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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Good. Use your whores. Don’t be one.”

  “But you are telling me to sign the deal, Cruz,” I questioned, raising my voice. “Those two things conflict one another.”

  “Don’t just give them what they want, Iris. You are on a pedestal, a higher plateau. Make them want to buy into you and offer incentives and compensation for good behavior. Don’t stroll into a bedroom, lay down, and spread. Be seductive. Be you.”

  “I am six months pregnant!”

  “And gorgeous as hell,” he flirted with a boyish grin. “Use every tool in your box, but do not dip unless they’re giving you a good tip…or a good deal.”

  “They don’t give me a good deal, and I’m only letting them use the tip.”

  “That’s my girl. Be fierce. You’ve got this in the bag.”

  The cars stop, and the Kola clan, which number twenty-two—all-male—gather at the foot of the steps. The last one out of the vehicle garners my attention in his gray suit, black shirt, and sunglasses. He’s got a head full of hair, long bangs, and a captivating grin.

  In my heart and mind, I spin the mantra on repeat—I called this meeting. I am bringing unlikely collaborations to my petals. I am Lotus.

  A few of them light up a smoke as the young, fearless one climbs the steps two at a time. He’s aggressive. He’s bold. He’s just like my husband.

  He’s trouble.

  He pulls his sunglasses off before bowing and peering up to me. “Iris Nakamura, a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a soothing, sexy accent. “I am Raze Kola.”

  A weekend meeting isn’t unheard of; inviting them to my home is, but I refused to heed my council’s warnings. I wanted the Lotus door to be unlocked—not open—providing a place of peace and harmony.

  Yoshi remarked that my ideals were “lofty and experimental with a slathering of Bohemian.” Meanwhile, Masa praised my move, saying, “Iris is bold and eager to find her place within the underworld.” Even Murasaki called me up to offer her two cents, “Insanity to invite those hoodlums into your home.”

  The Nakamura Palace is sprawling with Servet and added Lotus security. No malfunctions can occur. I need a clean sweeping weekend where both parties walk away happy.

  With my jacket off, I walk along the creek with Raze. We’ve been getting to know one another, feeling each other’s motivations out, and accepting our respective places within the future criminal world. He is young, Sal’s age, and causing a similar stir within Servet that Sal did with The Commission. Perhaps I should call The Commission for a similar meeting of the minds. “I want to do business with you, Iris.”

  “Because Lotus can offer a direct link to the Asian and Pacific markets?”

  “No,” he says, lightly laughing. “Because you are a woman.”

  Not the answer I expected.

  “Explain to me how my genitalia plays into this,” I reply, stopping along the path. I don’t have to ask how many sniper rifles are pointing my direction. Or inquire why Deacon Cruz is loitering close enough to feel his intense gaze upon me. Meeting with Servet on my turf is dicey. They could attempt a siege, overtaking the palace, but I am not picking up a violent vibe in Raze, who, for all intents and purposes, is serving as their figurehead. “I need to comprehend the meaning of your words.”

  “All of my life,” he confides with an honest, touching candor. I cannot escape his bright green eyes contrasting against his dark skin. “Men have groomed me, but the women in my life have loved me deeply. I understand that merging requires two capable, consenting individuals.”

  I take a deep breath. “If you believe we can achieve a mutual understanding…”

  He reaches up to stroke my cheek. “I am willing to try for the sake of my mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and sisters. I will be fair with you as I am any man, but my desire to finalize a deal with Lotus is purely based on the delicate and powerful feminine leader standing before me. I will not bring violence to your sanctuary. I will not bring the bloodshed.”

  Dear God, he is a snake.

  A charming, slithering, panty-melting snake.

  “You do realize that if I agree to a deal with Servet, I am breaking the traditions of centuries before me. I will be met with outcry and dissent.”

  “I will not allow the discord to taint the Lotus,” he vows as his eyes calm and seduce. His voice washes like a wave through me, lapping my waters with his. “Not all of Servet is a massacre. Why did you call this meeting?”

