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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  The human form is the greatest lie ever believed.

  Because we are so much more than this.

  From the drawer, I reach for the bottle of lube when he stops me. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Which part of this?”

  “Any of it,” he says. “You have a clause at the bottom of the invisible contract marked with the word—bayou.”

  “I’m not bayou-ing out of this,” I reassure. “It’s been a long time. You’re going to want lube. May I take this out?”

  “Ya,” he replies as I undo the piercing from his beast and toss it to the table. It makes a plunking sound against the glass. “You’ll need lube because of how long you will want to be inside of me.”

  My eyes dart from side to side. “You have a point.”

  “I usually do,” he gloats as I pump the lube into my hand and stroke his cock. “Right now, I have a big point.” I wipe my hands on the sheet, and he teasingly chastises, “Unrefined.”

  “Survivalist,” I counter, lifting off of my knees and straddling over him. “Always in it until the bitter end.”

  His mouth gapes when I take his shaft in my hand and lower onto him slowly. “What the fuck are you doing?” he breathlessly says, carried away by my unselfish actions. I take him in, one glorious inch at a time. “Deacon Vincent…”

  “I am fucking you, Lucas Salvatore,” I mutter, striding along his shaft as our fingers lace together. “I am making love to you because survivalists know that change is necessary. You have to adapt,” I groan, speeding up as his throbbing cock fills me. “You have to shift gears on the fly. You have to concede. And sometimes, for the perfect Master, you must surrender.”

  His hands drop to my hips, leaving the paralyzed shock state. “And are you?”

  “I always have been.”

  With a firm grip of my ass, he rolls his hips up into me. He’s thrusting, and I am rocking, and we are loving. “Did you need to know what it was like for her, princess?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I admit as the tears come to my eyes. With tenderness, his knuckles caress my cheek. “I needed to know how she felt on top of you, how you looked at her, what was at stake, so I could fiercely fucking defend it until my death.”

  “Ride my cock until I come, beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Master Nero.”

  The Butterfly

  “You’re quiet,” Navarro says as we wait in the line to pass the border. “Do you need water, Lotus?”

  “No,” I reply. “I don’t need anything but for this to be over with.”

  His hand strokes through the one tear trickling over my cheek. “I will take you to Mexico City.”

  I cast a scrutinizing glance at him. “And what is your fee?”

  “You give me one night in a hotel room.”

  “Will I walk out of it alive?”

  He heartily laughs, “Yes, but you may never be the same.”

  “You take me to Gabriel Herrera, and I will give you one night in a hotel room with the Lotus Queen.”

  “Chica, you are too easy,” he snickers as I pivot in the seat to stare at him. “Toughen up,” he encourages. “If you go into Mexico or anywhere else in the world but America with your easy stipulations, they will eat you alive.”

  “You’re telling me to negotiate harder.”

  “With a woman as good looking as you are, negotiate like a rabid bitch. Muerte won’t kill you. And neither will anyone else.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You are Sal Raniero’s wife.”

  “So, because I am his wife, you will not kill me?” I question, growing increasingly agitated. “Not because I am the future of Lotus?”

  “The Lotus is nothing more than a bonus,” he candidly says. “The real sticking point with you is Sal Raniero. People are fucking afraid of pissing him off and meeting Deacon Cruz.”

  “Who?”

  “You name it,” he says. “Cruz is no laughing matter.”

  “Who has he killed recently?” I ask, forming the list of names—Tock, Atticus Huit, Juan Neves…

  “It’s not so much who he has killed as who he is still letting live. He’s stalking his prey, waiting to assault,” he remarks as we present our passports and receive a nod into Mexico. “You need to consider everything you know about Cruz. He is no Saint.”

  Fearing the worst, I ask, “… Is my husband in danger?”

  “Sal? Nah. Not yet anyway,” he says. “Deacon Cruz is a predatory animal. I’d be careful if I were you, watch your back, and those around you.”

  “We aren’t sleeping together.”

  “We never were.” His side-eyed glance sends a chill through me. “Don’t give in too quickly. There is a lot on the line. All the gifts in the world cannot equal one fluid connection. One contact.”

  “Gabe?”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “You need to get in with someone in a position of power.”

  “Salomé?”

  “Don’t turn this into a baby shower, Iris,” he insults, downplaying my answer. “You’re smarter than that.”

  “Máximo Herrera.”

  “All of them, Iris,” Jaid warned on the phone late last night from Morocco. “Every single one of them. No one breathes corruption without contamination.”

  Was she telling me the truth or sending me on a wild goose chase away from Cristos?

  “There you go,” he praises. “You can do this. Work your angles,” he persists, eyeing my belly. “You got the curves. Make them count.”

  I take a deep breath as we pass by the colorful tourist traps in the border town. I remember Sal working the Bordertown Murders and lick my lips, trying not to panic.

  “Use both hands.”

  We stop in the traffic as I clench my bag to my side and swiftly open my door. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” I run as fast as I can into the chaotic crowd.

  “Iris!” he yells. “It’s not safe for you here!”

  I know—God, how I know.

