Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  I will not always allow her to lead.

  This is nothing more than temporary until I can figure out what the fuck is going on.

  SAL

  If things are as bad as I think, I cannot imagine leaving her in the dungeon. Stepping out of the shower, I understand I have to, but I think it sucks. I hand her some of my sweat pants and shirt before running downstairs to move our laundry.

  I rush back upstairs and walk inside my bedroom as she drops the towel. Her body glistens and urges with a demure suggestion. What I wouldn’t give to be inside of her again—yes, right fucking now.

  Releasing my own towel, I ask, “What if there is a hitch in the plan?”

  “…A hitch?” she says, staring decidedly at my package. Clearly, I am not alone in my meanderings.

  “Ya, like a snag,” I say, trying to keep her focus on my eyes as I adjust my cock.

  “There won’t be. Serene will run this as smooth as butter, trust me,” she whispers, “You will know when the time comes, I promise. It won’t be more than a few days. Just figure out where we are going.”

  With my back to her, I go to grab my jeans with a plan of easing them on slow and seductively. “And should I trust…”

  “No one,” she says, pressing her naked breasts to my back.

  “Including you?” I ask, gazing over my shoulder.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she promises, running kisses over my guns. “I’m not after you.”

  Spinning around, I gather her in my arms and kiss her pouty little mouth. We are all lips and tongues as we plummet onto the bed. The more I think about it the more I realize I don’t really want to take her next door at all. I want to keep her safe and secure with me. “What if something happens…”

  “Nothing is going to happen,” she says, spreading her thighs in an invitation for round two. “But we really don’t have time for this.”

  Our prolonged make out session of a long goodbye hurts—bad. And the burgeoning growth of my tear-filled globule ceases. I want to believe every word from her lips, but my well-trained mind acts like brakes on my heart. I skid as our urgent desires meet with time constraints.

  I want to savor every moment, fearing it may be our last. I do not know what she does. I do not have confidence in this simple plan by the two red-haired sirens in my life. I have lost two girls. I cannot lose three. And it doesn’t really matter who the fuck she is. I know this girl. At least I think I do.

  “Salvatore,” Serene says from the door. My bare ass beams high in the air on top of the exquisite angel. She pops my ass with a warning snap. It’s more in play than punishment. “We have got to get her next door. Now. Georgia can only hold the line so long.”

  Grabbing my jeans, I rouse, “Is Jack the line?”

  With a determined look on her face, Serene implores, “Jack did you a favor by bidding on her, but that doesn’t mean he knows everything including all of Iris’ traits.”

  “Are you telling me you two have been working together…since before Kaci died?”

  “We sent you off to Sibyl at Kaci’s request,” Serene says, rubbing her hands together nervously. “Because Kaci wanted to privately recruit Iris for you.”

  “From the other damned team,” I rage, getting very close to the edge.

  “Well, yes,” Serene acknowledges, “She is a well-rounded team player.”

  Sitting on the bed, I cannot handle the boulder falling into my world. “…but Kaci took me to Chicago and we saw you.”

  “Your right, she did,” Iris consoles, kneeling in front of me. “Kaci discovered that I had been hired to take you out, but instead of coming after me…she built you for me. She came to say goodbye to me in Chicago and pass off the baton.”

  “I am not a goddamned baton!” I spring up, knocking Iris onto her ass as my hands fly about wild. “You spent time with…. my wife?”

  “Yes, I did,” she meekly replies.

  Blowing up, I am beyond mad. Iris might not have lied, but she damn sure didn’t tell me the truth. “… And you never fucking thought to tell me?”

  “I wanted you to tell me about your life, your marriage, your wife. I waited and waited and waited, every night hoping you would trust and let me in,” Iris argues with the lightest of whispers. “You never did, so I took you—like the difficult asshole you are.”

  Quickly, I move to take on Serene in a battle where at least I know who I am up against. “How are we supposed to keep her safe when we don’t even know who we are fighting?”

