Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  “Which is what you are doing to me…” I mutter off as I know I’m selling my soul off to the devil himself. I must embrace one monster to go after the beast of my own genetic pool. “I need this off,” I say, undoing the seatbelt and stripping off my jacket and tie and loosening my shirt. I’m soaked from sweat. “No one said it would be so hard to say goodbye.”

  “If they had, would it have mattered?”

  In my mind, I hear the voices of a thousand men—all coming after me. In the darkness, I’m running, cutting up my body as the rain begins to pour. Lightning strikes and thunder roars as I run as fast as I can, but the only place I can find safety is trapped under the wing of the monster beside me. I crash as my body veers over to his and my head hits his thigh.

  “Oh, my Salvatore,” he eases as his fingers stroke my hair slow and rhythmic. I don’t fight against him as I fall prey and let his darkness enshroud me.

  He pulls a vial from his jacket and offers a fingertip of white to me. I don’t wage war. I’m trained for this. I know this move.

  Play the game you know.

  Yourself. Instructions. Task.

  Get in. Get out. Survive.

  Understand getting in will happen fast and getting out could take years.

  Map the big picture—three possible outcomes and three from each of those—chase the nine possibilities.

  Don’t get cocky and win every round.

  Play to win in the end.

  Eight months of ruthless toxins were pumped into my body all so I could withstand this moment. Sibyl knew it would happen and adjusted my training to custom fit the needs of a ruthless son hell-bent on destroying his father.

  It isn’t the powder which concerns me, but the ring upon his finger. The large ruby is inset with a tiny golden crab. I gently grip his hand, leaning forward and snorting the shit as I embrace the rite of my passage into Cristos’ world.

  If I have to become one of his beautiful things to get close enough for him to trust me, so be it. I can handle the small amount of coke, no problem, but the questions flurrying in my mind, demand answers now.

  “Are you a cancer?”

  He smiles as if caught. “Pardon?”

  “A July baby?”

  He laughs as his fingers continue to work their magic on my mind. “Ahh yes, your Independence Day.”

  “… Really?”

  “Yes, I always celebrate big—fireworks, food, the works. You should come next year.”

  His hand eases over the skin on my neck as his fingertip traces the chain of my crucifix. “Why did you come today?”

  “I have relations to uphold. People at Juliet I care about, I’m a tender-hearted man, Mr. Raniero. Friends are important to me and showing my support in times of crisis makes me feel good.”

  “I’m glad you were here,” I truthfully admit. At least he doesn't want to analyze the obvious, unlike everyone else.

  With the upsurge of my Dominance, they all seem to expect my supervision over my insane wife, but we aren’t built like that. I can’t just take on a role I’ve never sincerely held. She doesn’t know the new me—the creature she fashioned—and this is ultimately one of our biggest obstacles. She was my Mistress – my Dominatrix – but she can no longer be that because she is dying. She cannot lead, and I follow.

  The problem surfaces with a double-edged sharp razor. One, I rarely listen to anyone but Dom anymore. And two, she hasn’t ever listened to anyone but Jack. His refusal to be here for her is a sore spot with me. She could have used his guidance, but he has been devoted to saving his emotions from utter destruction by not getting overly involved with Kaci.

  I was stunned he showed up for her at Christmas. Bastard should have kept her. We wouldn’t be heading into hell at the church if he had.

  “Drive around.”

  Cristos stops petting my raven curls long enough to say, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m done chasing her.”

  “Very well.” He picks up the phone and informs the driver we are to stay in the area but not to head to La Chiesa. “You are playing hard to get.”

  “I’m not playing though.”

  “You are hard to get,” he snickers, lingering his fingers on my neck and down the back of my shirt.

  The exciting part about being this particular King’s pet is I find his pacing remarkable. Most of them are quick to draw and slow to embrace, but Cristos seems the opposite of their ordinary.

  “Who do you care about the most?”

