Iris Kettles is my drug of choice, and I would kill myself for her love and devotion, so I am being given small, measured doses until I can keep it in check. What Serene and Jack don’t know is I may never be able to keep it in check with my angel.
Her wings spread around my soul as the light from her halo awakens my darkness as she whispers, “Make love to me, please.”
Chapter Twelve
Bulletproof
SAL
THE MOST WONDERFUL THING about being associated with Juliet is we always come together as a whole when it counts. The parties and events are great. If any of us ever need the other, we come running, the extended family of kinksters. So, when Jack calls a bunch of us for a meeting at Idamae’s in the middle of the night, I am super curious and leave Iris sleeping in the dungeon. Mostly because we never meet at Idamae’s and that lends itself to a certain secrecy.
Walking inside the closed diner, I am met by Louise. She is a doll. She has worked here for years and doctored me up when the Dom’s got too rough. I didn’t give a shit, but she sure did. “Here,” she says, handing me a folder. “Jack and a few others are over there. We are still waiting on two more.”
I steal a kiss from Louise before meandering up to the men—Jack, Cristos, Dale, Tank, and Devereux are all there. It is an odd pairing with the addition of Devereux making me believe this isn’t Sibyl business. The bells on the door ring again as Mack Larrabee walks in. I shoot Jack a look of concern as it is a well-known fact I cannot stand Mack.
The door barely has time to close before the trim build and unusual gait of Dom bring a smile to my face. I stand up and shake his hand, giving him an embrace and kisses on one another’s cheeks. Our brief interaction leaves everyone staring at the two strange Italians who speak the same language. The funny part about it is our mutual respect of one another has nothing to do with heritage and everything to do with my loss. This fucking man saved my life more than once. And I owe him everything.
“I think that is everyone. I want to thank you all for coming,” Jack says, standing with a thick stack of notes on the table beside him. None of the men have a clue what is going on, and the glances cast between us convey the mystery well. “Let’s get this started. I will make my presentation, and then we can discuss and answer any questions afterwards.”
“With Anna’s continuous and imminent changes, I am proposing the formation of The Dom Club. It will be gentleman only and exclusive entry by our unanimous vote.”
“What if we don’t even agree with who all who is here now?” I say, cocking a brow and staring at Mack.
Tank asks, “Where will the club be located?”
“Gentlemen, please give me a moment. Everything is still up for discussion as we are in the early stages of planning, but I think with some of the new board assignments made by Anna that we need to consider the possibility of forming something. The fact is she still has yet to assign an heir to her throne. While the news of her granddaughter is exciting, it is also disconcerting. I don’t think any of us here would want Dr. Mierne Risen running Juliet. And I also know Chance’s widow, Iris Kettles, also has a stake in the claim. But the simple fact is this—if something were to happen to Anna today, the legal battle for the right to run Juliet could go on for years. I should mention I have not spoken to either Mierne or Iris. I understand there has also been mutterings of Chance’s former lover, William Sands, taking over.”
“None of them are qualified,” the typically quiet Dom states from the sidelines. “I cannot imagine any of the three of them upholding the standard and care for which Anna has given her legacy. You want to form The Dom Club to make a challenge for it…”
Crossing his arms across his chest, Jack advises, “You are getting ahead of the game.”
“I try and spend my life ahead of the game,” Dom says. We all know what he means. He never once let his injury and subsequent double amputation slow him down. He is the one man here who has earned a rightful seat at the Juliet board. I am not sure even I deserve it. I think Anna’s partiality to me as a person played heavily into her decision to not only move me to the Dom staff, but secure my seat on the board.
Louise brings coffee and pie for all of us as the men banter with a casual brainstorm of question and answer. Gazing around our small circle, I attempt to deduce Jack’s thinking of bringing each of these members here.
Dr. Jack Kerris is an obvious choice to be leading this bandwagon of trailblazing. Though he may not exhibit the formal protocol of Dom, his reputation as one of the preeminent sadists is known worldwide. It makes sense for him to be bringing us together.
While I don’t mind the man personally, Delarte Cristos skirts the edge of normalcy. I know why he is here—his bank book—the problem is he is business activity is sketchy at best. He is an informant for Sibyl, but that doesn’t negate the fact he is a criminal. He is no better than my father. Or Dom’s father. I wish Jack would have omitted him despite his board position at Juliet. He will not get my sweet Anna’s life of work—over my dead fucking body.
Dale Archer is the new kid on the block, but again his funds earned his spot here. He’s my bodyguard and partner. His family has a rich history in security, and he made butt tons in online porn. I only question his adaptability here—a good top can take on anyone—and he needs more experience for this group.
Tank goes without saying. He is probably the most qualified normal Dom here. He brings experience, but falters on the bank account. And as I am profiling all of this in my head, I start to understand the well-roundedness of Jack’s invitations.
Though I love the guy, the inclusion of Devereux stumps me almost as much as Mack pisses me off. They are both new to the game. No known substantial funds, minimalist experience. There is only one answer which I am not sure I want to hear—Jack is grooming them both for the future.
Ugh.
