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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “I fucking love you…” I growl, wrapping my arms around her.

  “You still owe me a coat,” she mumbles as I pull the robe around us. “And a dress for tomorrow.”

  “Anything you want, princess,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “Anything at all.”

  Chapter Eight

  A Hollow Heart

  IRIS

  IN MY BRAND NEW white coat, Sal escorts me out of his freshly cleaned up truck. After taking me out for breakfast, we went to a little vintage shop in Austin and found the dark royal purple ball gown. With the white overlay lace on the scallops of the bustier and at the hem on the floor, the white coat only enhances the ensemble.

  With his hair slicked back, Sal looks dangerously sexy in his traditional tuxedo. I made a decent attempt at getting him to wear his glasses, but the pop to my ass ached with a resounding negative. Though he did manage to say something endearing—I want to keep some things special just for you.

  He ended up carrying me back to the truck and taking me to his house last night. He asked if I wanted to sleep in the tomb, but I decided it was best left up to him. He took us to the master suite, and we made love again.

  I want to believe in the fairy tale as we make our way through the Juliet crowd. This is our first outing as a couple. I know I am not truly supposed to be here but he is Master Raniero, and I am his submissive.

  We have had our fair share of mishaps at parties before, but tonight his hands never leave my side. He doesn’t run off to be by Serene or flirt with other girls. His attention is all on one—me. The scowls come without care or provocation. I have the collar on of the most coveted Dominant at the party; it would be foolish to believe no one would be jealous.

  “I want you to meet someone,” he says, leading me through the party. The tall, ginger-haired man stands out amongst this crowd. I recognize the stance of ex-military and wonder what Sal has to do with him. Before we greet one another, Sal whispers, “This is my partner, Dale Archer. Don’t say a fucking word.”

  Picking up the beat, I extend my hand and smile politely. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Archer.”

  “Same to you, beautiful,” he says with a snarl, scanning over my body. I know he is checking me out. Something strikes me off like I recognize him from somewhere else.

  Sal leads me out to the dance floor, and all eyes seem to linger on us. They are waiting for us to falter, but I will not and neither will he. In his arms, I float like a dragonfly in spring, soaring across the floor. His stocky frame supports my short stature perfectly as I catch Anna staring with tears in her eyes. I motion to Sal, and we sashay her direction.

  “My beautiful girl,” Sal says in a thick Bostonian-gone-Texan drawl. It’s strange. When he is loud and boisterous, his accent is apparent. But when we are alone, I never hear it. His whole intonation changes around me, welcoming with an easy warmth.

  “She is so beautiful, Salvatore!” Anna gushes, “And you are so handsome!”

  He kisses her cheeks and I give her a hug when I notice Jack, staring from the bar. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, squeezing his hand.

  Jack’s eyes never leave mine as I prance over to his side. His arms embrace around my waist tight. “Sir Jack,” I admire with a smile.

  “Ms. Kettles, you are looking lovely this evening. Your date is looking incredibly happy.”

  “Thank you, we are.”

  “You should know, Iris, he doesn’t have the world faithful in his makeup. Don’t ever mistake who or what he is,” Jack warns with a smile put on for show. “He is a killer, Iris.”

  “I see,” I say, playing up the pompous illusions. “And you sound like a jealous asshole.”

  I spin fast and walk back to my adoring date who is chatting up Ella Hemsworth. I greet her with a kiss, but she detects something is not right.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Shit.

  I cannot deny it to this woman. She reads my signals way to well. “Jack was just an ass is all. No big deal.”

  Immediately, Sal’s stance changes and he is pissed—livid really. “Lucas,” I implore, gripping his arm tight. “Please leave it alone.” By the time the words slip out, he is gone. “Oh no…”

  “What did he say…” Ella asks, but I do not answer—partly because I am worried about Sal and partly because what am I supposed to say? Oh, he is an assassin for an underground organization. Fast thinking leads me to say, “Your dress is beautiful, Ella. Did you get it at the new boutique in town?”