  It’s a loaded question. If I reveal my answer to him, he could use the knowledge for good or evil. According to Kaci, I’m programmed to say Iris Kettles, but I don’t know Iris Kettles. I see her pictures on my screen and smack my meat to her pretty cherubic face. But caring is different. Caring implies love. And I don’t know that I love Iris.

  “Amber.”

  “She is sleeping with Cruz?”

  “Yes,” I say, clenching my teeth and grinding my jaw.

  He must see my doing it because he taps my cheek. “Calm down. I will keep her safe. Where is she now?”

  “Chicago with The Preacher.”

  “Smart move,” he praises, stroking my face. “You know of his involvement and fallout with Cruz?”

  “I know Cruz put him in the slammer to torture him to death.”

  “I will think about ways to remove him from that situation if you promise your loyalty to me will not alter.”

  “We are, for all intents and purposes, one.”

  He sighs with contentment. “You know how to say all the right things, don’t you? You know how to make me happy?”

  “I try.” I reach and touch his knee. His hand lays on mine as I deadpan, “I can imagine it involves copious amounts of swallowing your cum.”

  His laughter brims between us as I roll flat on my back and look up at him. “I greatly enjoy you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  With a tear in his eye, he says, “Thank you for marrying my daughter.”

  “You’re welcome,” I reply without flinching as I look up at my father-in-law. “I would do it again.”

  “… How long have you known?”

  “Since I met with David Hope in Norway. You paid him a whole lot of money to try and save her from being targeted. Just like you paid the society to take Jaid. But you kept your son to continue your legacy.”

  “I am a better father than your own.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Considering I don’t think about doing what I’m about to with you to my own father.”

  He slips the ring from his finger and places it upon mine. “What I’m giving you is worth more than what I have given to my son.”

  “I understand that.”

  “If something happens to me, the answers are there.”

  Leaning up, I pull off my shirt and tank top. His eyes dance over me as I know I’m on the menu, but I would have never gotten in the car if I wasn’t prepared to be his feast.

  “You understand now why I have a certain soft spot for Cruz?”

  “Oh ya, you and he share a grandchild in Merritt Amos Hope Cruz.”

  “And you understand why I removed him?”

  “Yes,” I reply, refusing to break our stare. “But is Cassidy…”

  “Cassidy is not mine. Nor is she David Hope’s child. I have no idea who her father is, and that is the truth. She has been nothing but trouble since birth.”

  “And Jaid?”

  “She and Kaci share the same mother.”

  “They are full sisters, and you let them carry on in some romantic relationship for four years to keep them both safe,” I marvel at the mayhem in his manipulations. I gotta hand it to the guy; he’s a piece of work.

  “If they knew they were siblings, all hell would have broken loose, and I would have lost both of them. I’ve managed to keep Priscilla Christiane,” he says with a smirk. “Jaid,” he corrects, using her alias for my benefit, “safe this long.”

  “… Her real name is Priscilla?�
�

  “Yes,” he chuckles. “Kaci stayed with her mother, and she opted to send her off to be adopted. My mistress and I kept seeing one another and eventually, she became pregnant again. I lied to my wife, said I wanted to adopt a baby, and we ended up taking Priscilla. I named her and insisted we give her the surname Grace like her mother.”

  I close my eyes as I know the harm these men have done all in the interest of protecting their children. “Go on…”

  “Eventually, I decided I would be making a mistake by trying to keep Priscilla, so I destroyed the heart of the woman I loved—my mistress—by ending my marriage. She knew I was sending our child away with my wife and that left her brokenhearted. My wife left Europe and relocated in the states. I expected her to be a good mother, but she fell into an unsavory life. Despite her obstacles, Priscilla was brilliant and graduated high school at fifteen. I had her taken and recruited to Sibyl by Kaci.”

  “Does Kaci have any clue?”

  “If she does, she has never said anything to me. I left a vast trust fund to Kaci and a much smaller amount to Cassidy, so it would all appear legitimate.”

