Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I cannot control those.

  “That’s not you!” she hysterically sobs. “That is some pipe dream of a guy I wanted you to be!”

  “No, sweetheart,” I vehemently rebuke. “I am him, and he is me. I have changed. Call it my new way of thinking.”

  She hangs up.

  And five seconds later, she calls back.

  I huff, “What?”

  “Lattes and chocolate croissants?”

  Grinding my jaw, I snap my teeth on my top lip to try and suppress the damage. “Tokyo. Two days from now.”

  “I’ll be there, Sir.”

  “Iris…”

  “… Yes?”

  “The first time you ask if I want you back, I am done. I walk away. You do not breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  She pauses, “Yes, Master.”

  If I can tolerate having dinner with my ex-Mistress I have a hit on, then I can have coffee with the woman I love more than the air I breathe.

  And ten seconds later, she texts.

  “Yes?” I grin.

  “Thank you for the ride.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She pauses for a good half a minute as I watch her responding, probably just to make me wait because she can be a cunt. “… And Sal?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Y3$.”

  With the whiskey glass sitting empty, I understand the choices we made. I miss the bond of the three and the precious balance we had in one another. All of us are to blame for the separation of our holy trinity, but…she said yes.

  She said yes.

  Half an hour later, my phone lights up with a call from Honeybear. “Yo…”

  “Nero…”

  “Hello, there,” I flirt, wondering if he has called for round two. I can only hope. “How are you doing, bro?”

  “Not so good,” he says, breaking down. My hands shake from the sound of his gravelly voice for the first time since the game room. “I’m in California.”

  “… Wait, you’re not with Iris?”

  His breaths fill the void. “I left her…”

  I quickly sit up. “Why?”

  “Because I cannot keep this up,” he admits. I’ve never known him to show weakness like this, and frankly, I need to be scraped off the floor. “It’s just not right.”

  “What?” I ask, lowering my head and resting it in my palm. “I need you to stop speaking in toddler sentences and give me some meat, babe.”

  “I just need to talk to someone,” he implores with anguish. “I’m going down.”

  “No, no…you are not going down.”

  “Yeah, I am, Nero,” he mumbles. “She knows it. I know it. Things are all fucked up. She has doubts. I have doubts. This was all a giant fucking mistake. We can’t do this without you.”

  I deeply sigh, “I’m not coming back like we were before. Shit is going to change.”

  “I know you’re not,” he mutters, crying. “And I’m not asking you to. I just need someone to talk to before I do something bad.”

  “Have you lost it?” I ask, knowing he understands the reference to his sobriety. “Be honest with me.”

  “Sort of…maybe…I dunno,” he contends. “I’m getting awfully close to doing more.”

  “Hold on,” I say, grabbing my tablet. “Go to the airport. I’ll get you on a flight here.”

  “I really cannot do that,” he maintains.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I do that, I will never get her back.”

  “I wish you would tell me what is going on…” The sounds of waves and his sniffling cause concern. “Deacon?”

  “Where are you exactly?”

  “I’m on a cliff somewhere.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ… Do not do what you are thinking about doing…”

  My fingers drifted over his chest as we laid in bed after his dad was murdered. He was full of gloom and doom as he spoke morbid words. “Do you ever think about how you would commit suicide?”

  “No,” I said, lifting to look at him. Tears eased between his lashes. “It’s a place I stay far away from.”

  “I would ride my bike off of a mountain,” he announced. “High as a motherfucker and bound for glory.”

  “Are you going to tell me about that trip to hell?”

  He smirks. “You won’t go to hell,” he alleged, “I have to do everything in my power to keep the blood off your hands. You’re too pretty to die young. You can be my angel in hell when you’re old.”

  I eased on top of him, and we kissed. He rolled over on top of me. “What are we doing?”

  “I want to make love to you…and I need to see your soul when you come…”

  “Cruz!” I shout pacing and smoking. “Talk to me, brother! Do not do it!”

  “You should have kept her,” he insists. “She’s a hot fucking mess, Sal.”

  “I know,” I reply, trying not to laugh. “But no one wanted to hear that part of the story. Everyone wanted to blame me, and this is not all of my fault.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Go get your shit and get on a plane!”

  “What about the Indian?”

  “I will have it taken care of,” I inform. “Where do you want me to have it sent?”

  He wastes no time. “Home…”

  “New Orleans?”

  “No,” he says. “Swamp.”

  Something about the way he says swamp triggers me. “… What happened?”

  “I am more in love with you than her…”

  “I won’t argue that,” I profess. “I’ve known that, even pointed that out, but no one ever listens to me.”

  “And she feels like a third wheel even though you are halfway across the globe.”

  “Because…”

  “I like anal a lot,” he confesses. “And she’s right...I’ll be fucking her and thinking about you.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I sigh and tug my hair. “I need you to get to the airport. I got you on a crazy flight from San Francisco to Honolulu and onto Manila. You’ll love it. In two days, you’ll be in Tokyo, but this gets you moving and that’s priceless for your psyche. Call me when you get to the airport.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  With fear in my trembling tone, I inquire, “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I will not be going off the cliff.”

