I move quickly to her car as she ducks inside. I feel weird opening the passenger door of a stranger’s car, but I do it anyway—because what the fuck do I have to lose?
The second I lift the handle, she yells, “Get in!”
With feeling like I have nothing left to lose, I throw shit into the wind and pray for a gust away from me as I plop down in the bucket seat. Worst case, I have to harm the bitch. Best case right now is—I get my dick sucked so I can forget about what an asshole I am.
Can we say vicious circle of self-torture?
Tossing her umbrella into the back, she adjusts herself in the driver’s seat and tosses back her hood. “Hi! Sorry I wasn’t more pleasant, you looked like you were soaked and freezing!”
She starts the car and goes to back up, glancing behind as our faces are way too close together in her tiny coupe. She must notice how distraught I look. “I am Emily Lee Granger! My older sister, Molly, is Maria’s best friend.”
“Oh, my fucking god…what the fuck happened to you?” I ask, sounding much harsher than intended, but I am—for a lack of better words—astonished.
Immediately, I feel like a tremendous asshole. I spent years with baby Emlee, tagging along with the three—Maria, Molly, and me—and demanding to go everywhere we went. She was nothing more than an annoyance. The nuisance of a baby sister dissolved into the background.
Now apparently, she is my savior from the storm. We drive to the outskirts of town in silence until she finally pulls into a driveway. She turns off the car and smiles. “My apartment is upstairs.”
What the hell?
You have an apartment?
You are like four feet tall and pesky.
Is there a reason to not follow baby Emlee?
Barely the size of a twig, she poses no threat. She has no clue about my real life. I sit in the car a little too long—awkwardly long—as she climbs the steps and glances back in my direction.
Fuck it.
Sprinting across the slick blacktop, I grab the rail of the stairs before I go skateboarding into the side of the house. Good one, Raniero. I hike my way up the steps, two at a time. Tossing her keys and trench coat on the kitchen table, she says, “Let me go see if I can find you some dry clothes.”
Her apartment is a small, one bedroom conversion above an old house. She passes the kitchen, turns the stove on with a match, and sets a teapot on the burner. “The igniters are out…”
I furrow my brow curiously as she disappears into her bedroom. “Here is a towel and some sweatpants. I won’t claim they will fit.”
Her effervescent blue eyes catch mine for the first time. Baby Emlee is damn sure not a baby anymore. She giggles, “Shit! Here’s a shirt, too! Sorry I was staring, you just look all grown up now.”
Pulling off my hoodie and tank all at once, I spout back, “So do you. How old are you now?”
I kick off my shoes and without thinking about it, I pull down my wet running pants, revealing my bare ass. Sometimes, I forget the normal world doesn’t exist like we do in Sugargrove. “Oh fuck…I am so sorry.”
Emily laughs. “It’s…um, quite alright.”
Her mouth must have hit the floor as I hear her breathing and sighing in awe. Trying to form the words, she stutters, “I… I am eighteen. I work at the bar in the kitchen. Mostly making salads. And French fries. Though I really prefer sweet potatoes to traditional fries. Unless they have the skins on them, and then they are okay.”
I grab the pants—which are way too tight—and listen to the sweetness in her voice, rambling on and finding myself lost in her gentle persuasion.
“But only with ketchup,” she adds as I spin around in the pants looking more like yoga pants than sweat pants. Thank heavens the shirt is huge and covers some of the prize package. “I am… um, sorry they are so small. If you give me your clothes, I’ll get them washed.”
I try to hold back a chuckle, but I end up giving her more of a sexy smug snarl as I hand her the clothes. Her eyes—still as big as fucking saucers like when we were young—blink as her hands brush against my body.
Fuck, do not do that.
Especially in these girlie drawers.
“Want some tea?”
Tea seems like such a far cry from the whiskey I am craving, but little do I realize how intoxicating tea can be with the right person. Sipping tea with Emily on the sofa with the news in the background, I cannot believe the irritating, little girl that always kept me from scoring with Molly is all grown up now.
