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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “How old is your mother?”

  “Seventy,” he replies as Amber’s eyes open wide. “She was forty-six when she had me. No protection. Lots of sex.” Her eyes shift from side-to-side and narrow in on me, sitting in the chair across from the bed. “Everyone always asks.”

  “I assume you are close to her?”

  “We talk twice a day.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask, tablet in hand.

  “Flora Kettles, but everyone calls her Padma.”

  Amber’s brows furrow at me as I shrug and add, “Sanskrit for Lotus.”

  “Yes,” he replies. “She was born in Calcutta, India.”

  “Kolkata!” I smile as Amber’s nose crinkles. “How I love Kolkata!”

  “When were you in India?”

  “I go lots of places,” I brag, winking. “In this case, it was to talk to a very old tawaif.”

  Her hands open as she doesn’t understand. “Huh? A what?”

  “A courtesan,” G-Man informs, grinning at me. “What did she want?”

  “It was more what I wanted,” I say, closing my eyes.

  “Oh, no…here he goes…”

  “It was after Kaci died,” I comment. “Mid-2012. I went to India, China, and Japan with Dom.”

  Amber stares and slowly tilts her head. “Where was I?”

  “Working at Gina’s.”

  “How do I not remember this?”

  With G-Man’s eyes glued onto me, I wave my hands. “You were blazed, and I don’t talk.”

  “Why did you go?” G-Man inquires.

  “Dom wanted to show me what Old Poppa—Luca—experienced,” I softly say. “I had his old books. Not journals, more like travelogues—where he went, who he met, what he ate.”

  She remarks, “Never how he felt.”

  With a smirk, I shake my head. “Not usually. He cut himself off, but he loved a good courtesan, and they loved him.”

  “Must be a genetic thing.”

  I scowl at her and say, “I have Prethy’s sari, a pair of Nuwa’s lotus slippers, and Cho’s first kimono.”

  “How old are all of these women?”

  “Very old,” I reply with a chuckle. “By their recollections of Luca, I don’t think they were hooking up with him in the sunset years, at least not at the start.”

  Raising her head, she asks, “When did Luca travel?”

  “From the fifties until probably…his last trip was 2002. He loved to travel and immerse himself in culture. It was his thing. My grandfather loved women, but he was only ever in love with one woman. And she captured his heart. I have Anna’s original showgirl costume, too.”

  “No!” Amber booms. “Do you?”

  “I do,” I say with a smile.

  “So, he kept multiple lovers?”

  “Ya, those are just the ones I met. He had a girl or girls in every country he visited. Dom arranged the visits. The women were delighted to meet me, and of course, you know how I am with the older generation. It was good. Great memories.”

  “Did any of them flirt with you?”

  “All of them,” I admit as G-Man blinks at me. His sexy, seductive gaze has my number. “Nuwa even kissed me, which for a stranger in Shanghai is a bit of a cultural no-no, rather taboo and kinky of the old girl.”

  Amber lifts her head again. “Do you still talk to them?”

  “I get Christmas cards from Prethy every year. Nuwa sends a package now and again. I talk to Cho a lot because she lives outside of San Francisco with her son.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Opening up,” she replies. “What you just did, right then, that is what you need to do with Iris. No mafia. No blood. No guns. No sex. Just open yourself up.”

  “I am working on being a better man.”

  She grins. “You’re getting there, Raniero.”

  92

  The War We Didn’t Plan

  The Master

  Taking a hot shower, I clear the cobwebs from my mind. I long to crawl in bed for a few hours of shut-eye. The shindig tomorrow starts at noon and could run until well after midnight, depending on the deals that form. I am neither here nor there about it. I’m too excited about going home to my beautiful wife, our perfect bundle, and setting up permanent residence.

  We’re all four tired of traveling, taxiing down runways, and sleeping in hotels. It’s fun for a short time, someplace new and exciting, but after a while, it just gets old. I want home-cooked food from Idamae’s and quiet country life where the only sounds at night are frogs in trees, thunder rumbling the ground, and whips cracking against flesh.