  My heartbeat thumps hard in my chest as the pounding becomes all I hear. There is no end to the depth of their depravity in concealing the truth. “I know where she gets her insanity from.”

  His smile brightens the gloomy nightmare. “You choose to merge with me because you knew by inheriting her money you were essentially already inheriting mine. You did it purposefully to honor me.”

  Not exactly.

  But sure, I’ll go with that.

  More like Cristos has more money than any of the others and while it doesn’t guarantee a win, it helps. “I did,” I lie and top it off with a sexy smirk. “Shall we consummate this merger?”

  “… Do you always play dirty?”

  “I will do whatever is necessary to get to the goal.”

  “And the goal is…”

  “To kill my father and everyone associated with him.”

  His hands rush to undo his belt and unzip his slacks. I lick my lips. “You need not touch me. Just sit and be a pretty thing.”

  And I do.

  Through every pump and groan and last drop of cum, I watch as we morph and become something new. I need his money. He needs something beautiful to stare at while he jerks off.

  If Cristos chooses me, I welcome him and the money he brings. All the while ignoring the hard cock I’ve got trapped in my trousers.

  And if you think it is because of him, you don’t know me very well… or do you?

  21. Looking for Jesus

  Tuesday, December 28

  4 days before…

  Gazing at the ring on my finger, I wake up at the loft in Houston. I spent the rest of the evening in Cristos’ care. We drove aimless for hours until I finally said, “Take me home, please.”

  With a proud snarl—like he knew I had accepted his offer, he asked, “Houston, Sugargrove, or New Orleans?”

  Though returning to The Dollhouse and Dom sounded appealing – cleansing, even – after watching Cristos’ repeated jerk offs to my beautiful mug, I chose Houston. It was close enough to where we were—somewhere in the middle of nowhere between Austin and San Antonio.

  Why not go back to Sugargrove?

  Because I had been made to feel less than in front of everyone at La Chiesa. Serene’s harsh words were syllables strung together to form violent lashes against my very soul. They contaminated my spirit with dread because I couldn’t control Kaci. I couldn’t do anything. I was helpless.

  And as a Dom, I never want to feel so absent again.

  By the grace of some higher being, I was blessed with Cristos to take my mind off of it all. He wasn’t bad looking, had an incredible accent, and if I'm sincere, he didn’t look half bad smacking his meat in the back of the car.

  I offered to swallow. Give a hand job. Take the anal. Anything to solidify Cristos' deal with me. I knew he was my father-in-law, but it didn’t matter. He had buttloads of money that I could build an army with to destroy my father and his minions.

  It was somewhat sociopathic – a little psychotic – but downright a brilliant move on my part. I never disputed the cocky, arrogant, or asshole claim. Hell, I’ll even own up to being a motherfucker—now.

  Because in the midst of it all, when his custom-tailored suit and fine shirt are soaked in his own cum and sex is reeking up the whole car, all I’m thinking about is being four—or ten—or fourteen—or any number in between and my father knocking me around like a fucking slab of meat he was trying to tenderize. He broke my nose and multiple bones, but his words couldn’t hurt me as I became immune. Much like I was to Cristos’ indulgent display of self-coping.

  Sex is sex. Love is love.

  And never should the two intermingle.

  Cristos refused to be involved with anyone since his mistress, the girls’ mother – Jacqueline – was murdered. And at least to me, that alone spoke volumes about what the man was capable of when he cared.

  Actions speak the words we define.

  With Merritt safe and out of the picture, I have little reason not to confront Kaci. But does she need the burden? Probably not. She is the product of an affair gone horribly wrong, but I could say that about so many of us.

  I send Georgia a quick text, “We need to investigate Kaci’s mom’s death.”

  The response comes almost instantaneously. “We can try, but I will warn you. You aren’t the first to go knocking on that door only to have it unanswered.”

  Shit.

  “If I were you, I would approach it differently. In reverse, by finding out who wanted her dead. Find your killer. The dead can’t speak; the living can if you ask the right questions. But the last time I suggested this, I was knocked off the case.”

