A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Downing the water with one gulp, I toss the bottle, and it hits the trash as I leave the shed and head up to the palace. I march my ass right into Iris’ wing of the house. I find her sitting behind a desk, on the phone, and angrily chirping to someone about fees. She slams down the old-style telephone. “What?”

  I cautiously approach, knowing she will bite. “What is with the bikes?”

  She shrugs, paying no attention to me as she organizes her stacks of paper. “I thought you might enjoy a ride.”

  “There are two,” I inform as she swivels to the wooden filing cabinet behind her and back to me.

  “I am aware there are two bikes, Mr. Cruz. I ordered them.”

  “Are you trying to push me away?” I almost yell, not quite, but close. I snap, but gently because she’s within striking distance. “I know you saw what happened.”

  “Deacon,” she calmly says, rocking in her oversized leather chair with her foot on the desk. She is so pregnant. And she acts too much like Sal sometimes. Again, his influence permeates our existence. “You love riding, and it was a gift.”

  “A gift for two!” I burst as my arms flail out wide. Shit. I’m not the only one who has picked up his mannerisms. Fuck me. “Are you trying to encourage the behavior between Sato and me?”

  “I want you to be you,” she thoughtfully whispers. “And if the cage door stays open and you wish to fly free, please do so.”

  I never should’ve pushed the manwhore argument with her because now she is throwing it right back to me. The only difference is she has no interest in anyone else but Sal, and I clearly do.

  “I should run to Sato?”

  “No, you should get the hell away from my husband before he hurts you.”

  I pace around in her office, back and forth, gripping my hair and wondering how the fuck we got here. “I don’t want to break up with Sal.”

  She smirks and offers another passive shrug. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have done what you did.”

  Fuck. Shit. Damn. Hell.

  She has a point.

  “Iris…”

  “Deacon, in the years I’ve known you, your loyalty to Sal has never once wavered.”

  “Until now,” I furiously interject. “Oh, God, what did I do? What am I doing?”

  “I don’t know, but you need to figure it out. And we both know being around Sal isn’t particularly good for figuring shit out. Maybe it was a glitch, or maybe there is something there, but I cannot figure that out for you. I am your friend and offering you time—something Sal won’t give you. Explore. Discover. Remember who you were before all of this mess turned into mayhem.”

  “But I…”

  “Had an accident,” she easily fills in the blank. “But what you need to assess is why it happened. Was it an isolated incident or something more? No one can decide that but you.”

  I shield my face from view, ashamed and afraid of what I’ve done. I’m buckling—in front of my best friend—and caving into the wallowing emotions. “Fuck,” I mutter, sitting on the edge of a chair. “What the fuck did I do?”

  She leans forward. “It was a blowjob, Cruz. It happens nightly at hundreds of meetings in strip clubs. Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “And what if it isn’t just a mountain but a whole range?”

  “Then we will deal with it,” she replies, walking over and taking my hand. “Together. But you cannot deny, something made you snap.”

  I move my sweaty body back into the chair and pull her into my lap. “I don’t want to miss this,” I mutter, laying my hand on her belly. “I love you so damn much.”

  “I know you love me, and I will never push you away,” she says with conviction and a smile. “This isn’t a question of loving me. I don’t doubt your dedication to me.”

  “… You doubt it with Sal?”

  She heavily sighs as her expression shifts to one full of regret. “I don’t doubt your love for Sal, but our world isn’t easy with shifting allegiances and cold-hearted, impetuous moves. I understand your anger with my lying, but still, you supported me. And now, when you need me the most, I will not flounder in my support of you.”

  “You aren’t going to tell Sal?”

  “I will never speak a word,” she vows, and I believe her. “This is between you and Sal. Not me. You have to work this out. Just know, I would do the same for him.”

  “You would keep his secrets from me?”

  “I am Mrs. Raniero, Deacon. I will shelter you, but I will also always defend my husband. I will protect him, his interests, and this family, which includes you.”

