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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  It isn’t just for me.

  My wife is a flower I am sworn to protect. It’s October, and time is dwindling to the final seconds before Goblin blasts out of her gut.

  We will be in Texas.

  And I want Hannah Cruz under my roof for a multitude of reasons. My sweet ride worships his damn sister. He may not have had anything to do with Wendy, but Hannah is his blood. I’ve questioned bringing Diablo into our ranks, but I just can’t. I don’t know him. I don’t trust him.

  I hug my old man and kiss his cheeks. “Watch after her.”

  “I will,” he says, patting my shoulder. “You watch after yourself.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “I know you do, son. I love you too.” He moves away to shake Mass’ hand.

  Hannah approaches, and I pivot to say goodbye as I realize I forgot to tell my dad something. “Hey…Vinny…”

  “Ya?”

  “Drive all my toys.”

  “Will do.” He grins.

  Hannah’s hands rest on my chest as I stare into her blue eyes. “Why are you so damned beautiful?”

  “Because you see your reflection in me.”

  I blush and glance away. “You better be there when I get back.”

  “I will,” she assures. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You finally got what you begged for all those months.”

  “Persistence with Dominants is key,” she whispers with a wink. “The dam was bound to break eventually.”

  I dip down for a lingering goodbye kiss.

  She brought a deluge.

  But I don’t attempt to control the water.

  I mitigate the damage.

  Thanks, Cruz.

  Walking the jet bridge from the plane, I glance at my phone. I have hundreds of messages, but none from the two that mean the most. I don’t want to be in Italy, which sounds utterly idiotic, but it only holds darkness for me now.

  I swing left to the exit in the crowd of people when from behind me, I hear, “Hey, Raniero!”

  Quickly, I rotate, recognizing the low, gravelly voice, and he smirks. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  With a firm embrace, he whispers, “I thought about bringing you flowers, but decided you might start crying.”

  “Fuck you,” I tease.

  He sticks the tip of his tongue out and takes the backpack off my shoulder. “I came to take care of you, but what I want to know is where in the hell you have been?”

  “I collared Hannah,” I blurt out, holding nothing back. “If you want to hit me, wait until we get outside.”

  His expression is unremarkable, and I can’t decide if he is mad or relieved. “You’ve got to get to Oscurità soon. We should go.”

  Shit.

  I pick up where we left off before I jammed the knife into his heart. Maybe that is an exaggeration. But his unwillingness to react is disconcerting.

  “Don’t tell me,” I reply, running my hand through my hair. “I have a date with Satan’s serrated, flaming dick.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asks as we get into the limousine. “You have to do something.”

  From the small bar, I grab the bottle of whiskey and one glass. I pour a generous amount and take a sip. “I am not killing Father Carrick Byrne. There is no reason. I am certain if I dug long and hard enough, he might have pushed someone in the dirt once in grammar school or even stuck a ‘kick me’ note on the back of someone’s shirt. But there is no reason to kill an innocent man.”

  He lights a smoke and nods as we switch vices. “Other than the fact Thomas wants him dead.” He takes a swig. “There is nothing I can do. I am the banker of Sanctum, not the judge. I don’t get a say in who dies and who lives. What I do know, per their good book, is you are directly violating doctrine.”

  “Cruz, I mean no disrespect, but I wouldn’t kill Carrick even if Dom asked me to. Bad example because he would just hire someone else to do it.” He smiles, and we laugh. “I wouldn’t do it without just cause for anyone because every kill is a notch on my soul, and I am one step closer on a short ladder from descending into hell.”

  “He’s not Nico Cristos,” he says, exhaling hard as I panic that he may have found out the truth.

  The rape of Hannah Cruz is not a bomb I am ready to detonate yet; I need the perfect set-up with my presence beside him. I have earned the right to watch Nico’s last breath, and I am strategically laying the track to make sure it goes down exactly as I want it to.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head about Nicky.”