Fortunately for me, she does most of the talking—the whole time. She is working to earn enough money to go to art school in California. Like so many, she is running as fast as she can to get away from the small town before she ends up sucked in by it. Cross-legged, she sits with her blonde hair in a clip telling me her life story over tea.
I nod. And luckily, she never asks about mine.
“I had such a crush on you when I was younger,” she gushes, blushing at the memory.
“You did?” I say, pretending to not remember, but the truth is I can never forget. Baby Emlee is permanently etched into my soul. “Why did I never know this?”
“Because I am seven years younger than you,” she says with a laugh. “And you were always chasing my sister’s tail.”
Running my hand through my damp curls, I prop my arm on the back of the sofa and glance out the window at the rain continuing to freeze. “Thank you for the tea, but I should really get going. It’s getting worse out there, and I have quite the walk home.”
“Your clothes are in the wash,” she mutters as disappointment covers her face. Rising up, she walks past and I grab her hand. “You can stay as long as you like.”
“Em… I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she says with a genuine smile.
“That I never noticed you,” I reflect honestly.
“It’s okay, really,” she says, looking like she is holding back tears. “I mean you were a senior, Salvatore. What were you going to do? Date a sixth grader?”
I laugh, understanding her point. “For what it matters, I am damn sure noticing you now.”
Towering over her, I stand beside her small frame, wedged between the coffee table, the sofa, and her cherubic face. Too close.
She blinks up at me with those enormous blue eyes—the color of the sea—and takes a deep breath. I want to kiss her, but I am too afraid she may dismiss me as coddling to her childhood whims.
“You want to fuck?” The words pour out of her like she is asking if I want another cup of tea.
Unbelieving to even me, I shake my head and at the same time mutter, “No.”
Clearly hurt by rejection, she nods and moves away, walking to the kitchen. I chase and grab her arm, spinning her around and laying my calloused hands on her soft face. “Em…”
“It’s okay. Molly was always the pretty one,” she asserts, leaving my grasp as I trail her close.
“Em…”
Busying herself at the sink, she rambles on again, “Molly always got the greatest guys. The best grades. The popular girl. The cheerleader. The one my parents dote on. I am just the leftovers…”
Oh. Fuck it.
With one hand on either side of the sink, I press my hard body into her backside as she flutters. Lightly, I move the wisps of hair away from her ear. “Em… I cannot fuck you doesn’t mean I won’t make love to you.”
“Oh, my god,” she says, closing her eyes as I wrap my arms around her gently. I am going to savor every fucking inch of this girl’s skin. I want to explore every curve, every delectable morsel, nook and cranny until she spins around in my arms and beams those fucking blue balls of glory at me.
What happens next should never happen, but I know it will and I will not regret one single minute.
EMILY
Stuck between his body and the cabinet, I turn around to face a lifetime of memories. This fucking boy—this man—has infected my mind since I can remember.
He is the one.
You know, the one
you always dream about, maybe even see from a distance, and sit and lust over. You know you will never ever get him. But it doesn’t change the fact that in notebooks you doodle his name with a heart. Deep within the recesses of the pages, you add your name to his—Emily Raniero—and pretend one day you will be married. At night, in your bed, you fantasize as your hand slips under panties and you drift off only to scream his name minutes later.
The name I scream is always Lucas Salvatore Raniero.
An abbreviated history of my memories goes something like this. Maria is a year older than my sister, but she has severe dyslexia. They held her back a year which put her in the class with Molly and Sal.
The three of them became inseparable, but my parents worked odd hours. My mom is a nurse and did the nightshift. Dad is a local truck driver and worked during the day. So, from the time I was born, my seven-year-old sister, Molly, took care of me. My parents weren’t neglectful or even abusive, it just was what it was. They had to work, and that left me with Molly.
