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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Fuck!” I groan, pushing her away and marching into the bedroom. I toss some of my clothes at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He asked me to distract you.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  66

  A Monster in a Machina

  The Master

  “I want to see him,” I mumble as the roar of the motorcycle engine shuts off. I just arrived at the old jail facility because they claim the new one is full. I call bullshit. Someone wanted Nicky in a cage out of fear, or they planned on breaking him out. It’s unfounded. The new, high-tech prison cells are much safer.

  “I don’t think that is a good idea,” he says with concern.

  “I want to see him, Cruz.”

  His fingers latch onto my elbow, and I do a one-eighty into him. “Sal, I need you not to believe he is the same Nicky you last saw.”

  “I am well versed in criminal behavior,” I quip, tooting my horn. I am an assassin’s son and trained as one too. “This isn’t my first loop around the barnyard. I know how this works. Did you see Nicky?”

  “I have nothing to say to Nick,” he says, fussing with his skull ring on his middle right finger. I’ve been hit by that fucker; it makes you wish you were dead. “Dom came by this morning.”

  My brows arch as I consider the reasons for Dom coming by. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I called him on the way out because his house is closer than the Swamp Shack, and I thought he could find you. He said he was already here, but you weren’t.”

  “Nicky and Dom…”

  “They’re not close,” he says, lighting a smoke. “I already know. And I am probably thinking the same things you are. How much do we trust Gennaro?”

  I want to believe in Dom, but that’s hard. He does some sketchy shit, but it usually always leads to my betterment, which only adds to the strain. “To the end,” I whisper, still not convinced. “Wherever it leads.”

  “Is there any way I can bribe you not to go see Nick?”

  “No,” I firmly state. “You can’t.”

  “And what do I do when this sends you spiraling?”

  I pat his arm, pop a piece of mint gum in my mouth, and take a long drag of the smoke from his fingers. “You’ll be with me for the next few days; I’ll be fine.”

  “Famous last words from someone who is rarely fine.”

  “You act like I’m brittle,” I scoff as we walk toward the entrance.

  “Not brittle, just worth a king’s ransom in mind, smegma.”

  “Racherché,” I reply as he shakes his head. “Racherché splooge.”

  “Exotic cum?”

  “Obscure and rare, too.” I wink.

  “Obscure is right.” He contests with a smug grin, “Don’t give me your French tongue unless you’re putting it on my weewee.”

  “I’ve seen that thing. There is nothing wee about it.”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” he replies with a hefty helping of his Cajun-Texan drawl as he opens the door for me. “Especially when you’re around.”

  “We’ve had no incidents of violence from the inmate,” Sheriff Kit Jolly reports as we sit in her office. “But I would strongly suggest a cautious approach. I can’t say he is in solitary, but he is alone.”

  “Why are you working here?”

  “Sal,” she replies in a gentle tone. “I have a man with a criminal history the size of a medical textbook. If you think I am letting him out of my sight, you’re wrong. I’ve got ten men in this facility alone because of who Nico Cristos is. He isn’t getting out of this one because he is Delarte Cristos’ son. Not on my watch. I don’t give a shit what Judge Jocelyn Prather says. He isn’t walking out of here, even if I have to shoot him myself.”

  I understand her convictions because I feel the same way. Nicky isn’t fit to be in society. “What is your hope for the outcome?”

  “I am praying we don’t end up with an insanity plea,” she says, rocking in her leather chair. “But that’s out of my jurisdiction. He is a cold-blooded, calculated killer, and sending him to a psychiatric facility will only lead to more people being dead. The facts are quite clear. He had deliberate intent, and I am hoping for murder in the first degree.”

  “… Based on the sexual assault?”

  She shakes her head. “Based on the evidence. I believe there was a criminal organization behind it.”

  “The Unholy has nothing to do with this,” Cruz quickly defends. “And neither did the club.”