My hatred of Mack is substantial, and I cannot imagine working in this exclusive circle with him. With the bile rising up in my throat from the idea of Mack, I look to Dom. Classically trained and unyielding, he is the most specific Dominant of the bunch. He is the Dominant match to Jack’s sadistic ways. I have a thorough understanding that each of the pieces in the fetish do not always coincide. Jack is a sadist, less of a Dominant. Dom is a Dominant, little of a sadist. Sadism and Dominance do not always walk hand-in-hand…which leads my assessments to yours truly.
I am Sal Raniero. I have a hefty bank account, not quite the like of Archer or Cristos. And I practice all facets of the craft. I am the most capable to lead this troupe of horny bastards. Dom taught me proper Dominance, Jack and Kaci gave me sadism, Serene taught me yielding to my masochism, and years of catering to the bitches gave me my infamous submission. On my next thought, I am forced outside to smoke, my anxiety way too close to the edge.
Following me, Jack says, “Give us a moment.”
The bells clatter against the door as I walk out into the parking lot. The cool air of February hits my cheeks as I try and light a smoke.
“Talk to me, Kid,” Jack says as the door jingles closed.
“You’re fucking grooming me…”
“We’ve been grooming you,” he replies, cupping his hands around my lighter. His eyes flicker to mine. “This is not news.”
“You want me to take the helm at Juliet,” I counter on the exhalation.
“In my plight to make an argument for The Dom Club, if we assume winning any legal battle—then yes, I want you in that seat. No one else in that room or Sugargrove or really worldwide deserves to run Juliet more than you do,” Jack contends, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “You have all the elements, son.”
I get what he is saying, I do. But some things still make zero sense to me. “Why the fuck are Mack and Dev here?”
Lighting his own smoke, Jack cackles menacingly and I know this cannot be good. “Mack and Dev are your practice rounds.”
“My practice rounds?” I laugh and shake my head. “You mean you want me t
o oversee their asses…”
He nods with a knowing smirk.
Despite already knowing the answer to my next question, I ask it anyway just to hear his response. “What if I don’t want to train them?”
“You won’t say no because you know teaching them is beneficial—not only to them, but you.”
Staring out into the parking lot, I dismiss any hope of winning this argument. I know he is right. “I cannot stand that fucking pansy ass…”
“Only because you don’t understand his bisexuality,” Jack mutters as his pale skin turns his cheeks red from the wind. “He makes you question your own stance in the world. You and I both know you skew the lines of black and white and make your own grey.”
Sitting on the curb, I snarl, “You mean make my own mud.”
“I mean your acceptance is pivotal in understanding which brings people closer to you,” he states, surprisingly sitting on the curb beside me. Jack is not the kind of man who would sit on a curb, but he would if it meant following me. I know this, and I appreciate the endearment. “They listen to you because you give freely without judgment.”
“I will agree to train your peons on one condition,” I say, fumbling with the rocks in the gutter. “You let me have one of my own.”
“I can agree to that as long as they are male. This is, after all, a gentleman’s club.”
I laugh, already acutely aware of the gender segregation this proposed club rallies around. Dom males and female subs, it is a traditional stance which turns me on in more ways than one.
“Jonathan Finkle.”
“Seriously, Raniero?” Jack leans back and tosses an enormous smile in my direction. “You got a boner for Cristos’ right hand man?”
“No! You asshole,” I rib, bumping his shoulder. “Kaci adored Fink, and I don’t want him burned alive when Cristos explodes. And you and I both know that will happen eventually. We have some insight here… We would be stupid to not use it. In fact, you might ought to bring in Nico as well, but I am sure as fuck not training him.”
With a serious expression, Jack clarifies, “Nico, as in Cristos’ son?”
“As in Serene’s lover…”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
His astonishment is amusing, and I give him the duh look. “I maintain constant up-to-minute profiles on those I love.”
Leaning in closer, Jack whispers, “How long have they been seeing each other?”
“A couple of years at least from what I can tell,” I inform, tossing a pebble into the lot. “Serene is remarkably good at keeping her private shit—private.”
Jack furrows his brow and voices what we are both thinking. “You know two Doms together will never work, right?”
“I am not sure there are two Doms in that particular relationship,” I assess with a candor. I trust Jack; he will never backstab me.
His face contorts, trying to assemble the dynamic of the pair. “…You sound like Serene is kneeling…”
Lighting up another cig off the last, I impart my own two cents, “I think the word kneeling may be a bit much but I know Nico, and I doubt he would lick her boots.”
“Ok, so you get Dev, Mack, and Fink. I’ll get Nico under my wing before Cristos does more harm than good,” he surmises, giving the run down on our convoluted plan of attack. We have done crazier things than trying to overtake a BDSM school we both love. “You realize we are becoming some sort of weird sanctuary for sons of mafia lords, right?”
“Which is why we need Archer to up security all over the place,” I strategize, attempting to blow smoke rings in the wind. “I will get him working with Jaid on the loopholes she has found. We are putting a fucking target on our back.”
“It started with you,” Jack contends, patting my leg.
“And it will all end with me, too.”