  “Because I need help,” I diminutively say as the tensions escalate between us. “I cannot get into Europe without a war. You can.”

  “Your pet project of Etienne comes into play.”

  “Yes,” I answer. “I want in.”

  “You will not get in,” Raze maintains with delicate critique. “Between the Albanians, ROC, and communites, not to mention insurgents, you will not get into Europe without conflict. Those organizations are well-established relationships, and you are the new kid on the block. You should abandon your plight before it stains your pristine, holy image.”

  “I am no Mary Magdalene, following a man on a mission, Raze.”

  “I will concede to a symposium of goodwill and faith with others you are associated with for a generous compensation package.”

  Glancing away, I lift a scrutinizing brow acknowledging his demands. “Will the package given in return be worth it to me, Mr. Kola?”

  His broad grin spreads over his cheeks. “I am sure you will find it to your liking, but only if you will allow a small station wherever you are.”

  “You want to settle in my frontiers?”

  With a lighthearted laugh, he grins. “I want to offer protection for a Queen and her offspring.”

  “You aren’t requesting a migrating outpost to help me. Don’t lie to my face. You want it to keep an eye on me, to know if the things I say are true.”

  His fingers brush against mine with a surge of building desire. “I long to have more representation in the States, and I can say with a measure of certainty, you will not be raising your child with Durante Costa in Japan. Immortal will have their hands all over Lotus the moment the plane touches down.”

  “You can’t get into Mexico.”

  “You’re right,” he sneers. “I can’t, but I have people who can.”

  I meet his gaze with an awareness of the confidential intel we pass like notes in a classroom. “Rebels from the region?”

  “Many, including one of their own.”

  “Who?”

  “Gabe Herrera is a bit of a swing vote because of his history,” he says. “When you get into Mexico, which with a Herrera spawn in your belly, you most certainly will, I suggest using him.”

  I bravely question, “You don’t think Durante will escort me to Muerte and serve me up on bended knee?”

  “Durante is nothing more than a ticket inside Immortal. If you weren’t carrying his child, Muerte wouldn’t give a damn because of the shit Durante has pulled, working with Torrente and going against Immortal. Durante is a bad seed.”

  Durante was the perfect seed to plant and sacrifice.

  “I know of Gabe,” I reply without considering what I am revealing. “We have the same problem.”

  He strokes his beard as the radiant stare of his seafoam eyes catch my attention. “And what is that?”

  “Delarte Cristos.”

  “A generous compensation package could eliminate that problem as well.”

  On Saturday night, we have a regal spread to finalize our agreements. I will allow their mobile outpost to guard the Lotus. They’re offering to be the keepers of my gates. The frontline foot soldiers in a war I must engage in.

  Why do I need them when I have my own Lotus army?

  Because it never hurts to have friends.

  They either provide adequate protection or falter on their promise. If it is the latter, Lotus could potentially go to war with Servet. But I am not crossing that bridge just yet.

  I am crossing the bridge from the terrace to t
he West wing when I note the steady gaze of Raze upon me. He is always watching me. I glance around the party one final time to see Deacon engrossed in a deep conversation with several Servet members and Sato.

  I am no fool.

  Deacon Cruz is either looking to strike up his own deal, a deal for The Unholy, or maybe even Sal Raniero. He would be foolish not to make an impact while they are here. The son of Saint Cruz cannot march into Middle Eastern territory and expect to find gold.

  On the surface, he’s a white, trailer trash boy they don’t trust. He’ll have to sell it hard to make an impact, and he can because he is Deacon Cruz. I have lured them from their lair, and he should feast if he can.

  I would do the same, but there aren’t many factions who won’t speak to me. Allegiance comes to mind, quickly followed by the bitterness of a winter they are known to bring when encountered. Even a summit can render the participants in a blizzard-like climate. Allegiance is known for shutting people down, causing their allies and enemies to be frozen without any hope of fire.