  A bright place where my phone won’t be buzzing 24/7. I’m dreaming; I know. That will likely never happen, which is why I need the environment to be one I love.

  And Texas is home for this Boston boy.

  Security is high, with this many cartel leaders converging in one location. No one wants an incident because the press will make us all look guilty of what we are—rich thugs pulling triggers before dialogue.

  I walk out of the shower, wrapping a white towel around my waist as Amber and G-Man chat in the main living area of the two-bedroom suite.

  “Are you going to bed?” she asks, spotting my movement in the bedroom.

  “Ya,” I say, stepping into the room with G-Man’s eyes scanning over the meat department. I grab a water from the mini-fridge, gulp down half the bottle, and bend over to pick up my phone from the coffee table, hoping Cruz has said something to me. “Have you heard from Deacon yet?”

  “Not yet,” she replies. I scan over the messages and furrow my brow at an unusual one—Fabian Montesino would like to meet for a drink downstairs. “What’s wrong, Boo?”

  “Fuck,” I grumble, knowing there goes any chance of sleep. “Fabian Montesino wants to meet me.”

  With concern, she asks, “Now?”

  “Ya,” I mumble. “Ugh…”

  “You should go,” G-Man volunteers as I blink up. “With the increasing tensions between Zacarro and Torrente, Montesino is looking to move.”

  Amber asks, “How do you know all this?”

  “He follows mafia the same way you chase winter,” I snicker. “His high is our ever-changing climate.”

  With a quick flip-off, she gives me the evil eye, “Skiing is far more enjoyable in pairs.”

  “You think I should get in with Montesino?” I question G-Man, stretching my jaw. “What about Immortal?”

  He says, “Immortal is very unstable since Muerte’s disappearance.”

  Okay. This kid knows a few things.

  “Get up,” I demand. He stands up, and I pull his tie off and undo a few buttons on his shirt. “Roll up your sleeves. If I am going, so are you. And I ain’t putting a damn suit on at 1 AM. We’re going casual.”

  “Can we drink craft beer?” he asks with a grin.

  “I suppose if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  His excitement is palpable as he eagerly suggests, “I have jeans in my room.”

  “Nah, you’re fine like that,” I say, turning away and pulling off the towel. “I’ll be ready in two.”

  “Is that…” I overhear—the enamoring shock of my reality—G-Man asks Amber. “Wow…”

  “It’s a Lotus branding—scarification singed into his flesh—and if you misbehave, I will put one on your dick.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  Oh. Ya.

  This dynamic is going to work just fine.

  The curious part about Giles is he knows things like staying behind my right shoulder a few inches. It isn’t oppression, but a security measure. I doubt this kid has ever even held a gun, much less fired one.

  Without a bang on me, I am on my own, serving Deacon Cruz’s role in protecting my ass.

  And now, G-Man as well.

  Because once I sign someone on—handshake or signature—its a done deal. Giles Kettles belongs to me, and I take full responsibility for him, his actions, and his safety unless he fucks m
e over.

  Reinstatement is entirely contingent on my personal feelings and whether the word regret becomes involved. I hate regret even more than possibility. If sucks ass too, it’s black or white. If is for theorems in conditional algebra, I like permanence in concrete solutions.

  Math was never my gig.

  “He’s over on the left,” G-man says as soon as we step into the bar. “Sitting with Raze.”

  I crane my neck back and impart a disconcerting glare. “… How observant are you?”

  “Incredibly.”

  We could be trouble—his keen sense of awareness and my photographic memory—and while I envisioned keeping him behind a desk, out of the spotlight, maybe I should reconsider. We approach the table, but neither Raze nor Fabian has noticed that we’re hidden beside the booth behind them.

  “His wife wants a longterm deal with Servet, do you as well?”

  “Conflict of interest,” Fabian snarls. “If I do that, I may never get in her flower.”

  “She is good,” Raze boasts. “Nothing like wet…”

  Revealing myself, I sneer. “You fucked my wife?”