  “You are just going to have to trust me, Trotter,” Serene beckons with a warning light as I back down.

  Pulling a hoodie over my head, I grumble, “I don’t want to trust anything.”

  Serene peers out the window to the road. “Sally, you have got to go. Go out the back way. Jack is headed here for dinner. Get her to the dungeon—now.”

  I don’t think about the anger searing through my veins. I am a machine, acting on a command—get Iris to the dungeon. Grabbing her hand, we head down the hallway to Serene’s suite. I unlock the door swiftly and close it softly. Adjacent to her boudoir is a sitting room with a staircase down to the library. From there we scuttle through the house and escape out the back doors undetected.

  Through the field, we dart to the tree line as Prince, Zoe’s black stallion, trots up. Tossing my leg over, I reach down and offer Iris my arm. She doesn’t hesitate—trusting me. “Hold onto me. Don’t let go.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispers.

  Prince is fast as we make our way to the thick woods. We slow down and carefully navigate our way the two-and-half mile trek back. “It will be a few minutes before we get to my house.”

  Riding along, I pause briefly and reflect on the words I have never really assimilated—my house. My girl will be safely kept in my house, in my dungeon, and on my land. A confidence trickles through me as I know this is the right thing to do. Serene will not steer me wrong. Iris…I don’t know yet.

  The sky awash with colors shifts rapidly to dusk, offering up a salmon pink and glowing yellow sunshine. The creek side stream flows with a cool water over rocks and fallen twigs. “Have you really never ridden?”

  “No,” she says. I pull the reigns, bringing Prince to a stop and bounce off.

  “Stay, Iris.”

  She giggles. “You are telling me to stay, but not the horse?”

  “The horse always listens…”

  “I try,” she replies as I guide Prince closer to the stream. He takes a drink and I guide him to a flatter surface so I can mount back up.

  Hopping on behind Iris, I handle the reigns and command, “Put your hands-on mine.”

  Her tiny hands lay against mine. I know she doesn’t possess the skills I am accustomed to. Her wit and ability based on a stronger draw, an assessment with a purpose-driven service. I need answers if I am to trust. I brush her hair out of the way and mutter, “Who did you work for?”

  “Gennaro in Chicago.”

  “…Daddy Gennaro?” I inquire in a state of disbelief.

  She cackles once as a smile curls up on her lips. “I was recruited young. My mother and he were…involved. She sold real estate and met him, before I knew it they were having an affair. Neither of my parents were around very much, but when my mom was in town, so was Gennaro. She was nothing more than his Mistress. He had a fondness for me though and saw that I made it into Abernathy. He groomed me young to go after Chance, knowing about the collective at Sibyl. He wanted to take them down with a handful of his friends. They eventually grew and morphed into their own.”

  “…La Morte,” I correct, sharing my knowledge as we ride slow by the stream.

  “Yes,” she says, remembering the name. “They are primarily a mafia-based infiltration hub. They come in, dismantle smaller gangs, and agree to control the market via their pressure tactics. And then they battle it out amongst themselves. My sole job was to get close to Chance Ballister so La Morte could go after Sibyl.”

  “My sole focus wa
s to protect you,” I confess as my arms embrace around her even tighter. “Did Chance ever know?”

  “I don’t know…but when he died, I received orders from Gennaro to get to Salvatore Raniero,” she reveals, almost breaking down in tears. “He wanted you taken out by order of La Morte, but then he died in August.”

  “I know,” I counter, “I went to his funeral in Chicago with his son.”

  “…You were in Chicago?”

  “I go lots of places,” I rebound fast, wanting to believe every word out of her sweet little lips. Maybe because I want them wrapped around my hard cock. She sounds more victim than operative, but it could all be training. I waste no time in asking the next question, “How many people have you ever killed?”

  “None,” she whispers, glancing at me. “You were to be my first.”

  “You took my box, the note, and the key I left,” I mutter, smelling her hair and wanting nothing more than to keep her safe with me.