Unfortunately, Molly was everything I was not—tall, beautiful, and smart. Couple that with a sweet charm and athletic ability, and Molly is the most popular girl in school.
I am shortest kid in the class—small, really—almost dwarf like. I quickly earn the name Itsy Emlee, as in itsy bitsy spider. It follows me forever and completely diminishes any hope of self-confidence.
I am the tag-a-long, the fourth wheel, and the forgotten one. I accept the role early on and do my best to keep my head down and stay quiet, so as to not draw any unnecessary attention in my direction.
Sal is always there. My first memories are being three years old—Sal was ten—and being in his arms as he carries me through the fall festival.
Sal always plays with me at the park and babysits me at those awkward times like when the girls—Molly and Maria—go make-up shopping. In our time alone, he teaches me to read, which ends up becoming my greatest escape. If I can’t deal with the social world, I dive off into a dreamland fantasy of someone else.
My favorite books are paranormal. I want some sort of super magical power where I can be revered and esteemed for just being me. The reality is far too depressing.
My point is Sal was always there.
At least, up until graduation when he hightailed it to California without even saying goodbye. Everyone knows why he left. His family is the mob, and he is expected to join them.
Before leaving, his parents threw an enormous graduation party out at their co-owned house on the lake. They spent a ton of money on the party to try and persuade their only son to stick around. Without any chaperones, the party urged with an intoxicated mess of alcohol, drugs, and sex.
Sal was popular. He played soccer and graduated with honors. Molly and Maria graduated, too. So, to say this was the party of their senior year was an understatement. It was huge. Hundreds of people came.
I was sheltered and protected from the outside world because of the three of them, and my twelve-year-old self should never have been at a party like that. But Molly never liked leaving home without me.
They dressed me up like a little doll in a strapless, short pink dress with fluffy black petticoat underneath. Besides, Sal would there, and I still believed in fairytales and happy endings. After all, I am Emily Raniero and he was graduating, and I desperately wanted to garner his romantic attention.
It was a silly little girl crush.
All of his friends were there, including Molly and Maria. Sal poured a round of tequila shots and everyone vanished to go swim and play pool. I snuck up, grabbed one, and headed to the storage shed. There was a light in there. I could read and stay invisible. I drank the shot and started to read, but the words got blurry and I passed out.
Everyone from the graduating class came to the party. Even Molly’s ex-boyfriend, Eric, from a school across town arrived. They dated for most of her senior year, but by spring break she broke it off. She was headed to Yale. He was headed to UCLA. Her decision made perfect sense at the time.
Eric came raging into the party, drunk and hitting on Molly and getting a little too frisky for Sal’s liking. Eric grabbed her arm and pulled her hard. When Sal intervened, the guy called Molly Sal’s little cock-sucking tramp. Never one to watch his friends get pushed around, Sal got up in his face and threatened him.
In the stupidity of his drunken stupor, Eric called Sal a fucking daego. And Sal knocked the crap out of the guy. Meanwhile, Molly was so upset by the whole thing, she went off into the woods to throw up. Maria followed her as Sal’s friends rallied around him, and Eric took off.
No one knew where he went. Though I don’t know this for a fact, I imagine he went to the woods looking for Molly when he stumbled into the storage shed and startled me awake.
“Well, if it isn’t itsy bitchy Emily…”
I don’t have to tell you the details of what transpired next. He beat the crap out of me and ended that hell with a brutal rape. I had never been hit before. I had never been touched before.
Virginity gone.
Hope of escaping in between the pages gone.
I will never forget that night.
Before we left for the party, Molly and Maria did my makeup and hair. It was the first time I cried and got clumps of mascara in my eyes. There I was, laying on the table, getting pounded by this drunk fucking guy and worrying about the fact I could not see.
Innocence gone.
I remember the door slamming open and seeing Sal with this look in his eyes. They were so dark. So, vile. So, evil. He became the monster I read about in my books.
I was twelve.
