I’m sliding out of Amber and further away from the confines of my past. While I know the days of mourning and grief lay ahead, there is a spark – a sliver of hope – that I will find me.
And because of some pixie dust—I’ll be one badass motherfucker.
“Raniero,” Jack says after the tearful graveside service. “I need to give you this.” He hands a white envelope to me. “It’s the final report from Sibyl on Kaci’s death.”
Placing the morbid-filled envelope in my jacket, I embrace him. “Thank you for everything you did. No hard feelings?”
“None,” he says, gripping my shoulder. “We were all high-strung up on the emotions of loss.”
“We didn’t lose,” I contend with a smirk. “She won. But we didn’t lose because we weren’t playing yet.” His expression shifts to one of confusion. “Her one goal was to create me. She went after her goal, and she got it. And she’ll keep getting it as long as I stay true to myself and the mission.”
“You grew up on me,” he says with a genuine smile. “I’m not sure when it happened, but the man looks damn good on you, Kid.”
From the fence, Dom watches over me as I kiss Amber and Nonna farewell. He meanders closer with a smirk as I catch a glimpse of Dale Archer, standing guard on the sidelines. “If you need anything…”
“I’ll call,” I assure, putting on my shades. “I just need some time.”
“Take all the time you need, Boston.” He wraps his arms around me, and we cry together.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you call off the hound for a while?”
“Promise you will come when you are ready?” He tosses Dale a look and returns to me. “I don’t want to go fishing you out of any pond.”
“I swear I got this,” I promise, kissing his cheeks. “I’m trained for this.”
“Don’t fall apart on me now.”
“Nevah!” I grin like the devil and we both laugh.
With everyone leaving, I meander over to a nearby crypt. Sitting on the steps, I chain smoke as the many cars depart, returning to their daily existences. To them, Kaci’s death was but a hiccup; to me, this is life-altering. Time to start over. Time to do more.
Time to—Do. Better.
I chunk my jacket, tossing it on the grass and watching the chaos unfurl as Cas appears from behind. “I had to stay and say goodbye to everyone before I could say goodbye to her. I feel like I’ve lost half of who I used to be.”
“Welcome to the club,” I chide, popping open my box of smokes and offering her one.
Taking one, Cas says, “I like your bike…”
With her words, I end up spending the afternoon with her, riding and reminiscing. We share a love of Kaci, but I never mention they aren’t full sisters because, at this point, it doesn’t matter. Back at the cemetery, I toss Cas the keys to the beautiful Harley-Davidson.
“Are you serious?”
“Ya, Kaci loved this bike,” I reveal, running my hand over the seat. “She hated knowing that she would never be able to ride one herself. So, you do it. Learn for her, ride in her memory.”
On her tiptoes, Cas hugs my neck tight. “Oh, my god, I know why she loved you so…”
“If you ever need anything at all, Cassidy—you call me, got it?”
“Got it,” she says with a mock salute. “Thanks, Raniero.”
“You are most welcome, Hope.” I turn away quickly, not letting her see the tears flowing over my cheeks. I have a new Hope now, one to watch over, guard, and protect. And I will be ever-vigilant to keep her safe because Mrs. Raniero wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Watching her drive off, I wave and realize I forgot to give Amber back her piece. I have no idea how many bangs that girl must have, but I can guarantee that wasn’t the only one in her possession. What is far more concerning though is Cas now has the gun. “Fuck.”
Closing my eyes, I duck my head down and cry. I have no worries I will get it back. I light a smoke and watch the sun drift into a pink-tinted sky. I’m going to make mistakes – that is a given – what counts is the recovery, including this one. All day long I have put on a show. They need to think I’m okay so that they will leave me the fuck alone.
Play them like a well-tuned instrument, Pretty Boy. Give them what they want, and then do your own thing.
I wander around the cemetery for a bit. The air smells clean with hints of cedar trees. In the distance, chimes clatter with a resonating solace in the breeze. She is at peace, but I’m at war. And so far away from a tranquil place.
