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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Like a bullet firing from the chamber, Cruz soars onto the man. “Motherfucker!”

  Shutting my eyes, I see her smiling face and mute the sounds of Thomas’ skull being repeatedly pounded into the ground by a ruthless savage. The grunts from my lover’s lungs are primal.

  Cruz is a fucking animal.

  And the only difference between Nicky and him is one faulty wire that runs directly to Cruz’s passionate heart. Cruz punishes those who seek to harm, and the last rites he slings are slaughtering prayers in an anarchist’s war.

  “You do not fuck with what belongs to me!” He huffs, slamming the corpse into the bricks once more. Carnage won’t repair the offense in Cruz’s court, but his vigilante justice will reclaim the hallowed ground. Raising from the ground, he heaves and glances at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Why…” I cough again, and he rushes over to rub my back.

  “Take it slow,” he calmly says. “I am not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”

  Breathing never felt so good. “Why did you come back?”

  “I passed by a priest on the way out,” he replies. “And I knew you were here alone.”

  “Either Rowan sent him, or Cristos did.”

  “I don’t have to tell you who I think did it,” he hisses. “And I have no qualms in killing her either.”

  “Why not Cristos?”

  “He fucking loves you, man. You can’t see it, but I do. He wouldn’t send Thomas to kill you, but Rowan has it in for us.”

  “Can we go home?”

  “We can go wherever you want,” he offers, helping me up. He gathers my shirt, gun, blade, and empty vial, but says nothing. He grabs the torch Thomas brought in, and he holds onto me as we walk to the exit. Picking up my jacket, I slip my shoes on, and he extinguishes the torch. “Hey…Raniero?”

  “Ya?”

  “I saved you the trouble of deciding.”

  I snicker, “Thanks, brother. But why did you come back?”

  “Because I realized I was an idiot.”

  “No argument there,” I quip with a smirk. “We’re just going to have to figure it out.”

  “We always do.”

  His Ride

  I wash the blood of another away, immune to it’s passing. It doesn’t shock me anymore, and I don’t think about what’s morally right or wrong.

  I don’t fucking care.

  Hurt mine; suffer in red.

  I cut the water and wrap a towel around my waist. Walking into the bedroom, I see Sal sitting despondently in the chair by the window. “Where is she?” He nods out to the living room. “Do you speak?” He shakes his head. “Talk because you’re scaring me, brother.”

  “I just…” he whispers as his eyes puddle with tears. “I feel like everyone has lied to me about everything.”

  “Who do you trust?”

  “You,” he quickly answers.

  “Even though you know I lied?” I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed across from him. “I don’t need a free pass with you. I am as guilty as anyone.”

  “But that’s the thing, Cruz. You do because you lied to conceal something you weren’t ready to reveal, and how do I know the same isn’t true with the lies everyone else has spoken?”

  “Okay, I get where you’re going,” I say. “People lie for all kinds of reasons. Those reasons are what you are questioning, not the lies.”

  “Right,” he affirms. “When do I offer a reprieve, forgiving the reason and thereby the lie, versus when is a lie just a lie?”

  I rub my hands over my face. “I get that you need to analyze the shit out of this, Sally boy, but you may not be able to find an answer. You may have to accept it as it is and on a case by case basis.” He isn’t happy with my answer. “You need to find the equilibrium in Sal’s house,” I offer, tapping my head. “Your temple is the only thing that matters.”

  “So, I forgive Jaid?”

  “You do whatever you need to do. I walked into Thomas, trying to kill you. Deacon’s happy house is full of retribution.”

  He laughs, and I smile. “Cruz’s happy house of pain and torture.”

  “Only for the fortunate, baby.” I grin wide. “Not everyone survives these hands. But they’ll never hurt you. No matter what the fuck you do.”

  He walks over and crawls onto all fours on the bed. I stare at the mess of lacerations on his back and pull off my towel. I spread it out beside him before smacking his ass hard. “You don’t get to hide from me tonight.”

