spot you wanted.”

  “And you did it for me because you are the man who will be a King…”

  “I did it for you because I love you.”

  “That too,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t leave me.”

  Latching my arm underneath hers, I assure, “I’m never leaving you, baby.”

  “Miss me, but do not destroy yourself.”

  That’s a nice theory—easier spoken than practiced.

  “I would like to thank everyone for coming,” Serene tearfully says from the podium in the largest church in town. “I know the holidays are always a busy time for so many of you, but please know the Hope family greatly appreciates your presence here. Reverend James is now going to say our final prayer. Thank you all again.”

  “I didn’t know Earl was a member here,” Kaci mumbles, nudging my arm. She is somewhat spacey today, staring at the picture of the black Jesus like she’s praying for an answer.

  “He wasn’t,” I whisper, holding tight to her unsteady frame. “Karissa and Delilah called to arrange it because they knew we would pack the house.”

  Her body spins around, facing the wrong direction in the pew as the good Reverend tried to finish despite her becoming somewhat of a spectacle. “… Why are all these people here?”

  “They are here for you, Kace,” Jack encourages from her other side. Her fingers grip my arm, and she stands on the pew as the embarrassing moment turns to unruly sacrilege. “I’m not dead yet, and Earl wouldn’t want you all crying. Everyone meet up at La Chiesa for a party!”

  “That would be the reception. And we are having it at the nursing home,” I try and correct as I look at the shocked faces of my extended Juliet family.

  “That sounds morbid,” she booms loud. “Let’s party!”

  Mortified, Jack blinks at me and mumbles, “How much candy has she had?”

  I shrug. Up until this moment, Kace hadn’t shown any overt signs of going off the deep end. Maybe she has always been off the deep end, and this is her normal. “Holy fuck there is a lot of people here!”

  Striding out of the end of the pew and down to the middle where we are trapped, Serene scolds, “Kacilyn Mae, get your ass down now!”

  “Fuck you, whore!”

  She steps from the pew to the wooden barrier between us and the altar and jumps down. At the end of the row, she grabs Cas’ hand and the two dash out of the church.
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  “What the hell was that about?” Serene fumes at me. “You need to control her.”

  “I have no clue, but there has never been any controlling Kaci Hope. You outta know that by now,” I rebuke, making my way over the wall as I take off after them. I swing open the doors of the church in just enough time to see Kaci about to drive away in her car.

  “Oh shit!” I yell, chasing the Cruiser into the parking lot. She peels out and kicks up a cloud of dust. “No! No! Kaci!”

  “Come on. I will have my driver take us,” Cristos smoothly says from behind me. “Don’t turn around, don’t look back, just walk out. Ignore what all just happened.”

  In the back of his Benz, I break down. “I just don’t understand how come she did something so…”

  “She’s dying,” he comfortingly says. “Caring about what people think is long gone. She is going to do what she wants. This is the pure essence of who she is. Don’t fight it. Savor it.” He pulls a flask out of the bag on the floorboard. “Drink. And if you need something more, let me know.”

  “I need protection on Allison Randall.”

  “Consider it done,” he quickly says. “And Iris Kettles may be under your jurisdiction soon enough, and I know you will have your team on her, but please accept the gift of my own eyes on her as well.”

  “Thank you,” I say as my trembling hands lift the silver flask to my lips. The liquid burns so good. “What else you got?”

  “Pills, weed, coke…”

  “I need a consistent order of quality cut blow sent to Amber—Mae East—at Gina’s in New Orleans on a weekly basis.”

  He smiles. “I’ll give you anything you want, Salvatore as long as you keep my daughter breathing. I understand you cannot save Kaci.”

  “No, I can’t…” I wallow, bending over and crying. His hand rubs my back lightly. “I cannot control everything.”

  “As a Master, you will learn over time, to accept the chaos of destiny. You can learn to control people within the confines of their mind, but not always the external outcomes.”