  “I didn’t say it was The Unholy,” she replies, opening the folder and inviting my inspection with a lift of her brow. “I wouldn’t allow my guys to go after you because I know how you are. You’re not good, but you have a moral compass in your bad. Neither of you two would have condoned the acts on Wendy Cruz or Lani Johnson.”

  “You interviewed her?”

  “I did after a certain informant called in a tip.” Her lips crinkle as she stares at me.

  “Just the tip.” I wink.

  “It’s bigger than that,” she flirts with a smile. “Anyway, I got a full statement from Lani, but I am still not sure Nico isn’t working for someone. The acts are premeditated to such a degree that I’m not doing my job if I don’t question every angle.”

  Slouched in the chair with his hands steepled beneath his chin, Cruz asks, “Are you getting pressured?”

  “Not yet,” she says. “But I imagine it’s only a matter of time.”

  “I’m rerunning RR,” he boldly informs. “If you need countermeasures, let me know.”

  “Dom was here.”

  “He was,” she concurs, leaning back as I scan over the papers she left visible. Her eyes flick at mine as I glance up in horror. Her head tilts as her expressive brows rise. “For quite a long visit. He wanted to take his satchel of paperwork inside the unit, but I refused.”

  “This can’t be right,” I mutter in disbelief. “There is no way.”

  “We have reason to believe there is a connection.” She rubs her lips together. “Look, I’m not trying to prosecute or persecute anyone, but if all of those phone calls are any indication, we’ve had a bigger problem on our hands for longer than we thought.”

  “His father is using him as a pawn,” I maintain, grinding my jaw. “Joe Kaiser wouldn’t get involved in this.”

  “You, Italian mafia prince, cannot deny the presence of Irish or Jewish mafia. If Kaiser has ties back to the communite gangs in the motherland, I will find them. He’s been on Delarte Cristos’ legal team since Nico was a teenager.”

  “Allegiance and the communites hate one another,” Deacon points out as I rub my temple. “What would the purpose be?”

  “I understand their rivalry,” she says. “And the gangs are using Nicky to dismantle his father because his hands are deep in the Pakhan’s pockets.”

  I hear her words, but an idea festers in my mind about those without an established presence in Sugargrove.

  Including my wife’s Japanese organization.

  But it wasn’t without someone trying.

  Anna was a brilliant strategist, machinating with distinction and bringing the melting pot to Juliet. She never blatantly waved the Italian flag above her beloved school, but everyone knew Juliet’s true colors resided in Luca Raniero’s caporegime.

  She recruited the mafia princesses to speak her vernacular with clear and purposeful intent because she desired to make it better. She admitted the girls based on lineage, no submissive behavioral standard needed. If she thought she could break them into her forward way of thinking, they were invited.

  They were muddied by genetics and crossbred in desire, but traced back to their respective mafia families. None of them were purebred or even remotely close to it. Priscilla “Jaid” Grace was Columbian, Greek, and Irish. Jessica Ott was German and Lebanese. Iris Nakamura was English and Japanese.

  The growing list forms in my mind. I am the grandson of the man she loved, and my pedigree stands out amongst the mutts. She wasn’t only targeting
females.

  “I’m going to see Nicky alone,” I declare, getting up and heading for the door with Cruz chasing me. Kit Jolly won’t stop me. I saved her fucking life. I can run this fucking town, and she would never say a word. Exiting the office, I mumble, “She knew what she was doing.”

  “… Who?” Cruz asks.

  “I need to stop by Scarlet House on the way out of town.”

  In the dim basement, past the filing boxes, I roll the office chair near the cage and sit with my legs spread as a vindictive snarl poses on my lips. The stench of dried piss and semen is appalling. “Do you know who these cages belong to?”

  ”I do,” he mutters, sitting on the bed with his elbows on his knees. He’s staring at the floor, sniffling with quiet tears. “Serene bought them a while back, but she hasn’t figured out where to put them.”

  “And now, you are inside one of her cages, sitting in the cellar of a dilapidated building.”

