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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Oh…God…Raniero.”

  “Do you know how many times I have quietly said no?” he asks as the gold chain dangles in his fingers. Nodding, I can’t stop crying. “It may seem like I have lots of people around me, but I don’t trust very many of them.”

  “Who do you trust?”

  “My wife. My mistress. My Master. And my Cruz times two.”

  “Not Nicky?”

  “No,” he emphatically declares. “There is no decision. There is no he said/she said. He hurt you to hurt me. And I will never forgive him.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I implore, laying my hands on his chest. “Your wife is not going to be happy. And neither is my brother.”

  “Your brother will be fucking ecstatic,” he lies with a grin. “And Iris will be fine after she challenges you a few times. She loves Amber, worships the damn ground she walks on. This isn’t temporary. This is permanent. We’re going to fight, and this means…”

  “We don’t walk away,” I interrupt. “This is all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I am asking you, Hannah Beth Howser Cruz, to be my slave, my submissive, and serve my family and my name. If that means changing diapers or painting my wife’s toes or whatever is needed, you agree to pick up the ball, bottle, or bang.”

  “I will never drop my guard,” I fiercely say. “Ever.” He latches his necklace around me. “I am a slave at House Raniero.”

  “You are,” he acknowledges. “Do not forget what this means to me.”

  “I will surrender all that I am for you, your family, and provide my very best service,” I whisper as his lips eclipse mine, and my eyes shutter closed. His hips rock into me as his mouth separates from mine and skims to my neck. I wrap my legs around him and hold his body close. My fingers pet his hair, and my body welcomes his pillage.

  “I am staying inside of your puddle for hours,” he mutters. “And tomorrow, I am putting you on a plane to Texas with my father.”

  “Should I service him too?”

  “No,” he cackles without shock. His Dominance is like no other, and when he is on, he doesn’t waver at all. “I don’t know if I trust him that much.”

  “And what about Rowan? Are you collaring her too?”

  “My wife already has.” My eyes open wide as he extends his arms to either side of me and uses every muscle to swoop his throbbing pierced beast into me. “What my wife does is her choice, but I get to have a choice too. It doesn’t matter how she feels about you because she never once asked me if I could accept Rowan.”

  “You have to balance her.”

  “Who?”

  “Iris,” I confide. “You may have a diamond choker on her neck and claim the ownership with your name, but she is flighty.”

  “Fucking tell me about it!” he snarls.

  I laugh. “You need a bigger cage, not a jar, to enjoy her escapades. Keep her safe in a large enclosure with a tiny tag at the top that says Belongs to Sal Raniero. She doesn’t want to be half of you; she wants to be all of her. And there is nothing wrong with that.”

  “I hate how good you are.” He stops his rhythmic dance and blinks at me. “She’s not a submissive,” he mutters as his emotions sink with the words. “She’s too into controlling the game.”

  “There is a huge part of Iris that is as Dominant as you,” I contest, arguing the case of a woman who loathes me. Because she is a woman. Because I know what she is up against. Because I honor her as the Lotus. “And if you approach her with mutual respect, she’ll swing open the gate to her fortress.”

  “How long have you known this?”

  “Since we shared a Cobb salad from Mario’s when she had her hair and eyelashes done after hours,” I giggle at his confused expression. “You need my keen interpreting abilities, Sir.”

  With a wide, white smile, he laughs. “I do! You’re right!” He runs a finger beneath my jawline. “Do you want your crown?”

  “You mean, the I-am-Saint-Cruz’s-daughter crown?” He closes his eyes and nods as I whisper, “It’s nothing more than a rusted halo to me. I never knew Victor Cruz. And I never will. The only crown I covet is on my neck, Master Raniero.”

  74

  A God’s Call

  His Butterfly

  Waking up alone in the villa, I consider my options. As Fink suggests, I can meet with Muerte at the compound or run off to Brazil with a plea to the Montesino clan to take me as a stowaway. I’m not too fond of either one, so I decide to call Salomé.