  “By who?”

  “Card-S.”

  I close my eyes, uncertain of why Serene wouldn’t want the case looked into. Her sister was brutally tortured for days and murdered. I could say that maybe the whole ordeal was just too painful for her to deal with, but it smells fishy. And fish smell anywhere is never good.

  I double-check my email and texts once again before I hit the shower. I hoped Kace would have tried to communicate with me somehow, but I imagine she is safe in the arms of Jack. And as much as that hurts me, at least I know she is happy.

  I drop my pajamas and make my way to the shower. The water is warm and feels good as I realize I walked away from a party yesterday. I never do that. I’m the flirty and festive one, but after Kaci’s terrible behavior the last thing I wanted to do was see any of the family. Serene was pissed off at me. Jack was sleeping with my wife. And Anna would be disappointed I hadn’t been around much. The list could go on and on.

  Under the water, I imagine Amber on her knees, sucking my cock, and looking up at me with those doe eyes that beg for taking. Before I can slow down, I sputter on the shower floor and let out a hefty groan.

  “Is this what you do when I’m not around?”

  My eyes flash open, startled. “What the fuck?”

  In a pink and red head scarf, Kaci stands outside the shower door peering in at me. “You’re creepy, girl.”

  “Thanks,” she says with an eager smile. “Can we talk?”

  “If we must,” I reply, cutting off the water and stepping out of the shower. She hands me a towel as I march towards the bedroom. She’s hot on my tail, and I expect our talk will be even more heated.

  “Look, I know you are mad…”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Raniero shut the fuck up,” she says, pulling off her oversized white sweatshirt. My mouth opens at the bruising all over her arms and the intravenous ports left in either arm. “We are trying one last round. We started on Christmas Eve. And I reacted very poorly to some of the cocktails. That’s why Jack asked if I was taking anything else. I wasn’t. I had an awful run.”

  I stare, wholly sideswiped. The last thing I ever imagined was Kaci, who swore up and down
she was done, doing another round of chemo treatments. “Where did you get it?”

  “Jack got it from someplace overseas, some experimental shit. It’s a shot in the dark, and I’m not super positive, but he persuaded me to try it on Christmas Eve. But it’s fucking intense, and I’m pretty damn sick.”

  Lowering my head in shame, I cover my face with my hand as I want to cry. “You weren’t sleeping with Jack?”

  “No,” she says, approaching slow. “But I also didn’t communicate with you what I was doing, so I cannot fault you for Amber or Allison.”

  Without knowing what to say, I segue the whole discussion. “You know Jaid was jumped in New York?”

  “I heard,” she replies, sitting on the bed. Our fingers brush against one another, and I’m once again reminded how much I love this woman; how much I need this woman. “What are you going to do?”

  Rubbing her fingers, I shake my head. “I have no idea. You have any suggestions?”

  “You need to do what is best for you.”

  “And if it doesn’t make sense?”

  She snickers, glancing at her arms and lifting them up. “Sometimes you have to trust your gut even if your mind knows better.”

  “Where is your God?” I hear her whisper in the middle of the night. Under the sheet, we are naked and bare and not just our flesh. “How will I find him or her?”

  “God finds you.”

  She rolls on her side, careful to not mush her arms. “Do you believe that when you pray?”

  “I’m busy asking for forgiveness for the sins I’m about to commit.”

  “So, you think your lifestyle is a sin?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I think we both know the word lifestyle is offensive to most like us.”

  “You need it to breathe.”

  “I need it to be me.” Giving in to our philosophical banter, I move closer and graze the tips of my finger over her face. “It isn’t a choice.”

  “Will I find someone on the other side?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, thinking about what she finds important. Because it isn’t the same as me. We are remarkably different, not only as a man and woman but in the thought process. I consider the absolutes. The critical issues of the moment like will this treatment work or are we simply wasting time?