  Her expression changes, lighting up with the revelation. “You put it there?”

  “Yeah, I did,” I contend as we begin the steady trot up the hill to my house. “I had a key to Ballister’s safety deposit box. I paid the guard off and sent you on a wild goose chase to Texas. I knew if I was going to watch over you, I had to have you here—with me.”

  With a sincerity in her voice, she says, “You know I am in love with you right, Raniero?”

  “Is that you or your spy talking?” I smirk.

  Casting a glance back at me, she rolls her eyes and plays along. “Which would you prefer?”

  “Either or, regardless of which, I will spank,” I assure with an arrogant snarl.

  “I bet you would,” she taunts, easing her hips back to me. “I wish you would have told me everything.”

  “I wish you would have told me about Kaci,” I respond, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  “She found out by accident that I was spying on my own husband.” Her voice softens and she acts as though she almost feels bad about the whole thing. “I didn’t know about you at that point. I didn’t know I was Kaci’s bait. She threatened to tell him about the cameras.”

  “What were they for?” I persuade, tightening around her body. “If you had Gennaro backing you, you didn’t need the money.”

  “No, I didn’t. That is for sure,” she reveals with a hint of irritation. “I needed company. I was lonely.”

  “You were selling favors across the internet.”

  “You should use the word favors loosely, Nero.” She cackles lightly. “It made sense to me at the time. Supply and demand,” she says, heartbroken and despondent. “Our marriage was nothing more than a cover for Chance, he loved William Sands until the day he died.”

  “So, you became Rie Ford…”

  “Because I found his birth certificate…” she admits. “I didn’t know Anna owned Juliet at the time, but I knew if he ever caught me I could use his relationship with Sands to hang over his head to his mom.”

  Thinking about her position, it made sense to blackmail Ballister, even though it never would have worked. “You thought Anna hated Sands…”

  “I did. I didn’t realize it was Julia who pushed him to living a lie.”

  I recognize the name quick. “Chance and Julia were Mierne’s parents…”

  “You got it,” she confirms as together we fill in the missing blanks. Our conversation fluid as one kept the questions and the other held the answers—together, we were each other’s cheat sheets. What I didn’t know; she did. What she didn’t know; I did. Kaci put two pieces of the puzzle together, broke them apart, and waited until she died to make them whole again. Iris is the best gift anyone ever gave me.

  I want to continue to ride and pick her brain, putting our pieces together. But I know I will have more time eventually. I need to trust—Serene and Iris. “You know I love you more than words…”

  “I know you are a broken, Sal,” she assesses. “Your wiring is twisted and tangled and fucked up. All I want to know is if you are willing to work the problem with me…”

  “I am. I want to know how good we can be if we are both whole…” I admit, pulling Prince to a stop about three hundred feet from my house. I hop off and help her down. “More than words, Angel.”

  Though she seemed so certain before, I detect a distinct hesitancy to go inside. Her worried expression fraught with possibilities.

  How I hate that word…

  In this case, it is accurate.

  “Promise me you will come back and you will be careful,” she whispers as tears fall from her eyes. “La Morte is still looking to take you out.”

  I kiss her lips, assuring her I will return. “This is not over. We are not done. With you, I am closer to whole,” I profess, praying we make it through this. Maybe her love can fill in the hollowed parts where I used to be. “Iris, do you know who issued the order?”

  She bites her lip and blinks away, unable to control her emotions any longer. “Cesario Raniero requested your hit.”

  Kissing her lips one last time, I watch until she gets back inside. Riding Prince back to the farmhouse, I vow to remain a hollow machine until the bastard no longer breathes.

  Chapter Six

  Down with the Moon

  IRIS

  HEADING INTO THE GHOSTLY manor of a dead girl, I take in everything I missed last night. I know the furniture is not what she would have chosen. The knickknacks are not hers. She didn’t pick these curtains. Or those giant throw pillows. Or plan for her home to look like this.

  I am certain—Kaci and Sal—did the best they could.