  I am trained for this.

  The worst case is Fink sells me out, which he won’t do if he values his relationship with Sal. The best case is she agrees with me. My hands shake as I hit the button. It’s not every day I call up the drug lord’s wife or decide that manipulating her elderly need for companionship by flaunting my youth is in my best interest. She’ll cling to my energy, and I’ll sail in on her ship.

  I call it ripping a page out of the Sal Raniero handbook.

  “Hi! Salomé! It’s Iris!”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I anxiously lie with my mother’s best formal British accent. I must sound proper, well-spoken, and driven. Not like a mutt. I must know who I am and what I want, or she will run my ass over. Emotionally, I am quite bad, feeling a bit like a hostage held at gunpoint between multiple organizations. “I saw the announcement of Lia Montesino and León Herrera’s marriage, and I wanted to call and congratulate you.”

  “Yes,” she sighs. “They’re getting married next summer, but it should’ve been four years ago before the baby was born.”

  What baby?

  I didn’t plan on any baby. I recheck the story on my tablet—no mention of a baby.

  “I didn’t know they had a child together.”

  “This is what happens when marriages are arranged with families who have been at war for decades,” she volunteers, pouring her aching heart out to me. Boom. Spill it, Grandma. Come through for the pink. Take it home for the win. “Soleil lives with her mother in Brazil, but they’re staying at the mansion until the gala.”

  What gala?

  I have nothing to wear to a fucking gala.

  And my resident stylist is in New Orleans.

  Oh, God.

  “Arranged marriages can be quite challenging,” I say.

  “Feelings are messy things.” Don’t I know it. “I am sure you understand, you poor thing,” she mutters with genuine sympathy. “Has the divorce from Sal Raniero been finalized? Or is he being difficult? Those young ones always want cake and cream.”

  He was a real asshole, fucking me until dawn and creaming every orifice.

  “I am letting my lawyers handle it,” I dismiss, the way most in this circle would. The Lotus cannot filthy up her hands with litigation or have the scent of his spunk on her breath. So damn good. “I’ve never been to Brazil!”

  “We’ll all be traveling to Rio for her fourth birthday soon because we only see her about twice a year. These kids refuse to make things easy.”

  I stare at Goblin and point—you better behave, little shit.

  With delight, I respond, “I bet she is a darling little girl!”

  Or a wretched Queen in the making.

  “You will get to meet her!” she booms. “Everyone in the family will be joining us.”

  Ugh.

  Though Brazil is where I long to be, I segue fast, “Has Durante arrived yet?”

  Such a fuckface.

  “He is supposed to arrive Monday,” she says. “Just in time for the gala on Saturday.”

  Lovely.

  Without even thinking, I blurt out, “I have nothing to wear for the event.”

  “We should go shopping!” she offers, taking the bait. Yes! “I know a lovely designer on the coast. We’ll make a whole week out of it. When will you be arriving?”

  I just got played as I was playing.

  “Tomorrow,” I reply, panicking. I hadn’t thought this far in advance. “At noon!”

  “Wonderfu
l,” she says. “I will tell the pilot to prepare. Are you landing in Mexico City?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Make sure you pack your swimsuit,” she excitedly chirps. “Our place has a beautiful beach.”

  Riptides and jellyfish.

  Just what I need.

  “I will meet you at the airport, Salomé.”

  “It sounds like a lovely time, Iris,” she politely says. “I look forward to getting to know you. Have a good day!”

  “You as well.”

  And that is how I hustle, Mr. Raniero.

  An impromptu beach vacay and a trip to Brazil.

  I dance around the villa and take a bite of the scrumptious carrot cake sitting on the plate. I grab the expensive champagne that I put on his credit card and take it out onto the balcony. I shake it up, pop the cork, and douse my body in the bubbles. Sticking out my tongue, I lick the edge of the bottle when someone knocks on my door.