  With a smirk, Raze gloats, “She didn’t fight it.”

  It wouldn’t have mattered IF she had.

  It wouldn’t have mattered.

  He would have stolen.

  Change the code, Sally.

  In lieu of causing a scene, which I am really considering, I lower to his face. “My wife will no longer be honoring her deal with you.”

  No conditional—if—necessary.

  He lays his hand on my bicep, covered in a thin long-sleeve light gray shirt. “I thought we were friends, Raniero. Share the fruit.”

  “That is my wife,” I warn through gritted teeth. “You come near her again, and I will kill you. I don’t give a shit who the fuck you are.”

  I walk away as Fabian yells, “I would still consider a deal.”

  Not bothering to look back, I reply, “Good. I won’t.”

  Exiting the bar, I glance at the signs with G-Man edging up closer, easily keeping up with my stride. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I reply, zipping my room key over the card reader at their gym.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Going for a run,” I grumble, hopping on the treadmill. “So, I don’t get myself killed for assassinating the Golden Boy of Servet.”

  “It’s 1:24, Sal.”

  “Welcome to my world, Kettles.”

  Strangely, I appreciate his last name.

  “What should I do?”

  “Lift some weights,” I reply as he looks at them like they might bite. “Start with the light ones.” I pull my earbuds from my pocket and turn on a mix of rap to get my head clear. I crank up the speed and fly.

  Damn good thing I wore the dark gray joggers, but I wish I had worn some underwear.

  I didn’t plan on getting in a quibble, but I wasn’t going to be the one that escalated it to a brawl. I watch G-Man curling the five-pound barbells. He has no clue what the fuck he’s doing. He’s not in bad shape, more like no shape at all—lanky with no definition whatsoever.

  So my lovely wife is fucking her way around the planet.

  I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. It quickly morphs into a rage, not at Raze, but Iris. I sent him specifically to Japan because I knew she would like him. He’s a great guy when he’s not a boasting asshole in the boy’s club. The thing is—I understand why she hates it so much. It’s two-faced, manipulative, and wrong. I vow to do better as a man and her husband.

  By the end of a half-hour, I’ve logged just over five miles. I’m soaked in sweat when I toss my wet shirt at G-Man and wind the pace down on the treadmill.

  Five years ago, I used to scoff at the warm-up and cool down. Five years ago, I was also five years younger. Grins. Shit ain’t the same. Age fucks people up.

  I’m in a lot better shape now than when I was training at Sibyl a decade ago, but I am not nearly as stupid. Back then, I would’ve jumped fences and done cross-country—breaking my fucking ankle—without thinking. I’m slower now, but I’m also smarter. It balances out.

  He grabs water from the vending machine as I step down. “How often do you run like that?”

  “When I’m home, every day,” I say, breathing heavy and taking a sip. “Fuck, that’s too cold!” I shove it back at him. “And you’re going with me when we get home.”

  I make my way to the door, as he follows. “Wait! Do you want your shirt?”

  “No,” I reply, unashamed. It’s dead quiet in the hotel, except for the bar, and I have no plans of going there.

  “I am going to Texas?”

  “You’re working for me,” I remark, marching through the hotel lobby. “You’re moving to Texas.”

  “I’ll have to go pack my things up in England.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Hey, Raniero!” I hear from behind as I step into the hall for the elevators. I recognize the voice and slowly spin.

  “What the fuck do you want, Archer?”

  “Good luck tomorrow!” he slurs out, drunk. He lays his hand on my shoulder and keeps on walking with a few of his cronies.

  “Who was that?”

  “A dead man.” I stare at the elevator. “We’re taking the stairs.”

  “To the top?”

  I blink. “We’re second from the top. There are six levels of suites. Come on.”

  I retract my former statement—G-Man is out of shape, despite his long legs and youth, and I dash past him on each flight. But I wait, cheering him on, through each level because sometimes, I can be a nice guy.

