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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  In the shadows of the moonlight, I stare at my wife’s silhouette in the plush robe. I washed and wrapped her hair up in a towel because I couldn’t condone the sexual act without discussion—What the fuck is this? Who the hell have I become? Have I reached a place with Iris where love and sex must merge? Since when can Sal Raniero not stick his dick in a wet hole?

  Since Iris admitted she needed me.

  One word—one trigger—a half of a second—changes my trajectory.

  As much as I wanted to pounce on her in the bathtub, I denied the splash she craved. I won’t enable safety in her element because pushing this love into an uncomfortable place determines survivability, proclaiming growth with fortitude or fading to fail.

  We cannot keep doing what we have done.

  “I can handle Amber in my home,” she honestly says as I adjust the towel around my damp body. “But I may bite Hannah. She is my greatest threat in losing you.”

  With a stroke of my wet scruff, I lick my lips and nod. “Are we negotiating, Mrs. Raniero?”

  “You’re the one who said we’d spend the rest of our lives negotiating,” she gently counters. I smirk. “So, tell me.”

  “I was okay with all of it until I found out about Dom and that fucking hurt.”

  “That one? Really?” she questions. “Out of Raze, Gabe, Dante, and Deacon…Dominic Gennaro got under your skin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rowan got under mine,” she says. “Mostly because you knew she was bad for our business and toxic for you. The second I found out, I started wondering if I was going to get the phone call that my husband overdosed.”

  “Iris…”

  “No, if we’re going to do this…we’re going to fucking do it,” she scolds. “I get a say so. You want some passive—Yes, Sir/No, Sir girl—then be with Hannah Cruz because I cannot be that. You are an addict to many things, and we’re dealing with it—all of it.”

  “And you run at the first sign of strain, so when are you leaving the hotel?”

  “I am not, asshole.”

  “Bitch,” I playfully rebuke.

  “Yours, cocksucker.”

  I raise my arms. “Only for one.”

  “You want to shelter little demons—slam your whiskey, pop your pills, snort your lines, play with sharps, bust your hands up; I am okay with that, but I am not okay with harboring those I feel put you and I in jeopardy—personally or professionally. I will not have my child seeing their father in a virulent state with what I perceive to be weak women.”

  “Hannah isn’t weak,” I foolishly blurt out. “Hannah was brutally raped by Nicky.”

  “I’m...sorry, but it isn’t your job to fix everyone,” she implores. “Stop giving my guy out like fucking candy on Halloween.”

  “You read Nicky’s letter.”

  She shifts her head. “What makes you think that?”

  “The sugary reference, Iris.”

  “I did because Dom showed me a copy,” she replies, gouging the Dom-wound with a rusted, dull knife. It fucking hurts. “And I know you’re going to ask if I am behind Nicky’s antics, and the answer is no. Are you?”

  “No! I would never. What is in that pretty head of yours?”

  “Are you sure Hannah didn’t spur on the attack to get your attention?”

  “Damn!” I snarl. “You got a lot of nerve for a woman.”

  “I should be insulted, but I’ll forgive you once,” she replies. “All I am asking is for you to think about it. Look at both sides and the whole picture. Stop assuming that every victim is innocent, and every perpetrator is guilty. What about Jaid?”

  Feeling like I have failed, I retaliate by yelling, “Do you know how many times I’ve done this?”

  “I do,” she contends. “And I know Hannah Cruz has your number.”

  “She doesn’t have my number.”

  “If she called and needed you from anywhere in the world, you would go,” she compellingly pleads for my understanding, but I can’t because I fundamentally disagree. “How many times have you left me to go save another?”

  “Too many,” I reply. “And all of that stops right here, right now.”

  “… Give me one reason why I should believe that.”

  “Because I was on the floor of Oscurità thinking about killing myself, and the only thing I wanted was you.”

  “And who all did you fuck after that?”