  “Promise me, Cruz…”

  “I swear.”

  “I will meet you in Tokyo.”

  “Okay,” he says, crying hard. “I love you, Sal.”

  “It’s going to be okay, babe,” I reassure, not convinced. “I got you, bayou.”

  Fuck.

  The long text message reads like one continuous paragraph as Cruz tells me the details of their horrific night. I pick up the phone and dial her number, praying this isn’t all a dream. “Answer, baby.”

  “Nakamura-Raniero.”

  “You’re not hyphenating,” I warn. “Are you okay?”

  “He told you,” she whispers. “Where is he?”

  “What happened?”

  I hear her crying. “They broke him, Sal.”

  “Fuck,” I mumble. “Can you get on a jet now?”

  “Are you asking?”

  “Yes, Trotter is.”

  “Are you ready to mend?”

  “Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

  “Will you let me lead?”

  Sitting up and running my hand through my hair, I say, “I will do whatever is necessary to get his ass back up.”

  “I’m calling Kali now.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “Enough to trigger a downward spiral,” she warns as I hear her moving through the house.

  “Where is Enzo now?”

  “No one knows,” she informs.

  “And you’re still there?”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Call me?” I yell. “Say yo, dickhead, I need you!”

  She giggles as I smile. �
�Yo, fucker, I want you. I just texted Dom. He and Megan are getting on the plane to take our cars back to Texas.”

  “Do not let Megan drive my truck.”

  “Oh, no worries, sweetheart,” she brags. “I got her wrapped around my pinky. She’ll do fine in Mama’s beast.”

  “… Should I be concerned?”

  “… Should I, Papi?”

  Lighting a smoke, I complain, “This isn’t fair!”

  “Why because I happen to be playing girls club?”

  “You play dirty, Nakamura.”

  “Damn right, I learned it from the best,” she boasts as I snarl. “And your fabulous lover, he’s mine too.”

  I can’t stop grinning. “What the fuck!”

  “Called him Boo.”

  VIII

  Kamikaze Crows

  82

  tea in tokyo

  The Master

  At the posh hotel restaurant and bar in Tokyo, I have the perfect view of the bustling lobby one mid-morning. Tourists carry souvenirs, businessmen negotiate over the seasonal fare, and ladies rush by with armfuls of shopping bags while I sit alone in the crowded chaos.

  Wearing my black suit and crisp white shirt with no tie, I nervously strum my fingers atop the bamboo table. I have a prime spot, not only for the lobby but next to the window where I can fantasize about what ordinary offers.

  The ideology seems so far away, yet I can envision it.

  For the first time in twenty-nine years, I know what I truly want, not anyone else’s vision or agenda. And I’m risking it all by going after it.

  The flickering flame beneath the ornate green teapot steeps chrysanthemum tea and distracts my eyes. I’m one with the fire, drawn to the water, and sourced by the wind.

  Her foaming seas will lap my messianic blaze soon.

  Smells of succulent dishes permeate from the kitchen, and the waitress continuously keeps checking on me. Not because she’s good at her job.

  The Lotus will be formally presenting arriving and crawling on her knees, walking in the door for our sexfest reconciliation business meeting. There are at least a dozen or more gang members here.

  Because I’m the ex-boyfriend.

  And a Capo.

  And no one trusts me.

  Probably wise.

  I glance at my watch. She’s ten minutes late, but traffic downtown is horrific. I check my phone. I sip my tea. I blink at the spark and glance at the girl, standing in a pristine red pantsuit with her hair loosely strewn up. Her jacket is buttoned low with nothing on underneath, but what makes my bottom lip drop is the diamond collar on her neck. She smiles and waves at a couple as I stand up.

  God, she’s wearing six-inch red stilettos.

  Damn, girl.

  Shit just got serious.

  My tongue rests against the sharp canine tooth as I smirk and stroke my goatee. I cannot get through our appointment with a poker face, and she knows it. My gig was up when we spoke on the phone.

  Briefly distracted, she talks with someone, using her dainty hands to illustrate points, and turns to the side. I’m so turned on. I stare at that ass—my dick throbs.

  I’m going to smack that.

  She is my bride.

  She is my wife.

  She is my submissive.

  She’s polite, taking her own sweet time and—wasting mine...but she knows I’m good for it, and I’ll patiently wait my turn. Her hand touches the older woman before pivoting with a blissful smile of contentment at me. We’d be great if we never spoke. We gaze like we’re completely smitten with one another, even when we’re at war.

  Extending her fingertips, she politely—snobbishly—greets, “Mr. Raniero.”

  I humor her with a priceless wide grin and grip her fingers, bringing them to my lips. I rub her skin against my mouth, barely flicking my tongue out for a taste, and end with a kiss to each of her delicate knuckles.

  “Ms. Nakamura-Raniero,” I rumble low, raising a brow and winking. “Thank you for coming.”

  “If you’re going to call me that you can just call me yours.” She smirks and whispers, “Or Mrs. Lucas Salvatore Raniero.”

  I step closer, and she lays her hand on my chest as her flawless sapphires peer up. With a devious smirk, I warn, “I’m going to kiss you if you keep looking at me like that.”