  Wet and reeking of champagne, I waddle to the door. “Dom!” I boom, peering out the hole, still with my mother’s accent. Fink is a rat. Jonathan Rat Finkle. I unlock the door. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk, princess.”

  “Let me change,” I say. “I was celebrating.”

  “Are you in?” he asks of my Immortal status.

  “I am.”

  “Take off your clothes, Iris,” he demands, sitting in a chair by the window and taking a sip of the bubbles. I quickly remove my soaked dress and stand for his inspection in the middle of the room. “Take off your bra and panties, too.”

  “What are we doing?”

  With a strict gaze, he issues an ultimatum. “Do it or I will.”

  “Dom…” I complain as he lifts a brow. I toss my undergarments at him. “What is the purpose behind this?”

  “To see if you can still perform on command.”

  How dare he challenge me.

  Rage quickly builds inside every muscle as I drop to my knees and crawl on all fours to his feet. “Is this what you want to see, Mr. Gennaro?”

  “You’re still the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen on her knees, Iris.”

  “I am flattered you think so, but I am insulted by your misjudgment of my capabilities.”

  “Tone the British down just a tad; it needs to be a little muddy.” He winks. “Not too much, it’s a nice touch, Lotus.”

  “You fucker!” I smack him hard in the arm. “You came to check on me!”

  “I did,” he gloats, offering his hands to me. “Now, get up off the floor before you go into labor and your husband severs off more of my limbs.”

  I grin at his dark humor as he holds my hand and pulls me closer. I willingly slide onto his lap. “Did you come all this way to check on me?”

  “I did,” he admits, staring at my ginormous bare belly. “May I?”

  “You don’t have to ask, Sir.”

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “I have no idea,” I say as he lays his hand on my belly. “I keep flip-flopping, much like Goblin does.”

  “What do you want to happen to Nicky?”

  “The best thing is for him to leave,” I answer, and he cocks his head at my unusual response. “Let me tell you why before you judge. Because I am certain, the boys want to rain carnage.”

  “Deacon doesn’t know.”

  I blink in shock. “… About the rape?”

  “Yeah,” he says, rubbing my belly. I want to ask him if he wants to make a wish, but I’m afraid of what that might be.

  “If they kill him, neither one of them will ever forgive themselves. And it is not a mess I desire to clean up.”

  His hand drifts lower…too low…on my belly, and my eyes close. “What are you doing?”

  “Shhh…”

  He slips his fingers between my folds, and I gasp. “I know what you’re doing,” I mumble, enjoying the feeling of being touched. “You’re recharging me, so I don’t walk into Immortal, a horny bitch, and do something stupid. Did Sal send you?”

  “Would he do that?”

  “Yes,” I reply, feeling his erection strengthen beneath the fabric. “Because he is a bastard that way.”

  “My job is to take care of you, Lotus.”

  I slide my hand down and tug his fly open. “So take good care of me, Daddy.”

  I twist in his lap, and he nudges my entrance. I slide on slowly, taking all of him in, and riding his dick as his hands hold my belly and fondle my breasts.

  “Are you okay, my lil girl?”

  “I’m wonderful…” I moan through waves of ecstasy. “I cannot wait to have your discipline again.”

  “Soon, baby.”

  “How long can you stay?”

  “Until the morning light.”

  “It’s going to be a very long night,” I mention as he pinches my nipples and rocks his hips up to meet me. “You’re like a vampire. Only you aren’t sucking the life out of me.”

  “No, Iris,” he mutters, dropping one hand to rub my clit. “I’m feeding you.”

  “I’m starving, Papa.”

  His Ride

  “Deacon Cruz!” Iris yells early in the morning. “Answer the phone!”

  “I did,” I mutter, laying in bed and holding the phone with our terrible connection. “Where are you?”

  “Are you going to tell your lover?”

  “He’s left for Italy,” I inform. “What do you need?”

  “What color of ball gown do I need?”

  I laugh. “You tell me where you are, and I will hand over the goods.”