  “Does it matter?” I ask. “How long before I left you in Mexico were you hopping into bed with Gabe and Dante?”

  She flips the middle finger. “Fuck. Off.”

  “Oh, big girl!” I belligerently taunt. “Gonna run away now?

  “No!”

  “Why?”

  “Because your father was shot in front of me,” she painfully recounts. “I had his blood all over me, and I knew then, everything about the marriage had to change. That is why I called you—not Deacon, Dom, or Amber. I called my husband to save me because I thought…” Her tears morph to a hysterical sob. “I thought Sofu would allow me to be something. I thought I would get that chance to do something big. But he refused. He shut my ass down. And I needed you, Lucas…”

  My wife weakens me every time she says my name.

  I extend my arms, reaching for her, but I don’t step forward. “I am sorry about the things I have done that have hurt your feelings.”

  In the streams of light, I spot her eyes filling with puddles from the pain we brought on. She may have triggered the events with one lie, but we can’t keep score now. It’s too late for tallies and not important enough to risk the redemption we’ve fought so hard for. We’re getting somewhere; we’re having a real talk, not just moans and blow-ups; we’re riding the storm out together.

  We’re ripping the scabs off, letting them bleed, and they will heal.

  We will heal.

  “Did you just apologize to me?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I whisper, fighting for our love. “I am sorry for the careless actions I have done which have hurt or harmed you. I’m a fucker.”

  “You want to be a motherfucker, badass?”

  “More than anything.”

  “I am sorry I lied, cheated, and killed Salomé and Madeline.”

  “God, Iris,” I reply, running my hands through my hair. “Don’t apologize for that.”

  “Do you realize,” she mutters lamenting. “That if you would’ve been in Brazil with me, the blood on my dress would’ve been yours…”

  “I would have never let you go,” I implore, watching her drown. “Ever. You are mine, and I will protect you with all that I have, with all that I am, until my very last fucking breath.”

  “Just go with this…” she stresses as I squat low, finding the center and gazing up to my holy Angel. “This is my perception. My visualization. The things I see and the things I feel are not what you see and feel. You’ve got to agree to come that far, or this is pointless.”

  “I offered my hands.”

  “I don’t just want your hands,” she whispers. “I want all of you—all the time. And I want to know everything from how you feel to what you want. Let me in your life. You took me as your wife; please take me into your mind.”

  “You are my world,” I maintain. “Everything I did to get us to this point was because of you. My mind is a Stygian space, and you don’t want to go there.”

  “It’s the only place I want to go! I guard those gates,” she declares, sticking her flag in the piles of ash and claiming it her territory. “More than anyone else. But I can do it better if you stop believing that I want to change who you are. I love your gothic lachrymose savant…the tragedy in you brought me here.”

  “Are you my comedy?”

  “If I can make you smile, if I can make you laugh…I’ll be the light in your darkness.”

  “L’oscurità si trasforma in luce,” I whisper, craving the blessing of her lucid aura. “Darkness turns into light.”

  “There is so much I could say about Hannah…Jaid…Ro
wan…Amber...”

  “Whatever Jaid and I were is over. I will never speak to her again because of what she did to Cruz. But if something happens to Cruz’s sister, he will be devastated, and I can’t handle that.”

  “I can concede that for Cruz’s sake, but… Rowan?”

  Rising, I jest, “Rowan can get eaten by sharks.”

  “Do it,” she encourages as her robe falls open, and I note my baby in her belly. We are no longer two but three. We’re not alone. I must double up in my defense. “Be a bloodthirsty shark.”

  “Why are you so against her?”

  “Because what you don’t see is how Serene and Jaid have fed her full of Kaci. She is no better than Nicky. Rowan’s a damn puppet on someone else’s string, and she is dangerous.”

  “So am I.”

  “Not if you aren’t vigilant,” she boldly whispers. “You slide fast, traveling on hot emotions, and burning everything around you down to the ground. If you let me in, I can give you a more sustaining fuel…steam…I can make those fires burn hotter and last longer, but you’re going to have to trust me.”