  She presses her other hand on my cheek, and I take the initiative, dipping to kiss her sweet crimson lips. We part, and mere inches apart, she breathes, “I’m in love with you, Salvatore.”

  “And I’m in love with you, Iris.” I feel remarkably positive about our beginning. Thank heavens she didn’t throw those shoes. Pulling out her chair, I quiz, “Would you like some tea?”

  “I would love some,” she giddily says, scooting her cup and saucer to my side of the table. Her manicure is meticulous in come fuck me red, and her makeup is photo-ready. Everything about Iris screams put together. I only pray I’m good enough to balance this much girl. “I’m sorry, I’m late.”

  “… Traffic bad?”

  “I was on the phone.” Her culpable smile says plenty. Her poker face isn’t working today, either. “Do you want to know who with?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “But you won’t ask,” she contends, smiling. “That would be rude.”

  “It’s not my place to interfere in your private affairs,” I reply, sliding her tea closer. “You’ll tell me if you want.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” she quips. “Affair.”

  “… Did you enjoy Colorado?”

  “And you ask about that,” she giggles, glancing out the window. “It was enlightening.” She sips the tea. “How is he?”

  “I have him.” The conversation takes a turn with the bitter pill, stinging my spirit. “... But he needs you.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she says, as I dodge the unintentional blow. I say nothing else because zero good can come from any of my comments. The burden of her guilt is enough punishment. There will come a time to discuss her actions, but now isn’t it. She picks up on my emotional swerve. “And you. I want to talk about us.”

  “You said yes.”

  “I did,” she reaffirms, smiling. “Because I need you.”

  “I can serve many functions,” I snarl, pushing her for more. “I’m a multifunctional tool.”

  “I need you,” she repeats, lowering her lashes in diminutive deference. I don’t expect my submissive—the Lotus—to kneel on this floor. I’d probably yank her up and smack her ass publicly if she did. The blue jewels say what she cannot do. Taking a breath, she whispers, “Sir.”

  “I am yours, Dandy.”

  She smiles as her calculating stare returns, and she volunteers, “Carlo Torrente.”

  Shifting quickly back to business with Ms. Nakamura, I furrow my brow. “… Really?” I ask. “How is old Carlo?”

  “Informative,” she replies, taking another drink as I lift a brow. “Tell me, do you often hit up New York bosses with your expansive efforts of my Lotus?”

  “Would I do that?” I innocently question, opening a flat hand. “Certainly not.”

  “You would if you thought there was a chance at improving your rank,” she accuses.

  “Do you not wish to associate with Torrente?” I prod, sticking my hand in the water to see if she bites. “Because that is not what my data suggests.”

  Covering her mouth, she curves inward with a subtle giggle. Got ya, so good, baby. “… Your data?”

  “Yes.” I seductively lick my lips with a mischievous smirk. “Much like other intel I’ve recently acquired.”

  Unable to stop our flirtatious banter, she suggestively asks, “And how did that fair?”

  I take the bait because I am a starving shark. “You mean aside from you flinging a tampon in our new bathroom? I picked out that fucking house for that bathroom.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “Tres Amores Investments owns Quince, Swamp Shack, and The Dollhouse.”

  “You did
that?” Her head tilts with sudden curiousness as I affirm with a smile. “... Spanish? Not Japanese or Italian?”

  “Cruz is the glue.”

  “Nice to honor his ancestors.” She blinks. “The truck is…”

  “Trashed and already gone,” I interject with passivity. “Don’t worry about it, babe. I already ordered a new one for Cruz.”

  With a blush to her cheeks, she muses, “You like buying cars online, Mr. Raniero?”

  “I like spoiling those I’m in love with,” I mutter, polishing off my tea and rubbing my thumb along the handle. “Did you learn anything?”

  “We need a contract.”

  With a smug look, I lean back. “You want a pre-nup?”

  “No!” she hastily says. “Not that kind of contract. One far more personal than that. I need to know the status of your relationship with Hannah Cruz.”

  I reach across the table, and her hands meet mine halfway. “The bracelets are stunning.”

  “Thank you,” she politely responds. “Answer the question, Nero.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “I’ll welcome your relationship with Deacon Cruz for the rest of my life, but there is no fine print clause for his sister.” My finger pads stroke the diamonds as she adds, “At least, not unless I am involved.”

  “And I am happy to oblige you as long as I know you aren’t signing deals with pearlescent dew from the holy fountain that belongs to me.”

  She blinks. “What are you talking about?” I don’t answer swift enough as she continues, “You have plenty of reason to come after me concerning Cruz.”

  “You solicited Durante Costa.”

  “And you left!”

  “I went on a trip I planned for,” I reply, feeling the tension build. “It was on my calendar.”

  “You didn’t tell me, though,” she contends. “I should’ve known where my former fiancé was headed.”

  Former hurts.

  “Fair enough,” I concede, rubbing her knuckles and the sapphire ring. Her fingers move over the partnering ring on my middle finger, and she notes the ruby ring with the crab from Cristos on my other hands. Red and blue make the shadowy purple of me. “Do you plan to hit on every business associate you meet with?”