  “I am outside of Mexico City, but Salomé thinks I am arriving today. We’re leaving for a beach house at noon, where I will buy a gown for a gala in Mexico City at the end of next week, and then we’ll be traveling as a pack to the Montesino mansion for Soleil’s birthday. Her parents are Lia Montesino and León Herrera, but they aren’t married yet. They’re having a summer wedding…”

  God, she is going to be so exhausted.

  “Iris…Iris…”

  “What?”

  “Slow the hell down,” I complain. “Is Durante there?”

  “Monday, before the Gala, which is next weekend.”

  Amber walks into the room in a red tank top and white panties as I quickly put my finger to my lips. She mouths—“Who is it?”

  I respond—“Iris.”

  Her eyes roll with relief, and she says—“Thank God!”

  “If you want to blend in, I would go with a muted, pale color. Baby pink or cream. Something lighter. If you want to be the star of the show, pick a bold color. Do not purchase anything which will make you look less pregnant because the effect will be the opposite.”

  “You love me!” she squeals, so loud that Amber giggles and covers her mouth.

  “Endlessly.”

  She asks, “How is he?”

  “When I dropped him off at the airport, he was good,” I say as Amber turns her back to me. She bends over and pulls her panties down as I stare and try not to drool. Damn, woman. She flips back the sheet, exposing my naked body and a massive hard-on. Straddling over my cock, she slides on, taking all of me in one thrust. “Oh, God…”

  Amber grabs a pillow, threatening to silence me.

  “Hmm?” Iris asks.

  “The house was such a mess,” I say, faking my way through it. “I am getting the basic stuff fixed up.”

  “I cannot wait to be home in Texas with you and Sal,” she says as Amber starts riding my dick like we’re the featured performers in an action-adventure porn flick. Probably screwing on donkeys as we ramble our way into the Grand Canyon. She licks her lips and rolls her hips with big swooping motions, taking it to tip before popping down hard. “We’re going to have so much fun shopping!”

  “We a—re!” I croak as she bites my nipple.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I am just doing too many things at one time.”

  Like this siren on top of me.

  “Thank yo
u for the advice,” Iris says. “I will call you when I hit the sand.”

  “I will be expecting your call,” I mutter, making faces of immense pleasure while trying to control my tone. “I love you, doll. Be safe down there.”

  She hangs up, and I toss my phone on the nightstand. It crashes into the water glass, knocking it over. We stare without care as it rolls and smashes into the floor.

  “I only have one question,” Amber says, rubbing her hands on my chest. “Are you always hard when you talk to Iris?”

  “Do you want the honest answer?”

  “Yeah,” she mutters.

  “Usually, to some degree,” I confide. “Does it bother you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Because you’re finger-fucking yourself on the phone with Sal?”

  She smiles and winks. “Usually, it involves a mega-sized, vibrating dildo pulsing to the music on my phone.”

  We laugh, and I take her hands. “I hate to say how much I’m starting to like having you around, Stardust.”

  “Same!” she says, glowing. “I have to leave for Italy tomorrow morning.”

  “Maybe I’ll go with you.”

  “I’d like that,” she says, kissing my lips as I roll her over. “If it’s not any trouble.”

  “No, trouble is what you’re going to be in now that I can have my way with you.”

  “I’d really like that.”

  75

  Hostage Situation

  The Master

  I can count on one hand how many people have shown enough respect to call me Master Raniero.

  Iris Nakamura. Deacon Cruz. Dominic Genarro. Amber Rosen. And now Hannah Cruz.

  With only a hug, Hannah and Mass say goodbye at the airport with Vinny looking on. I cannot risk her staying in Boston, even at my farmhouse. Too many people know where she is. As strange as sending her into the eye of the hurricane sounds, it’s the safest place for her. She’ll be with her mom and the boys from the club.

  I don’t know if Nicky is a soloist lunatic or collaborating with others, and it is that variable—an unknown danger—which forces my hand. All of Sal Raniero’s army is in Texas. We’re finally moving Je Suis from Nebraska and relocating Kevyn Abo.