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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “You are fucking kidding, right?” I blow up as her eyes wash over me and the truth surfaces upon the sand. “You’re serious.”

  “As a fucking heart attack…” she stresses with a fury I rarely ever see in Iris. “He fucking took Zoe…” she accuses without remorse. “He is coming after Cassidy.”

  “No, he isn’t…” I assure, grabbing my phone and calling Dale on speaker. “Hoss, I need you to get a rundown on what the fuck Cristos is doing. He was apparently at the hospital with Cas, demanding to see her.”

  “Sally,” Jaid chirps across the line.

  Startled by Jaid’s energetic punch, I mumble, “Hey, doll, I didn’t know D had company…”

  Rapidly, she continues firing off what she knows, “Look, I can tell you he is moving money all over the place. And Nico is looking to buy into Sugargrove property. They are moving in whether we like it or not.”

  “Nico is okay,” I acknowledge, having a history with the son of the Greek Master. “I am not worried so much about him. He is after one thing, and I can assure you it is not Cas.”

  “…Who is he after?” Iris asks, interrupting our pow-wow.

  Lighting my own smoke, I exhale, “The one thing he has been after for years—Serene. He is harmless for now. Focus all your efforts on Cristos.”

  “Look, Sal, rumor on the market says Zoe is about to be sold off again,” Jaid reveals with a distinct pause, “But Serene put stipulations in a very detailed contract that she would have to be consulted. So, if she is going somewhere—Red should know where.”

  “How do I put in a bid to buy?” Iris asks as I move us one car length forward. The rain pounds down, and I shake my head.

  “We are about to get stuck in fucking hail,” I growl, fearing the worst.

  “Hold on, I am tracking you now,” Jaid says as Iris looks on rather stunned. “Take the next exit and get the fuck outta there.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, I am fucking serious…Go!” Jaid commands.

  Chuckling at her urgency, I make my way over slowly, cruise off the shoulder, and onto the grass. Iris never asks if we are going to get stuck in the mud, she knows me too well.

  On the frontage, I banter, “You gonna get me where I am going?”

  “Yes, Nero. Sending directions to your phone now,” Jaid breathes. “Iris, who are you interested in bidding on?”

  “Mack Larrabee.”

  “I can run a profile and get surveillance on him if you would like, Ma’am…” Jaid offers as I am the one now stunned. I glance at the phone and to Iris with a crazed response.

  “Ma’am?” I laugh.

  “Shut the fuck up, Sal,” Jaid warns, “She is your lady friend.”

  “Lady friend?” Iris giggles. “Just let me know how much it would be to bid. I know he is freelancing.”

  I want to ask Iris what the hell she is thinking, but I am rather enjoying watching her wheels spin as Jaid asks, “You want an offer on the table?”

  Deep in thought, Iris flashes a smirk. “Yes. Get him as cheap as possible. I have a Dominant who is quite interested in tanning his hide.”

  I contort my face, trying to hold back the laughter. Got to hand it to the girl, at times she has serious womanly balls of steel.

  “Yes, Ma’am!” Jaid responds. “Consider it done. It will all be handled anonymously, so no worries there. I will be in contact.”

  “D-dog?” I bark off, segueing their conversation on the purchase price of my future bitch, Mack. I cannot wait to whip that little pansy ass.

  Is it wrong? Ya.

  Do I care? Zero fucks given.

  He is nothing more than a rat. And rats should be either dead or in sewers, but damn sure not sticking their dick in my girl. I know that sounds like my heritage talking.

  I have pondered offing Mack more than once, but a fine line exists between good soldier and homicidal maniac. It is one I won’t cross because it puts me too close to becoming like Boston. Hell, Mad is still cleaning up the mess I left on a plane.

  “Yeah…I am working on it. Nothing yet, Kid,” Dale remarks sternly. I can hear he’s working the problem. “Don’t forget my offer…”

  “Fuck, Hoss…I won’t. I talk to ya later,” I say, clicking the end button.

  “What offer?” Iris inquires as we make our way through city streets.

  “It’s nothing,” I pass off. Silently, she haunts me with those eyes that beg for answers. “Fine. We are negotiating a deal for twenty-five percent of his company to go into HR Holdings, Inc.”

  Opening a bottle of water, she says in the most accusatory of voices, “And what are you doing for him?”

  “You really don’t want to know…” I urge, hoping she will cease. But this is Iris…

  “Ok,” she says, swiveling away in her seat. “I guess you don’t want in this pussy tonight.”

  “You’re such a bitch sometimes,” I smirk and shake my head as she giggles. “He wants my ass.”

  “Well, you do have a great rump, I can understand why he would want to whip it.”

  “Not exactly whipping it,” I respond as I see the hotel, standing tall in the distance. “But twenty-five percent for it changes my game.”

  “Why do you need money?”

  “To win a war…”

  “You’re going after your father,” she poses, pulling her foot into the chair and wrapping her arm around it.

  I say nothing because I don’t want to hear the possibilities of what could occur.

  “So, basically you are getting twenty-five percent of his porn business or is he cashing it out?”