  Keeping one eye on Sal, I can tell by the body language things are escalating quickly. They are headed out the door before I can say goodbye to Ella. I rush away from the dance floor and slip, so I kick my shoes off and take off running.

  Oh, it’s just crazy ass Iris running around Juliet without her shoes, again.

  Searching the parking lot, I do not see the guys anywhere. “Looking for someone,” Mr. Archer asks, startling me from behind.

  “Sal and Jack came out here…”

  In the parking lot, I hear the rumble of his truck as Jack’s antique sports car zips out of the lot. Dale commands, “Come on.”

  Popping a helmet on my head, Dale Archer tosses me on the back of the bike. “You ever ridden on a bike?”

  “Um, no?”

  “Hike that dress up and hold the hell on.”

  Gripping onto his enormous frame, we speed through town. At a stop light, I can see the sports car and the truck tangoing on the dark, winding roads ahead. “Hold on, girl.”

  The insane, ginger-haired man gives it full throttle and we zoom closer. I don’t think he will catch up, but we can see them now. Red lights are everywhere as the Doms battle it out on the pavement. I don’t have to ask, I know where they are going—to the farm.

  We pull down the driveway to Serene’s, but no one is there. “Can this thing off-road?”

  “Baby, I can off-road…”

  “Then go to the dungeon, down that path, and hurry, please!”

  The ride through the pasture is bumpy and jarring, but as we pull closer I see Sal, stripping his coat and shirt off. “Stop the bike. Here, please.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, kill the lights.”

  I can hear them yelling, but I cannot make out what they are saying. It’s a fuzzy, loud noise in the distance. “You want me to pull closer so you can hear?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You don’t fucking understand,” Sal argues, getting up in his face.

  “I understand plenty, Kid,” Jack eases, pulling off his jacket and laying it on the hood. “I understand you cannot have her—she is nothing more than intel. You fucking use her, get what we need, and get the hell out.”

  “Fuck. You.” Sal walks a few steps away before he reverts and comes back at Jack with a fist.

  “Ok, this is where I get involved, little lady,” Dale says, “Are you along for the ride or not?”

  “I am here,” I say.

  “I only got the bitch for you to get your fucking intel!” Jack recounts. “You are the one who wanted finish Kaci’s case!”

  “You leave my fucking wife out of this!”

  The war continues even as we pull up, but Dale Archer is a big man—a brute man. A man capable of taking both Jack and Sal out. He scolds with a low forceful growl, “Cool it, both of you, now!”

  Sal’s chest is heaving, and his face is bleeding. Jack’s isn’t much better as I approach the skirmish slow. Not having seen me, Jack yells, “We’ve been working on her for five years. You think you got the magic wand in your pants to unzip her fucking mind? Stop thinking with your goddamned dick, Nero.”

  “Stop!” I shrill, crying hysterically. “Stop, both of you, now!”

  “Iris, go to the house now!” Jack barks.

  “Wrong, asshole,” Sal protests, angrier than I have ever seen him. “Dandy, go get your bags. Now! We are leaving.”

  Clenching his fists, Jack repeats, “Iris, go to the house now, please!”

&nb
sp; “You motherfucker, stop telling my girl what to do, or I swear I am gonna lay you out.”

  Without another word, I traipse in my very dirty, brand new, white coat and step up into the passenger seat of the Raptor. I know where I am going. And I know who I am leaving with. Jack be damned.

  IRIS

  Staring out the window for the next several hours, I watch the rain on the glass. It sparkles and slides around like liquid diamonds. As we approach Houston, I shift my gaze from the passenger window to the windshield, taking in the skyline. “It’s beautiful here.”

  His hand grabs mine. “Kace loved it here. This was her home. She wanted to die here.”

  “Did she?” I mutter softly.

  “Ya, in the loft we are about to be at.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that, so I hush. Deep in an abandoned part of the industrial district, we pull the truck into a caged parking garage and head up the lift. It’s old and derelict, cranking its way up and sounding like we could crash to the floor at any moment. Sal opens the gate and takes my hand, helping me off the platform before sending it back down. He unlocks the only door on the fourth floor.