  I glance away. “I am not going anywhere, but for me to trust you, you must stop running. If you believe in me, stay. If you doubt me, go. I’m telling you, a lot of shit went down, and I am trying to be a better man. I can’t make it any clearer than that.”

  “If I run, I lose.”

  “Yes,” I challenge, crossing my arms. “You do. And if you stick with me, you win everything a Queen should have, Dandelion.”

  His Butterfly

  I married an asshole.

  And I seem to forget this fact unless he corners me. His aim is flawless, and his words strike like a predacious beast, shredding through every move I make.

  “Trotter…Phoenix…Lucien Tolan…”

  “Dandelion…Chicago…Rie Ford…”

  Safewords. Code names. Hidden identities.

  Drop them all in a pile by the door.

  “I hate you, Salvatore.”

  “Passionate emotions are vital to a thriving love.” His sexy snarl sends a wave of excitement pulsing through my veins. “Take off the robe, Iris.”

  I slowly shake my shoulders, and the robe falls around my feet. “You want me.”

  “Yes,” he mutters, facing me. The heat of his penetrating gaze shocks my senses as he stalks closer. “Very much so.”

  “Are we going to be the same after this?” I ask, holding my belly. “Will you claim me?”

  “For the rest of my life.”

  I pull the towel off of my head, allowing my hair to fall and dropping it on the robe. “Will you pull my hair?”

  “Yes,” he says, boldly staring at my naked body. “And mark you. And make you do things you don’t like. And push you to grow when that is the last thing you’re thinking about.”

  “We can do all of this with a baby?”

  “Absofuckinglutely!” he contends. “Is this your biggest fear?”

  Looking down, I confide, “One of the top five. I need your wicked mastery over me.”

  “What you fail to see is how we’re both workaholics, running all over the globe, but this baby connects us. This baby brings our love home together. Because I won’t leave you, I won’t leave the baby, and I won’t permit your effortless escape.”

  “I’m not a snake.”

  “You are slippery, slithering, and stealthy,” he assesses. “You are several handfuls of trouble and then some, but I cannot properly protect and pedestal your highness if you flee the grim and gnarly crime scene. You have to withstand the dark.”

  “And at some point, you need a sliver of light.”

  “But I like the umbra,” he mutters, trailing the back of his hand over my belly. “I call it home.”

  His fierce determination sends an immediate charge of lust through my skin. “I need you to win. I need you to set the bar. I never wanted to beat you. I wanted to give you a challenge.”

  “Oh, baby, I will win.”

  Our smack talk turns me on. I want his hands and lips all over me. “We put our love in writing; let’s put the digits to it—give our love the time it deserves and make it work. Not just for show, not just as fierce competitors and bitter rivals; let’s truly be the powerhouse pairing we were meant to be.”

  “You’re committed to this,” he marvels. “But you want to pick my infidelity apart, pouring salt in the wound, and I won’t do that to you.”

  “You can forgive and forget?”

  “I can because there is no other choice,” he argues. “But if I overhear one more person bragging about banging my babe, I’m gonna fuckin kill them.”

  I step back, disgusted by the nature of the locker room showmanship. “I’m not ashamed of my needs. Why should I be?”

  “I’m not saying you should be ashamed. I’m saying you need to be more selective in your choice of suitors.”

  I pause, considering his words. “Are you condoning my affairs, hubs?”

  “I’m only saying that I get it,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to nitpick it. But you gotta be more cautious, or you’re going to lose your reputation.”

  Stunned by the fact I even have a reputation, I blurt out, “... Which is?”

  “You’re a hard ass bitch with a good snatch.”

  “Hmm,” I ponder. “Could be worse. I could be a diplomatic librarian with a contagious cunt.”

  “While both are accurate, I would prefer not hearing about my wife’s scandalous escapades in a bar.”