  Rolling onto the towel, he blinks with an innocence I haven’t witnessed in a long fucking time—since Kaci died. I lube up my dick and stroke it a few times. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

  “I know.”

  “And I’m not going to hurt you because you’ve had enough of that for the next six weeks.”

  “Why six weeks?” he asks as I wedge between his legs and rest my wrists on his knees.

  “Because we’ll be in Texas at the Swamp Shack with your new baby and wife by then,” I remind. “And between all of the feedings and diaper changing, Daddy is going to need me.”

  “Is that why you came back?”

  I thrust into his ass slowly. “I came back because I am still fucking crazy about you, and I am not giving up on you or us. I’m not going to be the one who walks away. You will have to do that because I am not leaving. I will stay, and we can duke it out or fuck through the hate, but we ain’t quitting.”

  “We do not quit,” he mutters as tears flutter in his long lashes. “We do not quit.”

  “You got it,” I whisper, kissing his lips. “Don’t fucking quit on me. Or you. You need your shit to survive; I’ll fucking deal with it because I love you that much. I’ll cut your damn lines for you if that’s what it takes to keep you with me. I’ll blister your fucking body if that’s what you need. But you don’t get to check out on me. You owe me more than suicide.”

  His tongue flicks against my bottom lip as he lifts to kiss me. There’s my boy. Play with me. Find me. Hold onto me. His arms fall above his head, and his head falls back as his eyes open wide.

  “Cruz.”

  “Yeah, baby,” I mumble, licking his neck. “You want me to bite?” I rest on my forearms and watch the light return in his eyes. He’ll drive himself insane, working a problem. If things don’t make sense, he’ll go dark until they do. “Talk to me.”

  “Where the fuck was Mass?”

  That’s a damn good question.

  The door swings open, and Amber gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re going to have to learn to knock,” I harshly scold and smile.

  She returns the smile. “I’m sorry, Georgia just called. Judge Prather is allowing bond on Nicky. No one has posted it yet.”

  “They won’t.” Sal’s head tilts up. “Come and put your pussy on my face.”

  “But…”

  “I don’t give a shit,” he says as I cackle. “My house. My rules. Pussy. Face. Fucking nowala!”

  “There you go,” I encourage. “And I’ll stand behind every move you make.”

  He looks at me. “And what if you don’t agree with me?”

  “That will be a private discussion between you and me.”

  Amber steps closer, not understanding what we’re talking about. “… Should I not?”

  “Do it,” we both say.

  “But first,” I whisper, grabbing his cheeks and whipping my tongue against his. “I am your right-hander, your left-hander, and everything in between, Raniero.”

  He smiles and winks. “Go straight up the middle, Cruz. Everything else will scattershot when your arrow hits the target.”

  “I have impeccable aim.”

  IX

  Casus Belli

  86

  One Night That Brought The Sun

  His Butterfly

  On the private plane to Rio, I reflect on the morning. I awoke between Dante and Gabriel, felt horrendously guilty, and then I remembered why I was consenting to the tomfoolery of one r
aunchy hooligan.

  I was a martyr and a heroine, not quite like Mother Teresa or Joan of Arc, but still saving a life of someone that might have deserved at one point to die. Not now. He was decrepit, fading to the sunset, and the old gangster earned the respect to pass in peace.

  I was steadfast in my belief that the relic, the former most dangerous man in the world, sitting at the end of the table a week ago was of no danger to anyone.

  In my fleeting regret of the prior night, I decided my best option was to allow Dante to eat me out in the shower. And then, after Gabe left the room, I numbed the second round of shower sins by riding Dante before we left Tulum.

  Dear God, that man is insatiable.

  And the orgasms were stupendous.

  I stare out the window of the jet, knowing full well my husband’s dick has been moseying from hole to hole, yet I will be disgraced for my prurient proclivity.

  I am a tramp for having multiple lovers.

  How much fucking sense does this make?