  “I am sorry I put you in this position,” I say, staring into her eyes as her baby kicks my hand. Guilt weaves through me as I question why he is on the other side of the world, committing heinous acts, while I am the lowlife son of a bitch getting to witness her bountiful beauty to the fullest. “I never intended for it to end up like this.”

  “Neither did I.”

  41

  Crippling Depression

  The Master

  Over plates of pasta, I twirl the red wine in the glass. I’ve spent the past two hours trying to figure out what to do with my life and its pieces. Staring at the tray of olives, I pick one up and pop it in my mouth.

  “I don’t know what the fuck Stella is planning on doing,” Vinny reassures, scooping up the tomato sauce with a spoon and eating it. There are times when I am the spitting image of my father. The moments pass without much regard, but for some reason—today, it hits home. “But I am not going to be a part of it.”

  “Where is your loyalty?” I bluntly ask, not knowing if he is capable of speaking the truth. “Cesario or Stella?”

  He wipes his mouth with the napkin and eases back into his chair. “My loyalty is with my son.”

  I don’t react, but I am not surprised. I’ve always been remarkably close to “Uncle” Vinny. I never understood all those times shooting hoops and following him through bars wasn’t my uncle keeping an eye on me, but being distantly raised by my father. He was never given the opportunity to be a Daddy to me.

  And the only person who can give him that now is me.

  Ironic how these things work.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Let’s usurp them all.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I rhetorically ask. “Cesario is bound and determined to control my actions even from Boston, and Stella is a nightmare waiting to happen.”

  “Before I got on the plane, I signed the divorce papers from Chelle.”

  I swallow the remaining wine in the glass. “Getting back together with Stella?”

  “No,” he replies. “I’m done with all of them, and I’m leaving Cesario when I get back, but before I do that, I wanted to make sure you didn’t have a trick up your sleeve and want to make a play for it.”

  He is deferring to my judgement, and the notion touches me. “How long can you hold out?”

  “… For you? I’ve been waiting twenty-nine years, Sal.” His lip curls at the corner of his mouth, and I recognize myself. “Seriously, I’ll wait as long as you need, but I’d like to get the business back in competent hands.”

  “As a Veramonte-Raniero merger?”

  “You cannot change who you are any more than anyone else, but I don’t want or need to steal your thunder. I am nothing but a hitman. You’re much more than an enforcer.”

  I stroke my beard and snicker, “That’s not what Father Thomas Byrne and Sanctum believe.”

  “Ahhh…Flanagan,” he quips with a hearty laugh. “You don’t let the Irish get under your skin. There are far bigger fish to fry. Aren’t there?” he asks as I nod and drop my credit card on the table. I smile as the cute, middle-aged woman retrieves it with a smile. My lips twitch from staring at her ass, wrapped up in tight white pants. “You’re looking for trouble.”

  “I always am.”

  “Then let’s go find some, son.”

  Four hours later, I am at a posh club at
the top of a hotel in Naples. Vinny is snorting lines like fucking candy with half a dozen girls in a secluded space with an ocean view.

  Did I mention, I am my father’s son?

  The girls enliven every sense I possess. In my hands, they feel dreamily soft while whispering in a language I cannot understand. We’re partying like rockstars, the Dark Prince of the mafia, and the man soliciting to be Sal Raniero’s new hitman. He also happens to be my Dad.

  We’re having a great time without a care in the world until I spot the girl with the dirty blonde hair, recklessly tossed up in a bun. She’s wearing a black leather dress with a thick diamond collar and thigh-high boots.

  She’s fucking dangerous.

  Her sky blue eyes hit mine, and I’m left speechless as I untangle whatever this chick’s name was off my thigh. The pulse of the music hits hard with every step. I snag two champagnes from a waiter’s tray and make a beeline for debauchery.

  Fuck the whores; I want a goddamn Queen on my dick tonight.