Everyone is having a big get together at Anna’s house with food and such. I’m not actually in the mood to be social, so I hang out with Kace and talk to God as I discover the main road around the cemetery is precisely one point six miles. “I could so run this bitch.”
“You could,” the voice behind me says.
“Allison.”
She smiles. “Salvatore.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, shocked by her presence.
“I’ve been hanging out in the shadows most of the day,” she softly admits. “I saw you were praying over her coffin, and I almost broke down to come by your side, but then I saw… Amber, I think is her name, and I decided not to interfere. But then when you never showed up for the reception, I thought I would go looking for you.”
This girl is chasing my ass.
Grinning and shaking my head, I grip the bridge of my nose as I wonder how I missed the sight of this serendipitous girl, watching over me. She was not the kind of beaut one overlooks, but I forgive myself for the glitch.
I’m not perfect.
Mistakes will happen.
Scanning around the empty, darkening cemetery, she asks, “How were you planning on leaving?”
“I hadn’t gotten that far.”
“Can we start there?” Her flirtatious smile tips up. Stepping out of the way, she waves her hands in a hostess manner as I see the pretty red truck. Her eyes flicker with the enticing offer. “Maybe get some food and liquid of some kind in you.”
Her desire to care for the most basic of things sends a chill through me. She is entirely unplanned and off the grid as I don’t think Kaci had anything to do with Allison Randall’s presence before me. And that is a powerful lure, going out on my own and venturing beyond the zone lines. It is dangerous. Stay on the playing field.
Fuck no.
“Let’s go. I’ll call in a burger order at Idamae’s.”
“No tomatoes.”
I stop and blink. I’m Italian. Tomatoes are in my damn blood. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, I can’t stand them. I think they’re slimy, nasty little things.”
I laugh. And forget. And she lets me drive her truck.
Knowing my family is all at Anna’s, I stop by Idamae’s and grab my order from Louise. She plants a kiss on my cheek. “If you need anything…”
I grin. “Just the food.”
Driving all the backroads, I pull up into the farmhouse and pop it into four-wheel drive as we jostle across the damp pasture. It’s been raining for days. “You like it.”
“What?”
“My truck,” she says with a smile.
“I like driving,” I say, pulling up outside the new Cardinal-S dungeon. “And you aren’t bad either.” I tease and grin. “I’m sorry about what happened in New Orleans.”
“So am I… That’s why I’m here.” She lays her hand on top of mine as our eyes lock and we kiss. “If I weren’t interested, I wouldn’t have bothered to find you.”
“But you did,” I say, brushing her hair away from her face. “Come on. I want to show you this. You’ll appreciate it.”
I unlock the doors as we make our way into the magnificent structure. “Holy shit. Is that reclaimed wood?”
“It is,” I answer, watching her expression light up with the possibilities. “They just finished building it a few weeks ago. I designed it.”
&
nbsp; “This is awesome! May I go look?”
“Absolutely! Go ahead. The raised platform is built for suspension with reinforced rafters.”
“And perfect for shibari,” she says, biting her lip and touching everything. “Oh my gosh!”
“I knew you would love it.”
“I want to do a shoot here with all this gorgeous wood.” She is like a kid in a candy store—a true submissive in a dungeon of this caliber—she understands the essence. “Sal…”
“Ya?”
Standing on the platform, she pulls down her auburn locks, and they drift to her shoulders. Under the dim lights, she slowly unbuttons her blouse and lets her skirt sweep to the wooden floor as she reveals her pure white undergarments. Her small breasts held in place by an old-fashioned string corset and lace crotchless panties framed with a garter and stockings. “Shoes on or off?”
Holy fuck am I in trouble.
“Off, the shorter, the better.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Pick up the ball, Sal. You have a willing submissive,” I hear Kaci say. “What do you do?”
Well, I panic a little as my pulse quickens and my breath becomes erratic. I know this language, but it feels so strange without my Mistress to tutor and instruct. I once breathed this, ate this, and lived this on a daily basis, but it is foreign now.