  “I know,” he says, glancing at me. He’s thin—gaunt, scarily so. His cheeks are sunk as the formation of bones swells to the surface. “I have spent days thinking about the irony in all of this.”

  “Not long enough,” I pitilessly remark. “You have to pay for what you’ve done.”

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to go so far.”

  My expression contorts. “Really, fucker? You didn’t know when you were dissecting Cruz’s sister that you were going too far?” My voice raises on each word as the pent up anger surges from my lungs. “You didn’t know when you were gouging out the flesh of your sister that you were going too far?”

  “I’m so sorry, Sal,” he cries, but they may as well be alligator tears because they mean nothing to me. “I never meant to…”

  “You stalked Hannah, beat her into submission, violently ripping her from hole to hole while you did the deed, and you want to look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t mean to go this far?”

  He agonizes, “I have a problem.”

  “It’s not a fucking problem!” I yell with fury, standing up and grabbing the bars. “You better stay in a cage because you’re safer in there than you will ever be out here!”

  He drops from the bed onto his knees and shields his face. “Why are you so mad at me? Why are you condemning the things I have done for you?”

  “Because you crossed the line in Italy. You are breaking us apart. This isn’t on me. Or Cruz. Or Dom. This is on you. You didn’t do this for me. And you didn’t do this because you’re insane. The Unholy is over because you have zero self-control.”

  With a distraught look on his face, he glances up at me. “You don’t understand.”

  “No,” I reply, sitting back down. “I don’t understand. And I don’t want to.” I expand my arms wide. “We can take all of the psychological and environmental jargon in the world and crucify you with the terminology, but it’s not going to change the basic fact—you went after one of our own.”

  “And you fucking killed Jack!”

  “Don’t equate me with you. And don’t even fucking compare Hannah Cruz to Jack Kerris.” From my pocket, I pull out the bag of candy and toss it into the cell. “I am not you. Jack is not Hannah. She was an innocent fucking girl! She is twenty years old, Nicky! She’s a baby!”

  He tears open the bag and gobbles a handful of the chocolate. “She was so pretty, Sal. You should have seen her when I was hurting her with my dick and the glass. I stabbed that bitch when I came, and blood spilled…superb…I wanted the blood from the wound inside of her walls with me. I needed to feel safe within her womb…my only desire is to crawl back inside my shelter.”

  “Stop!” I threaten, understanding he’s only working himself up. “She isn’t your shelter! Don’t even say poor, poor Hannah!”

  With a shaking hand, he pulls down the front of his pants and jerks his dick. My jaw tenses as I work on grinding my skull bones to dust. It should take years for the hinge to fail, but it could be days at this rate. He twitches, and his eyes roll back in his head before picking up the candy wrapper and wiping the precum from the tip.

  “Tell me the secrets of your sins, Salvatore,” he urges, still stroking his dick. “Tell me what awful things you’ve done.”

  “I have no words remaining for you, only actions. Did you do it for Kaiser?”

  “Huh?” he mutters. “Is that what they’re thinking? That I did this to get at my father? Have you ever raped someone, Sal? Have you ever felt that much power? Have you ever killed someone and felt the rush of freedom?”

  No, but I will when I kill you.

  I deeply sigh as he rises fast, and his pants fall to his ankles. “I’m many things, but I’ll never be able to be as accomplished as you,” I seethe. “I don’t break women; I fix them.”

  “I didn’t do this for Daddy. I did this all for you.” I glance to the wall and grip my goatee as he presses his body against the bars. I pay no attention to what his hands are doing. He’s getting off, and it won’t matter what I say or do. “Don’t you love me, Lucas?”

  “Not anymore,” I say, uninvolved. “You’re pretty fucked.”

  “Fucked in the head?” He laughs with a sinister smirk. “And which one?”

  “No, just fucked,” I hiss, standing and easing in close. My fingers lock onto the bars, and his free hand brushes against my knuckles. His other hand moves faster.

  “More than,” he whispers, staring…fascinated…wantonly from above me. He’s got almost a half foot on my average height, but he’s no redeemer. I won’t find absolution in his devotional meant solely for his unscrupulous verse. “You should watch over the immaculate martyr.”