  “He deserves to die for all of the shit he’s done,” Cruz chafes. “Fucking vermin.”

  In the mortal butcher shop, I peer in my cell as my hand sweats against the handle of the torch. I glance around, thinking this must have been a mistake. I wish I had seen the note, but Cruz didn’t bring it to the airport, and we didn’t have time to go by the apartment.

  There is no one.

  Nothing is out of sorts.

  Everything appears normal.

  I am uncertain about what to do.

  I douse the flames under the copper snuffer when a hand grabs my wrist. I tumble to the ground as the large, hooded, and masked man proceeds to pound his fist into me. I wrestle against him and manage to jab my knuckles into his kidney enough that he moves, sliding toward my feet. When he does, I nail him in the balls. He rolls away with a groan.

  “What the fuck?” I get up off the floor, startled from the sudden attack.

  “You did not do as you were told, Raniero. You have ten days to eliminate my brother.”

  Near the one lit torch by the door, I notice the hooded and masked man getting up and untying his robe. He grabs his package as a warning.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss at Thomas. “And fuck you too!”

  Pulling out a pair of brass knuckles plated in gold, he slips them on his fingers. “This is your last time to fail the Nero.”

  I dash for the door, but the hefty one trods over and latches his arms to mine. I am nothing more than his punching bag, and the guy holding my arms is massive. As Thomas attempts to beat the piss out of me all I can think about is her words burned into my soul like a promise I could never forget.

  “Would you like that? Would it turn you on? You want black gloves and cement blocks in the river, baby? Cause I can do that!”

  “This man,” Iris persisted. “This is the man I am in love with.”

  “You are in love with a fucking monster!”

  Breathing heavily, I take a deep whiff, recognizing the scent of the man. I don’t say anything. I know who he is and what he wants.

  Me—more specifically, Amber and Baby Mae, but little does Dale Archer understand that they belong to me.

  I consented to his tribulations once; I won’t ever make that mistake again. I will fight to the death, but it isn’t weak to choose life and be a survivalist. Dale Archer is an oaf of a man, and I don’t know if I could win the battle in a ruckus.

  The odds are against me.

  And smart Sal knows that.

  Strategizing in my head, I take his blows until he is finished, and I drop to the ground. I hurt like a motherfucker, but I am one tough son of a bitch.

  I am not Deacon Cruz—a madman shredding muscle from the bone with only his hands.

  I don’t have the use of my hands like I once did. Not for this anyway. A fistfight in a castle for a girl I love I can handle, a battle to the death with no weapons against Dale Archer, probably not.

  He’s not the same Hoss I once knew.

  We’re getting older, and those we upheld like idols had fallen from grace. He almost died from gunshot wounds in the church when I believed…we were on the same team.

  What a fool I was.

  It’s all a harsh hit to my masculinity.

  And it shouldn’t be.

  I fought wars in prison, beating demons from hell, and punching walls because the only other option was a full check out. I could do it again, but not right now. Not for him; he
isn’t worth the snap of my bones and the blood on my knuckles.

  Do not unleash.

  “Get my brother dead,” Thomas warns as I make no sound. Dale urinates and spits on my midsection, soaking my robe to the skin. My jaw clenches as I mentally struggle to stay down. This self-imposed discipline is one of the hardest I’ve ever endured—keep your crown on the ground, boy. “Or you are dead in ten days.”

  Don’t die tonight, Lucas, I pray.

  Not here. Not now.

  Not tonight.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Cruz asks, sprinting up from the chair as I step inside.

  “I need a strong pot of coffee, my computer, and a carton of smokes.”

  “Sal…who did this to you?”

  “Thomas Byrne and Dale Archer.”

  “Holy fuck!” Amber says, coming out of the bedroom. She rushes to the kitchen. “What happened?”

  “The Priest and the Ex,” Cruz mutters, grabbing his hoodie and heading for the door. “Move.”

