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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “About seven hundred acres,” he informs, grabbing a bottle of water out of fridge, opening it, and handing it to me. “You have horses?”

  “Yeah. We have seventeen now. Two of them are spoiled brats.”

  I ask, “You ride still?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His answer makes me smile as I hold out my hand for him. “Show me the rest.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reverberations

  SAL

  HER FACE MOVES IN the sweetest of manners as she speaks. Her huge bluish-gray eyes animate, and the slight curvatures of her mouth evoke an innocence. God, I want her.

  I take her through the rest of downstairs, including Serene’s study, the formal living, and dining rooms. Without much fanfare, I show her the bathroom.

  “Oh gosh, hold on!” she squeals.

  Before I can say another word, she squats down and goes. I feel awkward being in the doorway.

  “You don’t have to shut it,” Emily says.

  The girl is at ease in a way I have never experienced. Of course, we horizontally danced for a week together, so there isn’t much point to hiding now. She squirts the soap on her hands, smelling the foam and emitting a slight audible moan of appreciation. Washing up, she steps towards me bubbly as ever. “Okay, on we go!”

  Heading up the staircase, I show her Zoe’s empty room which I tend to avoid like the plague. I miss my sissy like I can’t even believe. She is like family to me and with her gone, a giant void remains in my heart.

  Next, I take Em to my room. She stays there the longest, looking at all of my things and smiling. She flips through my sketch book and eyes me curiously intrigued. “You draw?”

  While she has known Sal Raniero her whole life, she doesn’t truly know me. I was just the boy hanging out with his sister’s best friend that she kept her childhood crush on. She never bothered to get to know me until now. Maybe because we never had the chance.

  Someone took that away.

  “Actually, I build. But yes, I draw in order to build.”

  Teasingly, she rambles how I could throw her together an easel in no time. Her sketchbooks, pencils, and watercolors hardly ever leave her side. Enamored by the large gargoyle statue on the top of the dresser, her finger glides along its wings. “You like dragons, too?”

  “I like you,” I say, moving against her and whispering in her ear. “And dragons are good, too.”

  Spinning around in my arms, Emily’s eyes catch mine, and she stands upon her toes and gives me a kiss. Taking my hand, she says, “Show me the rest, handsome.”

  “You want to see Serene’s boudoir?”

  “Yeah, I do. I want to know what the competition is…” she spars. I unlock the door and she steps inside, staring at the opulence.

  “Wow!” her voice pitches higher, in awe of the gorgeous wooden bed frame and canopy. “Did you build it?” she asks, gazing at me, still stunned by her remark in the doorway. “Did you think I wouldn’t care? Come on, I’m a girl. You are this great guy, and I am not a fool. There has got to be competition.”

  Stepping into the room, I remark, “Yeah, there is but it isn’t Serene.” I confess all the while her hands run over the wooden frame until she notices the large black eye bolts in multiple places on the structure.

  With a startled, concerned expression, she edges onto the bed. Her pure, glowing abundance shines through. “Should I be concerned?”

  “I guess that depends on what you’re looking for…” My words are honest and truthful.

  “As far as we can go.”

  I briefly consider kneeling before her—this whimsical, perfect goddess—but instead I opt to merely lower my body onto hers. She smirks, the corner of her mouth tilting up. “I researched, Sal, I know what this place is…”

  “…You did?”

  “I spent all morning reading online. I needed to know where I was headed,” she whispers, touching my face. “I wanted to know more about you.”

  “You could have just asked.”

  “What am I going to say? Oh, Sal, it seems you have um…ya,” she says as her nerves get the best of her. Her uncertainty is not unusual. The things we do here are not for the faint of heart.

  “I am a Dominant here,” I admit, embracing the role. “But it’s not something I need to be with you.”