“Make your move, Raniero,” Kaci reprimands. “You are losing time. Go!”
“Safe word?”
With her lip curling up on the side, she whispers, “Tomato.”
“… Seriously?”
She nods. “Mhmm, my Masters tease me and say they’re going to torture me by making me eat tomatoes because I seem to be able to take everything else they toss my way.”
Oh. Shit.
“When faced with a submissive who may potentially be better than your Dominant, what do you do?” Kaci says as we sit on the beach during our honeymoon. “You do your best and make no excuses, but you try to learn something. The Dominant isn’t really above the sub, that’s the shit of fantasies. It’s more fluid than that. Both the Dom and sub give and take; if it is a proper, working relationship.”
I nervously pause with my hands trembling as she smiles and whispers, “I know you, babe. You can do this. Take your time. Find the ground.”
Stripping off my jacket and shirt, I smirk. I pull off my shoes and socks as I head to the sink and splash water on my face and soak my hair. I toss it back and water splashes on Allie. She giggles, and it sounds good.
This feels good.
Turning around, I give up a devilish grin and point to the spanking bench without saying a word.
“Yes, Sir.”
I pull the riding crop off the pegboard as I pace around her—stalking and taking aim. The first strike comes down hard as I relish in the sound and tears fill my eyes. But I don’t stop. “Count it.”
“One,” she whispers as I proceed to roll out with four more. The sound of her counting fills the void in my head, overcoming the loud voices which threaten with each drumming pound. We are dancing – she and I – back and forth in this graceful dance of Dom and sub.
“You mark up beautifully,” I praise and rub, bringing the crop against her flesh again.
“Sixteen…”
Everything dissipates as we travel further into the lands of an unwavering trust. My will crisscrosses her reddened bottom as I reignite with the smallest of smoke of the fetish I love. Every pop builds the need until the fire blossoms in my hands. “We got this.”
“Yes, we do. Twenty-two.”
“Fuck it,” I mumble, tossing the crop and dropping my pants.
Twenty-two lashes to bring back my soul from the brink. Twenty-two lashes are willingly taken to find a submissive. Twenty-two demanding strikes against another’s flesh to send my Dom into an inferno of lust.
Twenty-two.
I thrust into her fast and hard as we fuck—volatile and rough, sending the fire into a blazing fury that we couldn’t stop even if we tried.
“Allie, come on my dick,” I command, testing her abilities. In seconds, I feel her clench onto my cock, and I skyrocket like fireworks in the darkened night with an eruption of my rebirth. I am alive. This is me.
Hours later, Allie is tangled in the sheets of the bed sound asleep. I’m restless. I pick up the dungeon—the crop, the paddle we used in the second round, and the spreader bar which made her somewhat nervous. Allie was like having a new, shiny toy. She didn’t want a romance; she wanted a Dom.
And I provided.
Grabbing her half-eaten burger out of the fridge, I find my jacket in amongst our pile of clothes and pull the envelope out from Jack. There is no writing on the front, but inside is the story of my wife’s death. Every active Sibyl agent will receive one at the time of their demise. There are no markings to discern where it is from or that Sibyl is even responsible.
Her name is listed as Kacilyn Mae Hope Raniero, and the sight makes me smile. I scan over the document with our address in Houston and facts, figures, and statistical info. It’s all basic stuff I already know.
On the very bottom, her height of five two makes me snicker, but her weight makes me cringe. She was so tiny, so small, so fragile. She shattered in my hands. I gaze down and blink several times—the number of live births: 2.
I stop breathing.
I know The Arrangement.
I know what happens to our children.
Merritt is safe, but—where the hell is number 2?
Flipping the paper over, I see Kaci’s handwriting and her final words to me—
Iris is the key.
Ms. Samuels Notes #15
22
Whoa. That was a tough one.
This book has put me through so much.