  “A bar!” I shout mortified. “No!”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “And if you’re being talked about that way, you might as well be strip dancing on the bar and dipping it low so that I can stick some dollars in the g-string.”

  “Fuck!”

  “That is what they want to do with you,” he remarks. “I can’t tell you not to do it because I understand the cesspool we live in sometimes requires certain agreements to be signed in cum...it’s nasty down in the dregs.”

  “I’m sorry for the gossip hounds having a field day.”

  “We can repair the damage,” he says. “And rebuild your image closer to the place before the stork infected your womb.”

  “Are you the stork?”

  “Only when I’m wearing black.”

  She snickers, “So, all the time.”

  “Delivering evil with an irresistible grin.”

  “Do you knock or sneak inside?”

  “Depends on the goal,” he eases, lowering in front of me. His lips press to my full belly, ripe with his spawn, but he doesn’t stay long. His hands quickly smooth over my ass cheeks, pulling me to his face. His goatee clings to my unkempt nest between my legs as his tongue rapidly flicks against my slit. He yanks me even closer, placing the tip of his tongue against my swollen nub.

  “Jesus, Sal…” I relax in his grasp, welcoming his frolic, and pining for more with every delicious sweep of his warmth in my dewy petals. “Holy fuck, I need you inside of me. Please,” I beg, grabbing ahold of his broad shoulders. “Please put your dick in me.”

  He backs up and imparts a devilish smirk. “No one loves you like me.”

  “No…”

  Our snarky flirting leads to sensual foreplay, which becomes hungered fornication—and while that may define sex for most, it doesn’t in this world in which we live. It is odd, almost peculiarly normal and strangely, inviting in its simplicity.

  He is a hustler; I am a hussy.

  Romance did not exist in our vocabulary until we found one another. We’re new at this, fumbling as we learn to crawl through courting, falling as we learn to walk, holding one another’s hands, and throwing tantrums in the sandbox like bratty children. He pulls my hair, and I kick him in the shin…or schnads.

  We go round and round until he asks me to sit on the swing. He’ll push me higher than I’ve ever been. He’ll protect me from those who throw rocks and twigs. He’ll love me harder, fiercer, and the only thing he asks for is my
verity.

  I need you, Sal.

  “No one savors you like me,” he boasts, standing up and embracing me. His erection presses against my flesh, serving as a warning for what is to come. “No one haunts you like me.”

  100

  in our tragedy

  His Butterfly

  “There is no one like you, Sal.”

  “Do you have any idea how much I want to throw your ass on the bed and have my way with you?”

  I grin wide, ecstatic by his candor. “Would you spank me?”

  “Baby, I would do so much more than spank you.”

  “Really,” I tease, swiping my finger across his ripped abs. “Tell me about it. Give me hope for what is on the other side of this bump.”

  He inches closer with his throbbing cock even harder than it was mere minutes ago. “I want to do everything to you, for you, and with you, Iris.”

  His words thrash against my insides as the yearning for his love heightens in my core. He can quench the flames of the burn, dousing them with every thrust of his body.

  But will he?

  He cradles my cheek in his palm before he lowers to kiss my lips tenderly. “I need more than a peck. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a bit of a strumpet.”

  He chuckles, breaking his composure. “A strumpet? Can I just call you my doxy diva?”

  This is how we play chess.

  And this is how we re-fall in love.

  I’m fundamentally a nerdy mafia offspring with a business in shipping. He is the only one who I allow to see this hidden secret in me.

  Don’t tell anyone he is a nerd too.

  “You won’t call me a prostitute.”

  “Do you have any idea how much Gennaro made off of you?” he asks, and I laugh. “You ain’t a streetwalker, Darlin’.”

  “When I was at the top of my game, I was a 5k an hour floozy, so I suppose you’re right unless you’re swaggering up in your Lambo.”

  “Don’t rib me about the other woman.”