  Unfortunately, Emily sees right through me and counters in the most unexpected of ways. “Sal, I know you. This is not something you can just turn on and off. It is in every pore of your being and if you think I didn’t see that during our week together, then you haven’t been looking in the mirror. I am not scared or even surprised. In fact, I am happy for you that you have found your peace.”

  I roll flat onto my back and run my hands through my hair as she comes chasing after me. Apparently, I do not get to run away. “It’s not as easy as you make it sound. There is a constant conflict.”

  “How so?” Leaning against my body and rubbing my chest, she pleads, “Talk to me.”

  I cannot begin to even build the thoughts. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Start with this conflict,” she encourages, slow and easy.

  I don’t know what to say, so I let go and give her the only thing I can—the truth. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “I swear I won’t laugh,” she responds with a light smirk. Her vibrant energy contained for the sake of me.

  “I am a very spiritual,” I admit, staring at the ceiling. “I get down on my knees and pray a lot.”

  “You were raised Catholic…”

  “I still am,” I reply. “I go to mass every Sunday and sometimes to the early weekday morning ones as well. And there is this paradox inside of me.”

  “What you cannot be both—Dominant and Catholic?”

  “No, more so that I have two choices,” I say, touching the tips of her blonde hair. “I can stay here or go home to my fucker of a father…”

  Her face tilts and her eyes drift around the room as I see the wheels spinning, trying to find the gumption to ask the next question. “Do you even consider that?”

  “I did—every god damned day until I found out what he did to you,” I reply solemn as I gaze into her blue pools. “You were the final straw.”

  “And you made it here all on your own,” she insists. “You don’t need your father and you don’t need Boston.”

  “I am not so sure I don’t need you though,” I mutter as her lips collide into mine. Her mouth is sweet and soft and warm. Everything good and kind lives within this girl and I have no doubt she is so much better than me. I am a street thug, the would-be prince of a king, and she is sacred, meant for a God.

  “I live in Boston that doesn’t make me Boston,” Emily implores, stroking my chin. “You can have me without that.”

  I snap, “It’s just sometimes, I feel like I am living someone else’s life. I’m not always well-rooted.”

  “But you have everything,” she awes with those enormous blue saucers.

  “Incorrect,” I reprimand, cocking a brow. “I have money, property, and reputation. I have any number of girls at my disposal any hour of the damn day. I have a job with Sibyl I love. I am missing pieces to put the whole of me together. They are gone and missing. And I fucking don’t know where to find them.”

  She interrupts, “Then we find them together, but you don’t get to check out just cause your puzzle doesn’t fit together easily. You think my pieces fit? I was thirteen when I gave birth to Noah. Thirteen, Sal. So, you saying that all this is not fulfilling you is only because you aren’t working the problem. The answer doesn’t always come wrapped up in a nice box with a bow. Get off your god damned high horse and start shoveling some muck.”

  I laugh. “I was doing that when I called you.”

  “… Seriously?”

  “Ya, I got up early and went for a walk and went to clean the stalls.”

  She laughs at the irony. “Then maybe I am your muck!”

  With a serious exp
ression, I say, “Maybe you are the missing piece.”

  “Just don’t put me in upside down,” Em warns. “I may not fit like you want me to.”

  “Some days I know I am doing what is right and just…”

  “And other days you are lost…” she interrupts as the emotions consume my mind. All of sudden her strong and gallant white knight turns into a mushed, well-used teddy bear, stained from years of being carried around and left in the dirt.

  Her fingers quickly wipe the corners of my eyes. “I know how you feel. I think we all do some days, but your job—your only job—is to listen to what is in your heart.” Her hand lays still on my chest as the words strum the strings to a place buried deep in my mind. “Be true to yourself and the rest will fall into place.”

  SAL

  The therapy with Emily is an ongoing presence now. Maybe I need her to pull me out of the shit heap I have gotten myself into. We spend the night watching movies, eating pizza, and talking until almost dawn.

  I never realized how bad my register of things went wrong until we start tabulating it all up. Apparently, I am pretty fucked up.