But let’s back up…
So, last summer as I was working on the RIDE series, it occurred to me that I had a gap—a pretty big one at that—from where Hopechest left off (January 2011) to where Juliet begins (March 2014). Three years I needed to find out what Sal was doing, but I was okay with that and thus, the SONS series was born.
What I never saw coming was Kaci, demanding attention. She wanted the final days – between the honeymoon and her last breath – from his perspective in a book called 22. Kaci, being who she is, was quite adamant I give birth to this story.
Personally, I wasn’t sure I could. For one, there is nothing good at the end of this. And two it was one of the final pieces of Kaci’s fabric that had to get stitched in just so or it wouldn’t be right. 22 had to tie in SOS (The Story of Salvatore) to SONS (Son of Saint) to JULIET and TAT (Salt Kissed Love) books.
It was essentially having a missing puzzle piece and my job – thanks, Kace – was cutting the last puzzle piece to custom fit the slot. My hope was to give you the complete picture, but all the while finishing Kaci’s part of her story with dignity, grace, and respect.
I say finish her part only because Sal’s part – his healing over everything that has happened – has just started and if you have read Juliet and SKL, you know how broken he still remains.
Sal makes an appearance in every book but one—She. His clandestine appearance in A&E and somewhat bigger role in He provide some measure of knowing he is still working and doing what needs to be done.
However, now we have to get there from 2015-2018. So, what comes next?
I’m going to finish coloring in the 2011-2014 via the SONS: Saint, Angel (Dom, late summer 2018), Nonna (Sal’s childhood, fall 2018), and Master (Nick, Valentines 2019). The four form the foundation of The Unholy (formerly, the unholy trinity) to take on their fathers.
And well, for better or worse, I’m going to tell you 2015-2018. We have Juliet Book II and 3 Tomb of Ashen Tears books to get to that point. For Sami aficionados, I can promise you certain things:
•Alex and Bleu will be back.
•Joe and Nat will be back.
•And Randy will get his own story in spring 2019.
•I’ve also heard a lot of
people asking for Trudy’s story (Deacon’s mom), and I imagine at some point it will come to light, but I cannot say when.
I know I have also mentioned a Compendium of characters, places, and maps. At some point, it will happen as if by magic. Don’t expect a big brouhaha. One day it will just show up as some things do around here.
While mourning the loss of Kaci, I cannot say she won’t show up via flashbacks. She might. He is Sal. And a little crazy.
I’m also aware I have mentioned the Master series of novellas – Jack, Serene, and Kaci – all pre-Sal. And that still may occur, but I cannot say when. Or, I may work those stories into the fabric of the Juliet books.
When I sat down five years ago in my garden and told J-Man I had an idea, I didn’t know it would turn into this. I didn’t know this cocky, arrogant Italian would serve as my shadow for so many years. However, I have no regrets. I wanted to write one guy’s story—and while it may be epic in scope—it actually serves to be a reflection that we are each, in our own right, epic.
I hope you will continue watching and enjoying his growth. Because ultimately, I wrote Sal and this whole thing for you. I wanted to give you a place to escape and call home with characters and places you know, so that you could watch their lives progressing to a place of happily ever afters.
Contrary to the rumors, I do believe in them, but I think there is beauty in the angst and struggle and I really love exploring that with all of the facets I have now.
Many questions, comments, and bad things have been asked/said about Iris.
•I have no comment at this time.
•Yes, I do know many things.
•And I will reveal those things at the proper time.
I love listening to y’all. So, if you want someone’s story from my world—let me know—and I will do my best to see if I can “acquire” such. Sometimes they talk to me, sometimes not so much. Depends on the character really. I like playing my keys and working the fabric, but I’m open to taking requests. And I may even dedicate the book to you if I’m inspired enough to write it.
The question has been asked several times if I will ever leave this world of Sugargrove/Juliet. Yes, and when I do, I’m going to go do some otherworldly type stuff—sci-fi, horror, fantasy erotica—anyone?
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 120