  And that is my worry with Etienne.

  Allegiance could lock my ass down, even from the blossoming growth I am witnessing with Immortal. Not an easy quest to complete, but a challenge worth doing.

  I need Delarte Cristos locked out of everywhere, and the fact that he is sniffing Muerte’s ass is a problem. Cristos is already funding Allegiance, though I have no idea how he managed that one. But with Allegiance in tow, if Cristos hooks up with Immortal, he will have enough power to claim the status of a God.

  One he is very unworthy of.

  Though with respect, if he manages to unite Allegiance and Immortal by being the mediator between the two—the vessel of their bond—a God’s title will be well deserved. I aim to cease it all, stop the transaction dead on the tracks, and then remove the rails with my bare hands. This is what is in front of me. This is the issue I am facing.

  And this is why Servet is on my property eating my noodles, drinking my sake, and being entertained by my whores. I need their assistance because they are international players.

  The only other one that I have a close relationship with is Morpheus. He is vast and powerful, but unfortunately, regional. He doesn’t have significant connections and doesn’t want them. Carlo Torrente would want nothing to do with Servet because of their extremism. And The Brethren isn’t big enough to warrant a power move like this. They would get eaten alive.

  A million little guppies cannot subdue a shark.

  I need equal and opportunistic sharks pitted against one another.

  So I arrange the board to my liking and give the nod to Raze Kola.

  I depart in good spirits as I return to my room to take a shower. I am exhausted from two days worth of meetings over finite details of what they want versus what we will give and vice versa.

  I know what Raze wants to take.

  And he cannot have it.

  I curl up in bed and open a book, but I am too tired to read. I shut off the light and fall fast asleep knowing my door is locked and guards are outside.

  The Kingdom will watch over the Queen.

  I hear the door open, knowing Deacon is coming in from a long night of discussions. He is one of three with a key to my room. I roll over in a daze, too out of it to ask him how his networking efforts went. He gets in bed, and I toss my body back against a hard wall of muscle as my hands run through his hair—thick and fluffy.

  Seeking confirmation, I flash my eyes open. “Raze.”

  “Hush, hush, my little buttercup, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  I panic, and he cinches his fingers around my wrists. Knowing I cannot fight him off, I frantically kiss his full lips, swirling my tongue against his, as we grind against one another to find an amicable resolution.

  Lifting on his chiseled arms, he hovers over me, wedging his way between my legs. His hands grope my breasts, fondling my nipples with his fingertips as his lips devour my neck. His kisses are sensuous and sweet as he moves to suckle my nipple, sending waves of pleasure through my skin.

  “Please don’t rush,” I breathlessly beg. “Savor your time inside of me.”

  Secrets we don’t speak.

  Things no one has to know.

  My thighs fall open, wider and more welcoming than before as he thrusts his cock inside of me slowly…decadently…defiantly deviant.

  I will not resist this man. His perfected skills are something I crave, wicked and wonderful, filling the deepest recesses of a void. He is thoughtful and gentle with every pulse and pump of his flesh. He knows what he wants, and he unrepentantly takes it. He doesn’t claim; I am not his, and this isn’t love. This is a contractual negotiation, steeped in hours of flirtation.

  It isn’t rape.

  It isn’t consent.

  It is acceptance.

  A woman must play dirty in her service.

  A woman must keep secrets to preserve the future.

  I am no man’s whore, but a coddled royal held in a high unholy caste. And he raises my status to a Queen as I sign my first deal in his cum.

  47

  He knew before me.

  A Disciple of the Craft

  I take the red-eye flight on my father’s private jet. He’s in Mexico, schmoozing with Muerte, and he won’t care if I borrow the bird because he’s still holding out hope for a son that doesn’t exist.

  He’s a foolish man.

  I haven’t seen my wife since I attacked the doctor. I’ve been laying low near the border, moving from one seedy motel to the next. Every couple of days, I buy a cheap, used piece of shit to drive. I pay cash. In. Out. Done.