  Disappearing into an alleyway, I rest against the side of a building. “Sal, help me. Please. You were so right about everything. I can’t do this alone.”

  Breathe, Lotus.

  After I calm down, I feel around for the burner phone in my purse. I hit the number and scout the passageway for potential poachers. “I need an extraction.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Brazil,” I say with no regret. “If I cannot go to the front door, I will sneak in the back.”

  “I’ve got four guys on the ground,” Jonathan Finkle replies. “We’ll have you in no time, Lotus,”

  A girl always needs a backup plan.

  “There is a guy,” Kaci said as we sat in the hotel room. It was the spring of 2010, and she was pregnant with Raine. “His name is Jonathan Finkle. He knows about you and my involvement with you. If you need help, he will assist you because I was always good to him. Take what I did and run with it, Iris. Use the connections I made and soar like a butterfly.”

  Even if it is Delarte Cristos’ right-hand man and Sal’s biggest fanboy, I have something far more impressive on the line—the one thing Fink has wanted for years—to be free of Cristos’ reign. Sal promised but never came through.

  I will deliver Cristos to the grave. And I will deliver this baby.

  “One of them saw a woman in a black hat and floral dress running for a side street.”

  “That was me.”

  “Hold tight.”

  “Get me the fuck out of this, Fink.”

  The Master

  I tower over Cruz on my forearms, kissing his lips as my hips buck wild and uncontrollably, seeking salvation. “I’m going to come,” I moan, shooting deep inside of his ass. “I love you so fucking much, baby.”

  His dampened eyes blink to mine. “All fours.”

  I roll away, preparing for the impact. My fingers grip the sheet, and my anxiety rises like the swelling tides. The lash of his belt sends an epic shockwave through my system. Tears bloo
m in my eyes, and my fists twist the fabric. “Again!” I roar as the crack of the leather meets my skin. “Take me home!”

  Through every cursed strike and rising welt, we rise, higher and higher above the churning seas. My body sinks, unable to hold on, and sweat blisters out of my skin’s paper-thin shell. “You want more?”

  “I want to feel you in my bones!”

  He circles around, alternating in figure eights, from the crest of my shoulders to my ass cheeks. He avoids the Lotus brand like the black hole of a vacuum it is. If he hits the scar, gravity will fail, and I will capsize into the angry gyres below.

  We’re soaring, just like I believed we could. I am a firebird with Saint latched onto my wings. I will not detour from my mission. I will not redirect my missile.

  Every target I will hit because of his gales.

  My flames are burning hot, so deafening with blasphemous thunder that I don’t hear the phone ring. I am too high on the pain, the moment, and the man.

  “You want me to get that?” he asks, as my wings stop fluttering and we stall in the clouds. “Or should we continue, Phoenix?”

  “Whatever you want to do, Ride.”

  I feel his body ease in behind mine and the rush of fuel surges through me as he thrusts with full force. We speed across the landscape, aiming the crosshairs and shooting flaming arrows as warning signs.

  Sal Raniero is coming.

  Hide your daughters…keep them out of sight…until we arrive.

  We’re coming…as fast as we can…like lightning bolts zigzagging across a stormy sky in the driving rain…and we will get there. We will not relent. We will not give in.

  “I want to come in your ass,” he growls, smacking his palm on the firm flesh. He bends forward, and his tongue skirts around the petals of the Lotus in reverence.

  Flick the sparks. Wish good luck. Say prayers.

  And kneel.

  “Fuck me, Cruz!” I bellow as every pummel holds more charge than the last. “Harder!” I cry out, white-knuckling the edge of the bed and shaving my jaw bones to dust. “Take it! Now!”

  “You’re so fucking tight, slut.”

  “Just like you want it,” I violently hiss. “There will never be another asshole like mine.”

  “There will never be another asshole like you, period.”

  “You gonna cream me?”

  “Yes,” he grunts, nearing the end when his torpid movements postpone the inevitable. His phone goes off. “Why the fuck did we not turn those damn things off?”

  Mine rings again on the dresser. “Answer one and turn the other one off.”

  “God forbid, it’s two different people,” he mutters, grabbing his phone. “Cruz. I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

  His face turns pale white, and he drops his phone before grabbing mine. “Deacon…”

  “Hi…” Her sweet voice fills the air as a behemoth tidal wave collides into my feathered, fiery wings. “I’m on a burner phone that I will be disposing of after this call.” We’re going down. We’ve sustained injuries. We’re not on any trajectory. “I just wanted to tell you that things didn’t work out in Mexico, so I am leaving.” Mayday. Mayday. Help. “I love you. I will be in contact soon.” SOS.

  Talk about subdrop.

  More like subcrash.

  “Who called you?”

  “Amber,” he says, picking up his phone and setting them on the dresser. “She got a call from Navarro. Iris bailed. They have no idea where the fuck she is going.”

  “Shit!” My hands rub over my eyes as I flip on my back and stare at the ceiling. The old tin tiles are so ornate with finite detailing of gold leaf. I glance over to the perfect box from Mariella with three spinning dials. It wasn’t destroyed. “Call Gabriel.”

  “And tell him what?”

  “Tell him to call Phoenix ASAP.”