  “No,” I say, as Amber hands an ice pack to me. “Let me try something. Besides, you aren’t going to find them.”

  “Did you hurt your hands?” Amber tenderly asks. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  Shaking my head, I confess the truth, staring into Cruz’s blue eyes, “I didn’t fight back. Survivalist.”

  His nostrils flare wide as his monster seethes just beneath the surface. “I’m going to fucking kill him!”

  “I am less concerned about Thomas than I am Archer.” I peel off my jacket, and Amber rushes to assist me. Cruz paces for a minute, throws a punch into the air, and chucks his jacket before disappearing into the bedroom. “We can play this if you help me.”

  “In Dubai?”

  “Ya,” I reply, holding the ice to my face as she examines the bruises on my chest. “A long time ago, I had all of his passwords. He had mine too, but I was smart enough to change them after Virginia died.”

  “You knew,” she whispers.

  “I suspected long before then, but anyone playing a Mama’s boy the way he did should’ve come after my ass.”

  “And he didn’t,” she observes. “I’m happy to help you with anything. You think he didn’t change his?”

  “You got it,” I say, sitting at my computer. “I want to see if I can crack into anything.”

  Amber questions, “What are you going to do if you can?”

  “Set Georgia up in a house high on a hill if she can push the button at just the right time.”

  “You’re a naughty motherfucker, ain’t ya?” she muses as I cackle and grimace in pain. “You want something for that?”

  “Not yet, I’ve been sober for a few weeks,” I reply, scanning over my files. “Narcotics will hit like a truck.”

  Worse than Cruz’s ringed knuckles.

  “If that changes, let me know,” she says, gently laying her hand on my shoulder before walking to the kitchen. A few minutes later, the aroma of coffee fills the air.

  I notice her disappear into the bedroom, and Cruz surfaces with a smug look on his face. His fingers are tucked about an inch into his pockets as he silently rocks, hovering over my shoulder.

  After five minutes of staring at the lines of bank accounts and routing numbers, I glance up. “… Can I help you?”

  He lowers down beside me. “That line,” he says, squinting and pointing. “He has funds there.”

  “How do you fucking know that?”

  He grins like a damned teenage dream in a boy band. “Because I bought his remaining shares in Archer Agency and Cyclone Indies.”

  I lick my lips and snarl. “You did what?”

  “I am the proud fucking owner of a security firm and online porn biz.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Deacon.”

  He sits on the edge of the desk. “Never underestimate.”

  “I don’t,” I say. “You know I own the other half of Archer Agency from the Henderson Noose deal. I guess this means we’re partners in bed and in business.”

  “If you are swiping my money back, I suggest you make sure he dies, or he will come after all of us. He sold everything cheap to put more funds into Allegiance. The funny part about that is, according to Quinn, he’s broke.”

  “Did all the money go to the Pakhan?”

  “Quinn doesn’t know where it is,” he says. “So, I had Dom poke around.”

  “Anything?”

  “He hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” he says, chewing on the tip of his finger. I pull his arm down. “What?”

  “I know you don’t understand.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” he mutters. “I do understand why you walked away. I am just pissed it happened at all. You wouldn’t be happy if I were in your shoes.”

  “My shoes won’t fit your big ass feet.”

  He sighs and rolls his eyes as Amber brings a cup of coffee to me. “Here you go,” she whispers, setting the cup down and pulling the glasses off of her head. She slides them on Cruz. “And you get these.”

  “Are you going blind, motherfucker?”

  “I’m getting older.”

  “You look remarkably cute in those frames,” I compliment the black wire glasses. “But not as good as I do in mine.”

  “I am going to beat your ass, Raniero.”

  “It’s about the only part of me they didn’t smack around,” I reveal as he eyes my crotch. “They didn’t get that…yet.”

  His head tilts as I test the waters. His jaw tenses. His fists clench. “If they hurt you, I will make Nicky’s mayhem look like a fucking day at the park.”