  “You own the building?” I ask as he reveals the mystery behind his madness.

  “Ya.”

  The loft is incredible with wood finishes and black metals and silver chains. It is modern and antique, all in one. The swing is magnificent. Thick ropes dangle from the rafters along with sparkling, crystal chandeliers.

  “It looks like the apartment of a rich, kinky playboy.”

  Sal shoots me a distinct sauntering gaze and shakes his head with a smirk. “It is the building of a rich, kinky playboy.”

  Gazing around in awe, I am bewildered by the grandeur and splendor surrounding us as Sal is walking around…naked.

  “I am going to shower, you coming?”

  The bathroom is just as amazing as the rest of the loft. I strip down quick and leave my pretty dark royal purple ball gown on Sal’s bathroom floor. He extends his hand and assists me inside, the perfect gentleman. The six shower heads in the vast and spacious area serve my sore body well with hot water from every direction. He lathers my skin, and I bravely take to doing the same for him.

  “I don’t know how to feel,” I say as I look away—at his chest, arms, legs. I avoid gazing at his dick and his eyes. “Am I just a pawn in your game? Find my info, and toss me out like used garbage?”

  Spinning away from me, Sal places his hands up on the shower wall, and I cannot resist staring at his fantastic ass. It is muscular and solid. I understand why that ass is famous—it’s a damn good piece of body art. He has no ink on the flesh of his rump, the swirls from his chest pieces drip over his sides. His back is mostly empty as well except for two very large pieces on either shoulder blade. One on the right is a crow, and the one on the left is a wolf. I want to ask about them, but now is not the time.

  I lay my face against his back when I realize he is crying. “Do not ever ask me that again, Iris Amarie. I am in so much fucking love with you that I brought you here to Kaci’s original home and to the cemetery. I do not bring women here—never. I do not share this part of myself with anyone,” he scolds, turning fast back towards me. “But I want to get there with you.”

  His words ring through the bathroom like chapel bells on a crisp, clear morning. He resonates through my soul, offering to try and become whole and complete—for me. It is an honor and privilege I do not take lightly. But his devotion sets me off into a sea of questioning—why me’s?

  I am not perfect like him. I look in the mirror, and he is so much prettier than me. I am misshapen and odd-looking, and he is so far out of my league it is ridiculous. I am the one with the crush because I cannot see how hard he has crashed for me.

  “I cannot do this without you,” he says, his jaw sharp and angled. His face reddened from the tears and the war. “For whatever reason, Kaci wanted me to have you. I can accept her gift or I can keep going on like I am, but let me tell you Iris…giving it out is making me a hollow fucking man. Her driving energy isn’t healing my soul. If anything, her wishes are harming everything she ever wanted for me.”

  He rinses off quick and leaves me in the shower crying hard. The situation is incomparable to anything else we may have ever endured. His wife is gone, but her psychotic chess maneuvers are a challenge.

  She is still in play. And as long as I am here, Kaci is still in play.

  I stay alone, not knowing what to do. I feel like I have intruded into his private, sacred space, so much greater than the room at the house. This isn’t a shrine; it’s a goddamned holy temple to everything Kaci believed was divine—namely, the one thing revered in her world—Lucas Salvatore Raniero.

  The tears I cry are not tears for myself. Or even him. But for her. She never got to see the man he would become. She never got to hold the fruits of her labor. She gave everything she had to him, and she fucking died.

  What a horrible burden to put on the man you love!

  I understand his anger, but to think we have four more levels of grief to go through sinks my thoughts deep into the ocean. This is insurmountable—his double lives—one where he lays peaceful at the bottom of the water and one in which his doppelgänger walks on the water, pretending and playing along for the sake of everyone else. But there is no truth there. His truth isn’t on the surface, but deathly abysmal.