  We believe we have control, but really it is nothing more than a mirage. We control nothing. The fetish world works under a spectacular methodology and perhaps the only true one of its kind—the consent to control another’s body. Hand over the physical being to a Master, and they will take the burden and responsibility away. Gone are the issues of the reality. It dissipates with every lash, paddle, poke, and prod. Under their will, the soul soothes as the flesh and mind separate.

  Knowing Jack will be a bit, I head to the fridge. I want cake. I find wine, vegetables, and fruits. Gag. I am starving. I should have asked Sal for food instead of his dick. Maybe both. Maybe cake on Sal. Decadent thoughts lead my hand to grab the wine. I take my glass and go sit in her living room. I wonder if she picked the tile, the paint, and the color of the brick. Did she help design the house or did they pick it out of a book?

  I wish now that I would have asked these very important questions. Right now, they are very pressing.

  Persistent, demanding little cunts.

  I have a lot of respect for the girl. And she was just a girl—dying at twenty-four.

  The one thing I do know—she loved Sal. Building brick by brick and changing his life, Kaci held nothing back. She was brilliant in her chaos, cloistered to her cancer. In a way, it was maniacal. Perhaps even sociopathic to do the things she did. She manipulated his entire being all to control the outcome.

  Not quite a Dominant, but perhaps.

  Sipping the wine, I think back to my own twenty-four—hours ago—when I arrived here at the house. I asked for a six-month contract. I received a commitment to change everything with a twenty-four-year-old monster.

  Touching the crucifix she draped around my neck, I realize now that Kaci collared me, too.

  IRIS

  As I polish off the wine—the entire bottle—I meander about the house, searching for something. I do not believe I will find it here, whatever it is I seek. A wedding photo, a scrapbook, even a note of love will suffice. My need to view them together as one is strong, resonating deep in my core.

  In the kitchen, I dig through drawers. I go to the four bedrooms and peer under the beds. One room is locked. I ponder breaking in when I notice the key up on the door frame. It slides in readily—easily almost—as if begging to be free.

  The room is a sanctuary. A chapel built in her honor. And therein, I find everything I want and so much more. />
  The virgin white room with white trimmings, linens, and furniture offers no excuses. Her wedding gown hangs in a glass cabinet with shelves holding candles and champagne flutes, invitations, and other memorabilia. Her saddle and blanket drape over a custom wooden holder. Boxes and baskets galore await aimless for the return of their owner.

  I open one and find silver prods, another one needles. The basket brims over in clothespins locked together. In another box, I find a harness and dildo along with notes of endearment and suggestion.

  The picture of Sal and Kaci together over the bed catches my eyes, and I notice the two longer frames on either side of the bed. Exquisite prints replicate text messages between Pixie and Pretty Boy. I close my eyes at how morose and fucked up it all is.

  On another glass curio near the bathroom, empty bottles of whiskey and a towel soaked in dried blood rest alongside pill bottles and syringes.

  “Why does he bother you so?” A voice startles from behind. He walks closer as I back up slow.

  Trying to avoid the unease of the conversation, I glance at the highly-polished floor. “I wish I knew, Sir.”

  “How many times have you fucked him?”

  Thinking a little too long on the matter, I say nothing. His fingers slap my mouth. Not as hard as he could have, but enough to sting. Knowing the strength in his eyes and the power in his jaw line, I blink up and reply, “I have fucked him—many, many, many times, Sir.” Licking my lips, I inhale a breath and whisper on the exhalation, “It is complicated—this hunger.”

  One side of his mouth upturns, giving off more of a snarl than an actual grin. “Then I take it you have touched my pretty pussy thinking about him?”

  He captures my eyes with his own as I laugh—hysterical and boisterous. “If only you knew, Sir Jack.”

  I instigate my moves based on the tactics of not letting him know Sal and I have spoken. He doesn’t need our secrets. Our secrets—the thought forces me to bite my lip as his next words catch me off guard. “Since you aren’t where you are supposed to be, show me.”