  He strokes his beard. “What does that get us?” he questions as I stare longingly. “He doesn’t know where she is.”

  “No, but she will respond to him because he is not me,” I whisper, disheartened. “She doesn’t want to be Sal Raniero’s wife. More than anything, she wants to be the Lotus. On her own. Without any assistance.”

  “This doesn’t work that way.”

  “We’ll give her some assistance she doesn’t see coming,” I inform, plotting the strategy. “We’ll give her exactly what she wants. Call Berk. It’s time to implement our informant, Cris Crow. Only she isn’t going after Durante Costa. She is going after Iris Nakamura.”

  “You need to get back to where you belong.”

  “Not until you’ve made a substantial deposit,” I taunt, rolling over on my side. “I need your energy and love to get us out of this one.”

  “Maybe I should just postpone your flight for twenty-four hours.”

  “That might be a good idea,” I concede, stroking my dick. “We have a lot to plot out.”

  “We’ll have to keep the phones on,” he maintains, falling onto the bed. “We’ll have to answer them when they ring.”

  “Can you talk to my wife when you’re bucking like a bitch in heat?” I ask, kissing his lips.

  “I will do anything to put a smile on your face, Raniero.”

  VIII

  A Revolutions Menacing Error

  72

  Breach the Light

  The Master

  “Why the hell are you in Boston?” Mass asks as I walk into the farmhouse. “You were supposed to be in Italy two days ago.”

  “I have to do something.”

  He imparts one of those—stop lying to me, I know you—glares. “You need to be finishing up your service to Nero.”

  “I have a flight this afternoon,” I reply, watching him chop vegetables for what looks like soup. “I swear, I’m going. I just need to talk to Hannah first.”

  “And you couldn’t do it over the phone?”

  “Things get distorted,” I implore. “This needs to be said in person.”

  “She’s in the workout room.”

  “Thank you,” I say, stealing a carrot. “It means a lot to me.”

  Chopping the onion, he remarks, “Makes me wonder why you are so soft.”

  “I’m not soft,” I soothingly whisper. “I just have a heart.”

  First, I am brittle from Cruz. Now, I am soft from Mass. There must be a happy medium somewhere. Medium rare. Grins.

  “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “If I stay for dinner, it won’t be for your soup,” I say, suggestively raising my brows. “It would be to get your girl back on track, and as much as I want to do that for her and you, I can’t. I got a priest waiting for me.”

  I start to walk away when he offers, “Stay one night. Please, Salvatore.”

  Doing a one-eighty, I face the desperate agony in his eyes. “You love her, Massimiliano?”

  “I have a fucking ring,” he confides.

  “… Engagement?”

  “It’s a promise ring, her birthstone—peridot—set in a halo of diamonds.”

  Fuck.

  Plans change. I adapt.

  I tug my hoodie off. “Scoot over. I’ll make your damn soup. What I have to say can wait until tonight.”

  “I owe you.”

  “Nah.” I take over his chef duties. “This is my repayment to you, brother.”

  His Butterfly

  “Let me explain this to you,” Fink says at the remote villa outside of Mexico City. “If you do not show up at Immortal with Durante Costa’s baby in your belly, they are going to hunt your ass down, throw you in a cell, and dispose of your body post-delivery. You will never see Sal or your baby again.”

  I glare at the painting on the wall—a modern twist with Mary looking more goth than maiden. The whole portrayal represents a bleak outlook with darkened, deep purple skies, and horrifying trees with arms.

  “Who would do that?”

  He shifts in his chair to glance at it. “All of the art is made by local youth. Look, Iris, I am begging you to reconsider what y
ou are doing.”

  “Is Cristos there?”

  “At the Immortal compound?” he asks, and I nod. “No.”

  “Where is he?”

  His perfectly manicured eyebrows perk up in the center. “You know I can’t tell you.”

  “Who could you tell?”

  “No one,” he flamboyantly remarks. “I still have to work for the bastard.” He taps his black painted fingernails on the table. “What are you so scared of?”

  “Jaid was raped for months!”

  “Yeah,” he says. “But she agreed to play that card.” I lean back with the burden of my belly between my tits and hips. I no longer own a midsection or a waistline, but an immovable giant rubbery ball. He quickly gets up and adjusts the pillows on the bed. “Lay down.”

  I twist my lips, determining if I can trust this man with eye makeup better than mine. I kick off my sneakers—Thank you, Deacon—that I bought in Tokyo and wallow onto the mattress.

  “Ahh!” I breathe, relaxing as he sits at the end of the bed and rubs my feet. “Define played that card.”

  “She agreed to be Immortal’s plaything if her father would give her the bulk of the estate.”

  I tilt my head.

  You dirty bitch, Jaid.

  “She wasn’t subjected to non-stop, drive-thru sex?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he insinuates, batting his lashes. I need to ask where he has them done because they are exquisite feathery wings. “I would say she is coveting one thing which her father’s estate brings.”

  “Which is?”

  “Notoriety,” he says, kneading my arches. “She doesn’t need the money or the power but the infamy that will come with being his only heir. She’ll be Queen Priscilla.”