  Sal gets cigars and attaboys while notching his belt with another pussy, but if word gets out that the Lotus has taken lovers—yes, plural—I will be ostracized. Far be it from me to actually like having suitors, dick, and the pleasure they provide—Iris is a whore! I can hear the rumors spreading now of the Lotus and her many petals.

  Admittedly, Dante is a hell of a lover, but I have a real, emotional weakness for Raze. As for Gabe, he’s becoming a best friend/brother/lover blend. I don’t plan on taking anymore, but I didn’t plan on Dante and Gabe either. And perhaps Sal knew I was a horny bitch who would jump on them, and that is why he sent the ones he did to aid me.

  I don’t think he ever would’ve imagined that the lewd Lotus would strike up a deal to save Muerte with her pussy. But I have a heart and no shame in using what I have to work the gentleman, which all goes back to my grooming under Angelo Gennaro, allocating my assets appropriately, and targeting the mischief makers.

  There are plenty of men I conduct business with but do not fuck—from Máximo Herrera to the Goro gang and even Carlo Torrente.

  Unfortunate.

  Everyone believes Torrente and I were in tight, and we were when I secured a quarter of his points by prancing around for several hours in scanty lace and talking dirty to him. Of course, he was elderly and the sausage was long deflated, but that didn’t matter to the old school Suit. He liked them young and beautiful, which I was until Goblin latched on.

  Very few know of his responsibility in Atticus Huit’s experiments happening to me or how he funded the original testing along with Delarte Cristos. Months of maddening, mind-altering drugs, hypnosis, electroshock, sensory deprivation, isolation, and sexual abuse would add up to a torture that I couldn’t just forgive.

  My heart pounds within the bloody red boundaries, but their will illegally crosses the border where my black heart rages and my white ocean furies.

  I am a hurricane, unrelenting and wild, with no conscience as to who I drown. And one by one, I will float their skeletons down the river, leading to the sea.

  My ocean built of bones.

  We fly past the Christ the Redeemer statue and land on a private airstrip. I step out into the sun, soaking up the warmth, and spotting the line of half a dozen SUVs and one limousine.

  “Sato!” I shout, rushing to greet the man. “What are you doing here?”

  “Guarding my Lotus,” he says, smiling. “And meeting with Oscar’s new business partners, Gabriel and Dante Herrera.”

  “Durante Costa is dead,” I whisper in his ear as he lowers to hug me. “Sal killed him.”

  “I am aware,” he says. I am not surprised he already knows. “So much for our sacrificial ZERØ leader.”

  “You planned on using him, but he attacked me,” I inform as we slide into the limousine where Masa awaits.

  “In a premeditated attack handled by your husband,” Masa says.

  “He was hired by Muerte,” I excuse as Masa stares at me. “The family wanted Costa dead.”

  “The family wanted him dead to eliminate ZERØ’s uprising,” Masa seriously says. “ZERØ has nothing to hide behind without Durante leading their pack of wolves. He was already the black sheep of Herrera blood and they had no reason to support him.”

  “They have Dante and Gabriel…”

  “No, Iris,” Sato replies. “You aren’t understanding. There was only one person that wanted Durante Costa dead and that was Salomé. She knew by eliminating Durante that Dante and Gabriel would be exposed for their efforts with ZERØ.”

  “She wanted to cause a rift between Juarez and the sons,” I readily whisper. “So she could be the new Queen of Immortal.”

  And that is why she agreed to her husband’s abduction.

  “You walked into the middle of a familial war,” Masa points out as we ride to the Montesino mansion—they’ve willingly opened their doors to me. “Immortal and Montesino are not friends. Don’t think otherwise. Just because León and Lia happened to fuck one time—at the exact right time—doesn’t mean they’re aligned. An arranged marriage was formed between two enemies because one night they found the sun.”

  “What has caused the delay of their nuptials?” I ask.

  “The families cannot agree on the gifts.”

  “The dowry?” I question. “A child has been without both of her parents because the families cannot agree on a fucking dowry?”