  “Priscilla Grace,” I mutter with a mischievous smile as her fingers curl around the glass stem. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Your Dad called,” she sensually says, taking a sip of the bubbles. “Before he left the States.”

  “You got a room?”

  “I do,” she volunteers with a grin. “But, you aren’t invited unless you can agree to my terms.”

  Fuck.

  I play it cool with a snicker. “… Are we negotiating a contractual arrangement?”

  “We are,” she affirms as her words simmer over my skin. “My way. My rules. Or no play.”

  “Damn, I need a place to plug in for the night.”

  “I am sure you do, Lucas,” she replies, scanning over to the company I have been keeping. “And there are plenty of skanks who could provide an outlet.”

  “I’m better than that, and we both know it.” I lean in close to her neck and take a whiff of her perfume. “Besides there is no one like you.”

  She bites her lip and runs her fingers through my hair to the nape of my neck. “I’ll save you from extinction, but you’re going to have to call me by my name.”

  “I will be yours until the dawn, Mistress Jaid.”

  She giggles and turns for the door as I look back to Dad. He winks and points. Asshole planned this. Bastard knows my weaknesses. I’ll worry about that later when I am not following Jaid’s perfectly round ass bound in leather to a luxury suite.

  Did I mention, I am fucking high as a kite yet sober?

  And if this is a dream, I don’t fucking care.

  I don’t want to wake up.

  After slipping the card into the lock, she opens the door to the magnificent, spacious suite. Multiple glass pane doors open to the endless ocean. The water’s distraction eases off, and I note the cleared space in front of the windows and spot the table full of toys. “Where did you get those?”

  “Take off your jacket, shirt, and shoes, Sal.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I reply, stunned by her demeanor I never saw coming. Taking off my clothes, I toss them on the back of the sofa. “Are you my Dominatrix for the night?”

  “I am.” She gives my body a once over and objects, “You’re so out of practice.” I frown, dismayed by her assessment. “Straighten it up or get the fuck out. I am not playing with a slacker.”

  I assume a proper position, knowing she’s right. I have reached a lazy state of being in many areas of my life, including my beloved fetish. I lift my shoulders and spread my feet about a foot apart, trying to find my confident air, stifling and submerged in the sludge of my life. “… What are we doing?”

  “You’re having a scene,” she informs, picking up a black and red nylon whip. “With a mother.”

  I flick a brow up, and my eyes shift as I watch her stride closer. “You’re a dirty little thing.”

  “You have no idea.” She lightly swings, and the end brushes against my arm. “No safeword. I’ll tell you all of my secrets but one.”

  “Done.” In my black slacks, I nervously wait, facing the glass. The cleansing scent of the sea purifies as she swings something more potent than nylon. The leather sends a shiver to my core, hitting my reset button, but she doesn’t stop. Lash after lash, she blesses my flesh with her grace. I cannot even begin to comprehend that this is Jaid doing this to my body.

  I won’t bleed tonight; tonight, I heal.

  Tonight, I restart the system with a prayer that nothing malfunctions—a clean start-up. Sex didn’t do anything but anger me. Drugs didn’t do anything but mask the issue and provide a horrendous hangover. Maybe all I need is this.

  One memory wipe from a Mama.

  Every welt sends my code back to the beginning, where every move mattered. The details counted. Humans digress to a place of complacency where setting the table doesn’t matter as much as getting food in bodies. They slouch on jobs, workouts, diets, recoveries, relationships, and love.

  Things get sloppy. Life gets sloppy.

  And we wonder how the fuck it got that way. Lack of maintenance is how.

  We don’t handle things; they handle us.

  But right now, staring out at the Gulf of Naples, I hit rock bottom, realizing there is nothing sexy about flaccidity—drooping and slogging along like these minutes mean nothing.

  Every minute is a milestone.

  Every milestone is a reminder of who I am.