  I do not know how to bring him up for air. I do not know how to resurrect his lifeless apathy and merge the pieces into one. This is beyond me. His heartache is so much worse than my own. We both lost our spouses, but our perspectives are complete polar opposites. I cannot transcend the distance. I do not know how. Or own a map or a book or even a fucking scrap of paper to offer me a clue on how to repair her damage. He needs a surgeon and a scalpel—a number eleven blade to stab the pain and flush the manifestation with his own blood.

  They say love conquers all, but what if it doesn’t? What if love cannot repair the damage? And time won’t heal the wound? What if the wound only morphs into some great infected sore, oozing and burdening what is left of his spirit?

  I cannot destroy his evil twin who permanently resides in the hearts of many as the golden boy. If I do, he will have nothing left but two fragmented shells which will not make a whole.

  I cannot fix this.

  Falling slowly to the tile beneath me, I sit and rock slowly under the water. Drifting off to a place where I can no longer distinguish my pain from purity.

  SAL

  A half hour later, Iris still isn’t out of the shower. Bringing her here shocks the system. Not only because of the past history buried within these walls, but because of the blatant display of who I am.

  I want her to understand me—the real me. Not the pretty mug and pierced D. Hell, not even the Dominant with a desire for pain. None of that actually matters. The truth sparks in every glance, whisper, touch, and kiss between us. This is what counts.

  The rain splashes and rolls, dividing and reuniting. I have stood here way too much since Kace died. I work up the nerve to walk away from the window when I see her standing by the kitchen. Towels wrap around her body like I wish I was. She is gorgeous. She doesn’t see it. She doesn’t know. The one thing I know—I don’t deserve her. She is too good for my Italian punk ass.

  “Was your shower okay?” I ask, moving closer.

  She nods. “Yeah, thank you. Do you have anything I can put on?”

  “Oh shit,” I say, running to the bedroom and grabbing her some of my clothes. When I return, her hair is pulled out of the towel and she looks like perfection. “Here you go,” I say, handing her the pajama pants and white t-shirt. “I am sorry I forgot.”

  “It’s alright. I’ll be right back,” she says with a smile.

  She disappears for about five minutes and returns cute as a button. She has rolled the pants up around her ankles and my shirt swallows her, resembling a dress. She thinks she is overweight, but I never see it. My dick twitches thinking abo
ut her curves. I notice the silhouette of her breasts, and her piercings poking under the fabric.

  Jesus. Fuck.

  With a shy manner, she asks, “Do you maybe have a brush? I couldn’t find one in the bathroom.”

  “Ya, babe. Have a seat,” I mutter, stumbling through the motions of having a girl in the house. “I…I am sorry. I am really not thinking,” I say, rushing off. On my way back, I stop by the fridge and grab a couple beers and a bottle of water. “It’s been so long since a girl has been here. I had this in the nightstand. I used to brush…” I stop and glance down, unable to finish the sentence as she touches my hand.

  “Sal, that’s a wooden hairbrush.”

  “Ya, and we bought it for that exact reason,” I impart with a smirk, handing her the brush. “We never used it though.”

  Flipping channels, I am trying to determine what she would like to watch. It’s not like Kaci cared most of the time. The uncomfortable strangeness in the air dissipates quick as she says, “You can go back to sports.”

  “…You sure?”

  She glances over her shoulder and smiles. I take the brush from her hand and ease her back between my legs. I run the brush through her hair and remember the feeling. It’s weird to be overwhelmed by such a trivial, innocuous thing, but to me—it is very fucking significant. What I don’t anticipate is her next question which pulls my thoughts away from the past to a remote location.

  “How long have you been watching me?”

  “A long fucking time, baby,” I reply low and slow, not wanting her to scare. “A long fucking time.”

  “I know you mentioned the cams. Have you seen the videos?”

  Somehow, in mere seconds, she has put me in a corner. I don’t panic. I breathe. But I cannot lie. “I have.”

  “Did you give me items off the wish list?”

  Hidden by her long locks, I snarl. Yes. Yes, I fucking did send you that bread machine you wanted. And the nice shampoo. And the cat carrier. And the dresses. I cannot lie, but I refuse to elaborate. “Yes.”