  We reach the halfway mark, and I lean against the wall, shaking my head as he takes his sweet ass time. He reaches the landing and smiles. I smirk. “Lick the ball sweat.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The tall ass twerp drops to his knees. I yank down the front of my pants. My head twitches, not expecting him to be so exceptionally talented in this department.

  “Stroke my cock, bitch.” G-Man seizes the opportunity after years of waiting. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as I warn, “I’m going to come soon.”

  G-Man moans as I peek my eyes open and spot Fink, standing on the next landing up. He’s alone and watching me.

  “Suck it,” I demand, thrusting my cock into his mouth and bucking like a wild man. Fink’s eyes say it all—witnessing this act hurts. Grabbing the back of G-Man’s head, I release, spewing cum down this throat and prohibiting his movement. “Good boy.”

  Fink nods and walks away.

  Not everyone gets to hurt me more than once.

  I regret nothing.

  His Butterfly

  Beneath Dante, I moan as his slow thrusts send ripples of pleasure through me. “You’re so good at hitting all the right spots.”

  Because he is very well hung.

  I am on the verge of having my second orgasm on the gorgeous man’s precision tool when I hear the crashing of glass.

  “Who is next door to you?” he whispers, glancing up from my neck. He snuck into my room, and no one knows he is here.

  “Lia and León,” I softly answer, clenching his ass cheeks in my fingers as another smashing of furniture bumps into the wall behind our heads. The entire wall jostles, wiggling the painting above the bed.

  “If gunshots fire,” he warns, concerned. “I want you to roll onto your hands and knees on the floor. I will shield you with my body and the mattress.”

  “Dante…”

  “I will not let anything happen to you or your baby, Iris.”

  Like that doesn’t soak my pussy even more.

  “Don’t stop loving me, please.”

  Their shouting echoes through our room, but it’s all in Spanish, and I cannot understand a word of it. Dante resumes his hip movement. “Is your brother always so…violent?”

  “There is always one bad apple.”

  I had assumed because the cousins—Gabriel and Dante—were defecting from Immortal to ZERØ that they
were the bad boys. But bad boy doesn’t mean abusive, and that is exactly what it sounds like León is doing, beating the shit out of Lia Montesino.

  There are bad boys.

  And there are lowlifes—like Durante Costa and León Herrera.

  One will pull a gun for me; the other will put a gun to my head.

  I never really understood the difference until this moment beneath a man who is not my own. Dante is nothing more than a nice guy to me. He is a high-quality human male sex doll, gloriously pumped up, and serving up round after round of delicious sex.

  I’m not screwing him for a deal; he isn’t Raze Kola.

  I am fucking him because he’s got a well-endowed dick that he knows how to use.

  I’ve never been in a situation to choose. Not really. I went from target to target, house to house, tricking, or treating with my scintillatingly soaked bowl between my thighs. Point the flashlights; there might be a Goblin in the cavern or a nemesis never forgotten.

  I fell in love with the guy I was supposed to kill—Sal Raniero—and never played the field. I never had a choice or experienced a man—a good man or you know, high-quality human male sex doll—willing to provide his body and cock as my armor besides my husband.

  I had nothing to compare Sal to.

  I needed this time with Gabriel and Dante. Real men. Solid men. Abhorrent men. Adoring men. No sway. No bend. What I had to know is if Sal was worth fighting for—so slut-shame me. I am responsible for my infidelity. I take the blame. I hold the guilt. And I will keep the motherfucking orgasms.

  And then I will go home to the man I am in love with—his wicked smile, his dark sense of humor, and his willingness to provide.

  I will be his wife.

  The gunfire rings through the air as I do as I am told. And Dante does as he said. His body arches over the top of mine, and he pulls the mattress slightly over us.

  I signed up for this.

  I am a mafia princess.

  Gabe rushes into my room. “Are you okay, Lotus?” He asks, peering at our naked bodies beneath the bed. “Were you hit?”

  I shake my head.

  “Raphael Montesino grew tired of León’s fists using his daughter as a punching bag.”