  “Yes, Lotus,” Sato calmly replies.

  “I’ll give you dowry,” I counter, pissed off as I glare at the text message from The Great Wizard—Mack Larrabee. “Merchandise was removed from one of my sixteen warehouses and shipped to Ireland.”

  “Iris…how do you know this?”

  “Because quite contrary to popular belief, I have friends. They may not be acknowledged, but they are loyal to me. Stop that crate from reaching Kill Rat. I am silencing Rowan Tully and if she forces my hand, it will be for good.”

  “You want us to steal more merchandise?”

  We stop outside the gates of the regal Colonial mansion with tile roof and pull through. “I want you to take back what was stolen from me. Send it directly to the Goro gang.”

  Masa objects, “Do you realize how much that will cost?”

  “You seem to think I care,” I snobbishly remark as the other vehicles pull in behind us. “Bill it to Salvatore.”

  In a loose olive suit with a half-way unbuttoned white shirt, Dante opens the door of the limousine. My eyes coast over his dark caramel skin and I smile. He is so mine for the next week. “Are you ready, Princess?”

  “Masa, I am sending a clear message to my husband that I am not to be fucked with. He may not be able to stand up for his legacy, but I am still a Raniero. He should play harder; I am.”

  In the spacious Roman tub, I gaze at the twinkling lights of Rio against the darkened skies as he asks, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  “No,” I whisper. “Maybe at one time, but I am not that innocent anymore.”

  “You seem to think power isn’t alluring on you,” Gabe replies in his sensual accent. “It’s remarkably sexy.”

  “Are you nervous here in Brazil, Gabriel?”

  “Not really,” he says. “I know they do not care for my name, but they won’t act upon it.”

  “How many men did Immortal bring for a birthday party?”

  “You don’t want the answer to that,” he cautions with a smile. “Dante is working his magic on their women.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “I am working the only one that matters.” He winks, and I grin, blushing. “How many Lotus men are here?”

  “Two dozen on standby,” I reply. “But we have an outpost here.”

  “… You do?”

  I smile and nod. “One of the many things Carlo Torrente insisted I have.”

  “You have connections to Zacarro too?”

  “I do,” I admit. “If you are looking for support, you won’t find it there. You are better off hitti
ng up Torrente, especially now that the children are scrambling to find scraps.”

  “What did you do?”

  I smile with guilt. “You assume I can trust you.”

  “I have no need to backstab you,” he says, taking my feet and setting them on his legs under the water. “It gets me nowhere.”

  “I have a quarter of Torrente’s business. If the spawn keeps running amok, I will have another twenty-four soon enough.”

  “You don’t think you can acquire another quarter?”

  My hand drips as I lift it from the water to rest my head upon it. “No, Jas would never let that happen.”

  “Jas has connections to Sal.”

  “That would be accurate, Mr. Herrera.”

  His broad smile fills his cheeks. “Did he have anything to do with Carlo’s passing?”

  No, but I had everything to do with Durante dying.

  Not his choice of a hitman, though.

  That was a complete surprise.

  Jokes on me, Carlo; but you’re still dead.

  “Carlo was all me,” I honestly confide. Few knew Salomé and Carlo were best friends via Carlo’s first wife, Trudy Diaz, and even less understood how pink could amass into an angry army like a Spartan warrior militia. “I came up with the plan, and Jas put it into action.”

  “He wants the business?”

  “Who wouldn’t want it?” I rhetorically ask. “But he doesn’t want his siblings involved in it because they were born with golden spoons in their mouths and have no clue what the fuck they’re doing.”

  “Would Zacarro consider leaving Montesino?”

  “The Suits in Jersey are a different breed,” I answer, remembering my brief but monumental week in their company. “You would need a way in.”

  “I’m staring at her.”

  “Does a rambling band of renegades have enough merchandise to sustain most of the Eastern seaboard, not counting New York? Zacarro may fight for the Big Apple if the Torrente kids don’t pull their heads out of their asses.”