  Between being the boy toy of Juliet, an agent of an invisible secret society, and losing my wife, I may as well hook myself up an intravenous drip of whiskey. This is essentially what Emily has said. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, she also contends one more thing which never ever crosses my mind.

  I need to forgive myself.

  And apparently—get sober.

  Sobriety is a strange word evoking a complex map of flowcharts and if/then’s. It’s not always black or white. Sometimes, it’s a motherfucking gray cloud in my mind.

  Thunderstorms burst in my head.

  I think maybe I have gone insane.

  According to Emily, I am addicted to many things including—but not limited—BDSM, power, control, money, sex, and women. She seemingly glosses over the drugs that I fail to mention.

  Why would I bother to add one more notch on my already well-punched up belt?

  We don’t talk about the job. We never even cross that line. She knows of its existence and maybe it is the one stable staple in my whole life. I am an assassin. I kill people. Good people. Bad people. Give me a paycheck and it’s done. I don’t need their motherfucking history.

  That little bit stays with me in either place—Juliet or Boston. I can stay an agent and continue my allegiance and honor. Or I can return to Boston and go for blood.

  The problem though is inherent. I hate my fucking father and every single god damned thing he stands for.

  Who the fuck mutilates a thirteen-year-old girl?

  My kind.

  That’s who.

  And it’s enough to drive a man insane, knowing my entire being—every molecule, every pore, and every bit of upbringing all goes back to that filth.

  Some romcom is on the television in the dark living room. I briefly wonder how Iris is. She isn’t alone, Georgia is there babysitting. It should be me.

  This is my fucking gig.

  Almost on the hour, I ponder going and fetching her. I could toss her in my truck and we just disappear to the mountains. It sounds good in theory, but eventually maybe in two weeks or twenty-two years, the past will catch us.

  She is blatantly going against La Morte and their wishes. That alone puts a target on her back. Add in the long history with the Gennaro clan and it’s a recipe for disaster. I know Dom has had his dick in her, but I also trust that man with everything I am.

  He is me; I am him. We are no different.

  But the associates of Daddy Gennaro pose a real threat. She belongs to them. And now, she is a loose cannon with loose lips and that equals a bullet to the brain. I cannot go up against Boston and Chicago alone. I have to think. I have to find the solution to this problem which has no easy answer.

  Emily sips her tea as she pets my hair. This feels backwards and weird, her taking care of me. Maybe I need to be taken care. I understand I need to get clean and sober with my head on straight, but right now all I want is not to worry about detox.

  There will be a time. It isn’t now.

  “Are you okay?” she whispers, soothing my psyche. “Do you need anything?”

  Briefly, I think about being crass and saying a blow job. But I am going for polite, nice guy. I am certain if our current state is any clue as to how we will be the rest of the weekend, we will end up rocking the rafters.

  She is such a nice, sweet girl.

  And she does not deserve my darkness.

  I need to get her out of harm’s way. As long as she is in Boston—near the source of my fury—she is in danger. I may not be able to keep the catalyst out of the way, but I damn sure can hide the core.

  My thoughts wrack with the safest place to send her and I honestly don’t know who to trust anymore. No one is safe. No one is trustworthy. Everyone can be bought, paid off, and give her up as a vendetta against me. Just like Maria.

  It was never about Maria or even me going to Boston. Someone wanted me out of town. I want to trust Jack and Serene, but considering how that is going with Iris—I cannot rock that boat. I could send Em to Nola with Dom, but that is too much.

  Rolling over, I gaze up at her sleepy face. “Emily, how is Grammy doing?”

  “She’s fine. I talked to her before I left, why?”

  I reach up and touch her hair. “Instead of sending you home, would you consider going to Georgia?”

  “I have work, Sal,” she replies. “I had to beg to get the weekend off.”