It was the first time Sal ever killed someone. And I knew then it wouldn’t be the last. Immediately, he called his dad.
Shit went down quick, and prince charming left town. His dad cleaned up the mess. The mob paid Eric’s family a rumored fortune to bury their son. The coroner’s office was paid off and marked the death a suicide. His family paid my parents to keep quiet. They took the money from my attack and went on a second honeymoon. They left Molly and I at home. I never told her the story. I never told her that when Sal walked in, Eric’s limp dick just pulled out of me.
I stay quiet.
Because that is what I do.
Now, the only people alive who know the whole truth—Sal and me.
Before his dad arrived and my world turned dark, Sal covered the body with a tarp and cared for me like he did when we were young.
He ripped his shirt. I can still remember the sound of the tear. He soaked it in the sink in the storage shed and cleaned me up ever so gently. He wiped my face, my arms, and my thighs.
He grabbed an old horse brush and untangled my hair. He could do nothing for the stains on my dress. My panties laid shredded on the ground, so he turned around, stripped down, and gave me his boxers. I saw his ass for the first time that night.
I was so crazy about Sal even after a night like that. I thought I had won the lottery with the show of his flesh.
He tightened the boxers around my waist with a roll of dirty tape. It was warmed and melted by the heat in the storage shed. I can still hear him cursing.
“Fuck this shit…”
At that moment, I was safe. I was protected. I was guarded. Sitting down on the ground, we talked for an hour while we waited, and he told me the whole story.
Cross-legged and knee-to-knee.
We chatted about everything from the weather to places we wanted to visit. He never realized I carried such a crush on him. Or at least he never acknowledged it.
Sal gave me a hug and kissed my head. “Emlee, run up to the house and find Molly. Do not go with anyone else. Trust me, Em. Trust me.”
And I never saw Sal Raniero again until tonight in the parking lot.
SAL
I have had plenty of one night stands. Meet a girl, buy her a drink, charm her, and get off—a grand recipe for many a successful night.
But this isn’t any girl.
This girl drinks tea. And she
is so caught up in her own eclectic little world, charming her is pointless. I have known her almost since the day she was born. Her dad drove a truck for the Fisheries.
I even pushed her in the stroller as there was a time when Molly, Maria, and I were simply inseparable. When I look back, I always remember just the three of us, but the truth is there were four. And now number four is all grown up, standing before me, and wanting me to do things to her that I only ever considered doing to Molly.
While I had those one night stands, a fetish element always exists somewhere. There has never been a time when it hasn’t been there—until now. And what bothers me even more as my body presses against Em is that I never once think of the pain or pleasure that is so inherent in every breath of my life.
Releasing my death grip of her body achingly slow, I gaze down and realize how much I have fucking missed. She is a young woman now. Her long blonde hair spirals out of control, portraying a ditzy girl. She isn’t. Her blue eyes…fuck me.
God.
Where do I start…
She is in my core.
The girl I never speak of—the one I keep hidden—tucked away from everything and everyone because I cannot imagine having her harmed again. I cannot think about that right now as she writhes in my arms.
“Talk to me, Sal,” Emily encourages, swooping her fingers over my arms. “Tell me what you are thinking about…”
“Em, I just…I don’t know. I didn’t know you were even here, but fuck…”
“What?” She giggles the most blissful sounding laugh I have ever heard. It warms my heart as my eyes fill up with tears. “You know I am not angry anymore.”
“I know.”
“I was for a very long time. I hated you for leaving, but I didn’t really understand,” she says, touching my cheek. It feels weird—this gentle girl. “I thought you would be back. I kept waiting and waiting as months turn to years, and still there is no sign of Nero and his perfect grin.”
“Tell me you haven’t been waiting all this time…”
“I had a couple boyfriends here and there. Nothing serious. Nothing real. One guy moved in with me after graduation, but he was into drugs. He tossed me about, and I kicked his ass out.”
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 23