  No one asks questions around here because they don’t want the answers. Just like those Bordertown Murders up north.

  In South Texas, people are worn from the locale, with tough, leathery skin, aged by the climate and scarred by the passage of time. It’s a rough life, living in a retainer town, crossing fingers and saying prayers that the maker doesn’t come knocking today. The threat never quits from the filth, like a pack of wolves, circling in, scavenging the barren landscape for their next meal. They’re always famished in the desert.

  No bulwark will stop the pilgrimage, the drugs, the trafficking.

  The residents don’t care what anyone does as long as everyone keeps their mouth shut. Because they all know. No one speaks because everyone has a mother, a grandmother, a sister, an aunt, a girlfriend, a wife. No one wants the target aimed at them.

  Fear promotes the silence.

  Silence fuels the beast.

  No sound. No crime. No punishment. No change.

  From the North to the South, the rules remain the same. A call is made in the dead of night, requesting livestock, and a wire transfer of funds occurs. Partial payment or full, the result is the same.

  Some poor soul is vanishing tonight.

  They’re drugged, loaded in trunks, eighteen-wheelers, or inconspicuous vehicles where they’re shuttled to a central hub. Once there, decisions are made. Not all livestock passes inspection and thus they are euthanized because words must remain unspoken.

  I know how it all works because my father profits off of the harvest. Usually the livestock immediately changes hands, but sometimes he keeps a special one.

  And one time, he sold off his own blood to crack open a door. Gotta make those deals. Gotta finalize. Pretty white girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. All-American girl. She could’ve been a cheerleader with her athletic body, but her academic prowess earned her a spot with Atticus Huit’s Entropy, and subsequently, Sibyl. She will forever look fifteen.

  The cartel starts the dialogue with a pretty daughter and several months later, after the whole lot of the Immortal cartel has had their way with her multiple times when she’s magically—almost effortlessly—released.

  Delarte Cristos is my father.

  He’s fucked up.

  I am his son.

  And I’m fucked up too.

  I don’t wonder why; I already know.

 
; Some believe I’ve dealt with his sins for so long that they’ve become my own. I kill to instigate control. The psychological profile might be accurate, but sometimes, a boy just likes violence. Sometimes, a boy just likes getting his rocks off in a screaming, non-consenting girl.

  The world wouldn’t be the same without a predator like me residing in it.

  I’m not thinking about the aftermath of my actions when I arrive in the small Italian village. I’m not feeling as I pound my fist into his door and no one answers. I’m not listening to the dull sounds of their insistence when I walk into the closing cafe. I’m no longer here when I lock the door, tie the woman to a chair, and beat the man to a bloody pulp.

  I’m keeping her until the end.

  Saving the best for last.

  Inside the quaint establishment, I take a break, smoke a cigarette, and sip an espresso while eating a dozen fresh cherry amaretto and chocolate almond biscotti. I don’t know where my guest of honor is, but I’m sure he’ll come around soon.

  Surprise! I murdered your landlords, fucker.

  And then I will kill him.

  Sal knew before me…her pregnancy…her scans…he knew before me.

  Saying goodbye to Sal will be a sad moment, but one destined to happen. I won’t shed a tear. I won’t say farewell. I’m doing him a favor in committing a homicide.

  He is the victim; I’m the perpetrator.

  He can pay me back after I mangle the other two and end my killing spree with my suicide.

  We’ll still play the game when we arrive in hell.

  I’m the phantom no one discusses. The one to easily pass through locked portals and dismember the bodies as I suck on a lollypop. Daddy will forgive me. Daddy understands.

  His only son is warped like him.

  Poor, poor Trudy Diaz.

  She married a fucking monster.

  Maybe I should free her soul too.

  Grabbing a danish out of the chilled cabinet, I spot a young woman walking up the stairs on the side of the building. I rush to the window, eager to see her, eager to take her in. She doesn’t know I’m spying on her as the surge of adrenaline hits my veins.