  I don’t justify his threat to my Saint or give him any ammo of hatred because he’ll spew on my jeans. This isn’t about his being in love with me. He’s not gay or even bi. I’d dare to say he is uncomfortable with anyone outside the norms, even Dom. He’s jealous of what I possess with Cruz, the bond and brotherhood, and he can’t stand that we’re lovers.

  He detests it…he loathes it.

  Cruz wants me to worry about the fine people of Sugargrove, but my most significant threat is standing right in front of me.

  Nicky doesn’t understand why he can’t have an intimate relationship, but the answer is easy—he’s bat shit crazy. Not insane. He doesn’t need a medical diagnosis; he needs a prison or a grave. Anything less than that and he will only continue to be a menace as he strives to return to his homeland.

  Because he’s angry.

  He believes those women who sacrifice their blood love him, and because of this, he will never kill a man. I won’t let him have the satisfaction in his fantasy of violating another woman. “Hannah doesn’t love you.” For clarity, I add, “And neither do Deacon or I.”

  “It’s okay,” he gloats, bumping the bars with his shaft, faster and faster until he moans, “Iris does.”

  With an intrepid calmness, I whisper, “I am going to kill you, Nico. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I am going to be the one holding the gun that puts the bullet in your brain.”

  He erratically looks around the room until his daft gaze lands to mine. His raving mad smile glimmers, and he groans, “Thank you, Sal.”

  67

  No Rose Colored Towels

  The Master

  “How did that go?” Cruz asks, propped against his bumper as I bust out the door and hurl into the garbage can. “… That well, huh?”

  I glance up, noting he’s already loaded his bike into the back of the truck. I cough and retch again. “Ugh.”

  “I bought your favorite.” He winks, handing me the freezing cold Coke. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  “I gotta go to Scarlet House.”

  “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” he says, glancing down and noticing the wet spot on my jeans. “Tell me you pissed yourself.”

  “No, it’s water from cleaning up Nicky’s spunk,” I answer, spitting. His body tenses as he heads for the door. I rapidly lift my arm, stopping him. “No, Cruz
,” I warn as his blue eyes ignite with a ferocity like I’ve never seen before. “He isn’t worth it.”

  “I’m going to fucking kill him!” he screams as we wrestle until he relents. “He’s a fucking dead man!”

  “There is a line,” I whisper, licking my lips and grimacing as I open the bottle. “And you aren’t crossing it today.”

  “Shit!”

  “What?”

  “I forgot to open it,” he says as we walk to the truck.

  “It’s okay. I got it. Can you drive?”

  “Of course,” he offers, opening my door for me. “Careful, boxer boy.”

  I hop into the truck and crack my neck before kicking my boots into the floorboard and stripping off the jeans. In front of the truck, Cruz is caught by Kit, heading out for lunch. They’re chatting it up, and I am sitting in the truck with no pants on. Thankfully the hoodie is long enough to cover my junk. I won’t honk. I consider it. But I won’t.

  “Sorry about that.” He gets in, and I flash him. “Holy wow…all I did was buy you a drink and open the door. Guess it pays to be a gentleman. Wonder if I could get a homer if I bought you dinner.”

  I snort and barrel over with laughter. “I gotta find some fucking pants.”

  “How bad is he?”

  I grab the duffel from the back seat. “He’s not here anymore.” I dig through the bag, tossing out three outfits of Iris’ and none of mine. “And he’s not coming back.”

  “Put the leggings on,” he suggests. “They’re super stretchy.”

  “I am not wearing damn yoga pants at Scarlet House.”

  “Why not?” He dangles a cigarette from his lips. “No one is home. They went shopping in Austin.”

  “How do you know this?”

  He admits with a flush on his cheeks, “Amber told me when I was fucking her over the bathroom sink.”

  “Facing the mirror?” I ask, and he radiates with a guilty grin. “Fuck ya!”