  “Fuck the job. Trust me. I’ll set you up an account in the morning,” I say, sitting up. “You will have plenty of money. I need you to not go back to Boston.”

  “…You’re serious?” Her hand drifts to my own and clasps it tight. I can feel the fear emanating off of her skin.

  “Yes,” I plead, begging her to listen. “Please.”

  “If you think it is best I go to Georgia, then I will,” she replies. “I trust you, Lucas.”

  “I’ll get you on a private plane and give you a burner phone,” I say, standing up and pacing as I think it through.

  “And a gun.”

  I stop and give her an are-you-fucking-kidding-me-glare. “…A gun?”

  “Yeah. Something small and powerful. I know how to fucking shoot. I was raised on a goddamned ranch, Sal. I know my way around bangs, but I am not toting Grammy’s rifle around the house and scaring her with this. I have put her through enough.”

  “Fair enough,” I agree. “A gun. And a car, something discreet and new, so you can get out fast if you need to. I want you to make sure you can get your Grammy out of harm’s way too.”

  “Where do I go?”

  “Run to the mountains.”

  Her head tilts and her expression frowns. “Which ones?”

  “Any of them.” I resume pacing and smoking when I decide to give her more. “We have units all over the place. You get to the mountains, I can get you to a safe house.”

  “You realize this is overwhelming, right?”

  “I realize that the second you arrived in Boston my dad and his goons had eyes on you. They know we were together. They know you are here. You go back and you are as good as dead,” I inform in a callous manner. It isn’t intentional, but she needs to know the ramifications of her actions. I can’t lie around this one. I can’t weasel and maneuver or she will end up six feet under.

  Amidst her trembling, she asks, “Is Grammy’s the safest place for me? Will it put her in danger?”

  “It could… I won’t lie to you, but I didn’t think my odds of convincing you to go to a safe house would be a warning you would heed,” I speak honestly, thinking how other certain females refuse to listen. “So, I offer up Grammy as an option.”

  Quietly, she whispers, “I’ll go wherever you want me to.”

  “Alright,” I acknowledge, sitting on the coffee table. “Change direction. We will send you alone to Colorado.”

  Unable to calm, she whimpers, “Can
I still have a gun?”

  “Would it make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” she says. “It would.”

  “Then your wish is my command.”

  EMILY

  I wake up late the next morning to find Sal gone. I run down stairs as he comes up to the backdoor. Drenched from head to toe in sweat, he casts a glance in my direction and smirks.

  “I went for a run,” he says, grabbing a towel out of the cabinet. “And I figured a few things out.”

  I offer up a conflict of emotions, smiles, and concerns. I cannot pretend to understand any of the worlds he lives in. “I did some thinking as well. I want to meet her…”

  Opening the refrigerator, he pivots quick back to me. “… Who?”

  “I would like to visit Kaci at the cemetery,” I say, moving closer as he continues preparing breakfast. “And I want to meet Iris.”

  He drops an egg on the floor.

  “Shit,” he says frustrated, unrolling a wad of paper towels. “I can do the first easily enough.”

  I take a few steps closer and ask, “And the other?”

  He tosses the mess into the trash and washes his hands and face only to take a deep sigh. “The other is more complicated.”

  I continue cracking his eggs because it is clear he cannot. “How so?”

  “She is under contract next door at my house.”

  “And you have access?”

  “I do, but why do you want to see her? Is this more about competition?”

  “Nope. This is about I want to know if she is the perfect fit for you. I know you better than anyone, Lucas.”

  My words must have shocked him as he stands not moving or saying anything for a good five minutes. I can tell he is trying to process the whole thing, and I leave him to do that while making breakfast and coffee. I set out plates and utensils, make eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. I finally get everything ready and all spread out as I assess his state of mind. His shirt is now off, and he has been staring at the floor for a good bit.

  “You want to come eat?” I offer as he pulls out my stool and we take a seat. He scarfs his eggs and swallows his coffee.