  Every reminder is a line of code triggered to compete in the next race.

  Not with anyone else but me.

  A light sweat glistens on my torso. She hasn’t broken the skin, but I have no doubt she could and would. She brings the necessary skills to do whatever it takes to elevate the game for those she cares about. And that sounds so trivial, but it isn’t—possessing passion is a rare gift to be treasured and revered.

  “Jaid,” I mumble in the throes of soaring in subspace. “Come here.”

  She slides between my body and the glass as her eyes dive deep into my flames without fear. “My mother is dying. My father is funding Allegiance with plans on going after The Commission if he can secure help from Immortal. You need to be stockpiling your resources for the cold days ahead.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I have a child, Sal. My job—my only job—is protecting Lukas.”

  “… Is he Deacon’s?”

  Her eyes pool with tears. “There is one question I won’t answer. Don’t ask it.”

  “Prissy, please. I need to know.”

  “What changes?” she asks with concern. “Tell me that. Because I am not sure, it changes anything. I am a Cristos with a child, and the crows are hungry.”

  “Do you know Cris Crow?”

  “The only thing I know is my mother is giving me everything, including the children—Mae, Kade, and Zach.”

  “Zach?”

  “The baby boy in her belly.”

  “Is it Nick’s?”

  “I have no reason to believe it would belong to anyone else,” she whispers. “Abel filed for divorce.”

  “Why?”

  She peers down at the floor. I am not the only one who is lost. “I lied about the baby, and he started drinking, popping pills, anything to get away. Shit is bad between us.”

  “He cheated…”

  Tears stream down her cheeks. “He did some things during spring training that are unforgivable.”

  “Dammit,” I angrily grumble, wanting to hold her, but knowing there are no brakes on that train.

  “I thought I could cover all of it up.”

  “What?”

  “The things that happened when I got home from Mexico.”

  “Things with Deacon…”

  Her tears turn to sobs as she slips away. “He belongs to you.”

  I break from my stance to chase after her. My fingers grasp her elbow. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I can’t!” she yells through gritted teeth.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I t
ell you,” she hisses, stopping to take a breath. “If I tell you what happened, you will never forgive certain people.”

  “There is a good chance I am not going to forgive them anyway, so why don’t you share?”

  “Deep in the jungles of Immortal, nothing matters. And the things I thought I could believe in, the things I thought I could trust the most, were nothing more than serpents waiting to escort me to hell.”

  “What are you talking about? How did Deacon hurt you?”

  “Deacon didn’t hurt me!” she shouts, “Dale did!”

  “… Hoss?”

  “Yes, Dale Archer was entirely responsible for everything that happened to me. And you have been too blind to fucking see it. Stop ignoring all of the warning signs that the women in your life are sending you—Rowan, Amber, Iris, and me. Think about it, genius. Think about everything you know, stop being so fucking dense because all of the answers are on the tips of your fingers, and all you have to do is reach a little further to grasp it.”

  I stop, unable to ascertain any cognitive brain function. I am locked up, caught in a time-lapse as I mutter, “… Does Deacon know the truth?”

  Her eyes pour with the only evidence I need. My boy Cruz has been lying for months. At the very least, he hasn’t confided the whole truth—little shade variances, all leading to deceit.

  “I am going to kill him.”

  “Who?”

  “D.”

  42

  little terrorists hitching a taxi ride

  His Ride

  Two days later, I finally give in and decide to take Sato up on his offer. We ride the Japanese countryside, and I’m mystified by how closely it resembles home.

  Home—where I long to be.

  The thing about riding is it’s just like running—a way to escape my thoughts. We travel for a couple of hours to Kyoto and stop to fill up. We say nothing.

  We head north along Lake Biwa to Takashima and over to a little village where we stop again. We head inside to take a piss. I’m not expecting much, but I’m greeted by the wonderfully aromatic smell of seared meats and vegetables in a steamy kitchen off to the side.