SAL
By the time morning arrives, Iris is already gone. Although I don’t want her to go, leaving while I slept was probably emotionally better for both of us. I am as much in love with her as she is with me, and goodbyes are better left unsaid. Rolling over, I deeply inhale the pillow where she laid, her hair strewn out across the linen. Bringing my hands to my face, I smell her scent on my skin, intoxicating me all over again.
Letting out a deep groan of longing and disapproval of her being gone, I lay flat, looking up at the wooden beams on the ceiling and the heavy black bolts, locking it altogether. The dungeon I built for Serene is a work of art. I loved every moment of it.
Darting up, I head outside and take a piss between the two-story masterpiece of a dungeon and the hay bales which back up to a thick row of red tops. With the leaves brushing against my back, I pull down the ladder I fought Serene for.
She never understood why she or anyone else for that matter would need a ladder all the way to the roof. But as I stand on the roof and look out across the rolling landscape of Texas plains, watching the sun come up, I know. The ladder is a purely self-indulgent whim on my part. Life is about perspective and sometimes that meant two-stories up in the Middle-of- Nowhere.
From my vantage point, I can see Jack’s house—the Kacilyn and Salvatore Raniero residence—dip in the valley by the creek. It was the perfect spot to build a house. Kaci wanted it closer to the creek; I told her it would flood. She listened to me, thank heavens.
Iris is likely there. Maybe taking a shower. Or sleeping. Hell, maybe even getting off. My girl—in that house.
Grimacing, I lift a finger, pointing at the house, sitting on the peak, and tucking my knees up under my elbows. I rub the scruff on my face, running my fingers through my hair and squinting at the sun. I need a shower. A cup of coffee. A cigarette. A blow job.
I need my girl.
With a clenched fist, I hold the crucifix on my chest. And cry.
It isn’t fair. She was right there in my hands, my skin against hers. Beneath my body, she smiled and laughed like we were the only two in the entire world. With her legs wrapped around my waist, I pulled her even closer as she urged me on. And still, I wouldn’t let myself have her the way I truly wanted.
This morning she left again. I know all too well why she went—hell, I told her to—but it didn’t make it any easier either. I need to talk to an old friend, someone who knows me. I need to ground this out. I need Kace. Or Cas. She is a ludicrous acid to my aching base, providing no solution but heartache. My fires crave the water with a dangerous alignment perilously close to destroying us both.
I think about talking to God for a moment. And maybe even chatting with my Grandfather. Someone able to tell me how to have this girl in my hands forever. With tears streaming down my face, I hear the rush of water lapping my flames.
Iris.
“What’s meant to be will be,” she said one morning in the fall. When I called her a Buddhist, she laughed. “It’s not Buddhism. It is fate, destiny, and luck.” I called her a Bohemian and she giggled, “Probably closer. Little this. Little that. Spiritual for sure.”
I picked at my eggs and toast. “And where would you get married again, Ms. Kettles?”
“It would depend,” she said as her fingers caressed over her coffee cup that morning outside in the sun at Idamae’s. She leaned back in her chair. “I would choose a grove full of trees and flowers, be barefoot, and free. But if I was marrying into a big Italian family, it would have to be in a cathedral. Catholic, of course!”
That had been before Mitch Daniels actually asked her to marry him. While she declined, the talk of their relationship and losing everything truly got me thinking about what the future held. I wasn’t getting any younger. I couldn’t be a playboy forever. Maybe heading home was the best answer, going to work for the family, and settling down with a nice vanilla kind of girl.
The moment I think of that sickly sweet normalcy, my mind drifts to Iris. I cannot in good conscience pursue a relationship when I hold a very hot blaze for the girl in the house over the fence. It wouldn’t be fair. So, I am locked down. I cannot move forward o
r backward or even side-to-side. Patience is a virtue, but I have little of it when matters of my heart come to play. My biggest challenge. My own heart.
I love Iris with every breath of my body, every beat of my heart. So, I will wait it out. I will either watch the fire die out or fall in love, but either way, I won’t leave until I know she doesn’t want me. I am already hers whether she wants me or not. And the only question is how long would it take for us to find one another—her shores to my mountains.
Looking up to the clear blue sky, I pray for her safety, to follow her path, and remember my love. Prayer has always been such a huge part of who I am, but this one seemed more like asking for a present early. I know we aren’t ready for one another, but that doesn’t change my shackled heart or my patience either. I ask for guidance and truth. Hope and love. My emotions are in overdrive, and every moment without her beside me seems like an eternity.
“Salvatore, how long are you going to stay up there?”
I will know that voice anywhere. I adore her British inflection of my name. I glance over the ladder as she surprisingly heads up. I offer her a hand as she is a bit afraid of the height and awed by the view all at once.
“You are the only other person to ever be up here,” I whisper.
“Yes, well. I would really prefer not to be,” she says, rolling her dark eyes very animatedly.
“Come sit.”
We sit for about five minutes with her looking out to the pastures and beyond as I watch over her like a goddess encroaching upon my sin-filled prayers. Eventually, she breathes a heavy sigh and pulls her sunglasses down from her hair and onto her face. Opening her purse crossed over her chest, she says, “I brought you some things.”
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 21