  The bomb is ready.

  He’ll flawlessly fire when triggered.

  And unload every ounce of hate with his favorite weapon in hand.

  76

  Snakes in Jungles

  His Butterfly

  After soaring over the gorgeous landscape to Tulum and thoroughly enjoying the chatter with Salomé Herrera, I check out my bedroom on the first floor with an ocean view. Clear blue skies balance the pristine white foaming ripples, providing an escape with a beautiful soaking tub sitting directly in front of the windows.

  “You and I have a date,” I whisper, turning on the water. “Right now. I’m an impromptu kind of girl.”

  I have hope that Salomé doesn’t run me ragged over the next week. I don’t think she will, considering she cited needing a nap after lunch. She’s older, but not old, with a stellar personality and a compelling smile. She is the perfect trophy wife for a cartel leader such as Juarez Herrera.

  I almost feel as though the shopping excursion for the gala was merely an excuse to whisk me away to a remote location. I am a stranger, a foreigner to be excluded, and not trusted. I will not be allowed to stay at the Immortal compound, but far be it from the proper Mrs. Drug Lord to ever say such. There is no overt disdain, but skepticism in my intent. I hold no ill will because I would probably do the same in similar circumstances.

  But maybe I am merely making excuses for bad behavior. I did open my house to many strangers from both Servet and The Commission.

  I am not like the others.

  The next two weeks are booked solid and will be exhausting for my mind and body with the gala in Mexico City and Soleil’s birthday in Brazil on Halloween.

  I’m excited and scared.

  The more time that passes, the closer I get to meet the baby in my belly. I’ve gone through the gamut of emotions, but that is to be expected.

  I haven’t been the ideal candidate for pregnancy, and I’ve slacked horribly on prenatal visits. All I can do is cross my fingers and say my prayers that everything is okay with Goblin.

  Taking off my clothes, I glance in the floor to ceiling mirrors lining one wall and reflecting the entire room. Instead of shaming myself with belittling fat thoughts, I attempt to see what others do—glowing skin, bountiful curves, and the beauty of motherhood.

  I slip into the warm, not hot, water, and understand that the woman I was before Goblin no longer exist
s. I’ve spent months mourning her loss, but I can’t overvalue that to end up resenting this baby.

  I chose this.

  I wanted this.

  Goblin brings an inevitable change—not only to my life but to me. There is a unique opportunity of regrowth and selecting what pieces of my former self that I carry over into motherhood.

  Who I am will imprint on the mini-me…mini-Sal. My core values, and what I want to represent, take the lead. The person I am serves as a greater value than size two designer clothes I cannot wear. She or he needs to know the importance of using their head and heart over any other attribute—a nice rack or big cock or loaded gun.

  I love this baby—unselfishly and unconditionally—much like I do my husband. I already know he has probably done some shit while we’ve been apart, but I accept it.

  Our infidelity changes nothing.

  We’re going to be together soon, and everything will be fine. Maybe I am lying to myself, but I have to believe he is thinking of me. I must trust his love. And know that us getting back together is the only thing that matters.

  Whatever it takes to get us there.

  We’ll put the pieces back together.

  In the hazy, relaxed state, I feel Sal making love to me. My legs lift, dripping out of the water, and submerge.

  Water turns me on.

  My hand slides over my breast and belly to my aching clit. I’ve been insatiably wanton in the last few weeks. I can’t have enough orgasms, which seems strange for a woman in her third trimester.

  If Cruz were here, it wouldn’t be a problem. His Saintly ways would provide the blessing of his cock.

  Not to dismiss the excellent night with Dom, but it wasn’t enough. And now that I have broken the seal, tapping the source, it’s only made my yearning worse.

  I imagine the boys at Les Pétales when they had their way with me. I want to suck them at the same time and be filled with love. I want them to carry me home for all eternity.