  “Cash,” I say, blinking my emeralds to her sapphires.

  “So, you are going to let him have your ass for a quarter of his worth? You would be fucking insane to turn that down,” she assesses, surprising me. “But you got one expensive ass, Raniero. If you put it into HR Holdings, you are a fool. You should put it into RK Holdings,” she teases, smiling.

  I stop at the light and think about what she said. “You’re right,” I mutter, continuing on to the hotel. “If we get separated, I need to know you have funds you can get to. But we are going to call it— I.S. Ventures.”

  “You are putting me first?”

  “Baby, I always put you first,” I vow as I turn into the circular drive of the hotel and wait for the valet. “You aren’t going to say anything about the other part of the agreement?”

  “You mean about your ass?” Iris says, sliding on her boot. “Good luck and use lube.”

  I blink.

  “What do you want me to say? You want to wage a war against your father, you need money to do that. I have no idea how many millions it is…

  “Bil…” I correct, slumping in my seat as we wait fifth in line. I cannot blame these poor guys; it’s raining buckets.

  “Oh, Jesus fuck…” she says, shocked. “Hell, if you turn him down, he can fuck my ass raw for that…”

  “No, he cannot,” I threaten as I cock a brow. “That is mine.”

  “Everything has a price, Nero. You outta know that by now. After all, you are the Golden Boy.”

  “You know Amber thinks you are only here for the money…says your nothing more than an oinker.”

  “I may do a lot for money, but I wouldn’t stay with you for that reason,” she whispers, grasping my fingers. “And as for Amber, isn’t that the pothead calling the Kettles black? I mean come on.”

  I snicker. I love a good pussy fight and these two have been going at it for weeks. I hear both sides and get my fill, never sharing the shit the other one throws.

  “Are you aware how much I love you, Ms. Kettles?”

  “I am, but if you think I care about whether you have one cent to your name or one gazillion, you can take me home,” she says, obviously upset. “I am many things, Mr. Raniero. Gold Digger isn’t one of them.”

  A tap on the window distracts from our conversation. “Hello, Mr. Raniero, your usual spot?”

  “Ya, please,”
I say, grabbing my duffel and her small suitcase. “Send her to Ella Hemsworth’s spot.”

  “You want someone to take the bags?”

  “Nah,” I say, palming a c into his hand. “Get her covered for me.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Walking around to Iris’ already open door, I extend my hand and we walk around to the side entrance.

  “Why are you in so good with Ella Hemsworth?”

  “That’s a long story, honey,” I say as we make our way to the elevator. I nod at the bellman who recognizes me. The doors close and I resume, “Ella fucking saved my ass as much as anyone. It’s why I sent you to her for your first weekend interview.”

  “You did what?”

  “I wanted to know what I was getting into, and I have cams all over the place,” I say and shrug like it’s another day at the office.

  “You are one sick, twisted fuck,” she scowls.

  I smirk. “You have no idea.”

  “You realize you are about to sleep with the enemy?”

  “I am paying for far more than sleeping…” I flirt as my lip twitches on the side. “I expect to be served properly.”

  “I cannot imagine doing anything else, Master Nero.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  IRIS

  The memories of Ella Hemsworth’s posh hotel suite flood my soul. On the floor, Sal and I succumbed to a heavy petting session until he stained my green dress and Serene interrupted with a knock on the door.

  I have to wonder about these people who own hotel suites. It seems strange. Maybe she owns the hotel. I am tempted to ask Sal, but the new, clean styled Asian decor takes over my thoughts as I am in awe. The balance of black and white with punches of red scream a sensual, erotic bliss.

  Clicking a button, Sal opens up the window coverings, which offer an amazing view of downtown. He removes his jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door and turns the sound system on low throughout the entire suite. Between the lights and the rain, I drift away to a lazy place free of inhibitions.

  “Can I make you a drink?” he asks, severing my tranquility and spooning a good dose of apprehension into my psyche. I swallow it down, reclaiming my freedom in the space.

  “I sometimes forget you were a bartender,” I mention casually as he steps behind the wooden counter. I spin towards him and realize his shirt is gone now, too. The sight of his olive skin shimmers under the hallow of the recessed lights, and the crucifix on his neck lures with a suggestion of his sins. His inner conflict is so blatant, so easily recognizable. His body built for strength and sexuality, yet his desire for forgiveness shadows.

  Pouring a generous amount of whiskey with no ice, Sal takes a sip, licking his lips. His mouth saturates with the color of red wine begging to be kissed. “Can you do a French 75?”

  With a cocky smirk, he pops a flute in the freezer and grabs a bottle of champagne. “You want lemon or cherry?”

  “Cherry,” I say, sitting on the barstool as I watch him work his magic. He is methodical and precise. “Double the gin.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he says as his deferment collides into my heart. This isn’t about our fetish, but respect and manners. And Sal conveys his southern charms with the best of them, despite his wonky accent.

  The champagne pops with a whoosh sound, echoing throughout the suite. He tops it off and garnishes it with a cherry. “What are we going to do about this thing between us?”

  “I wish I had an easy answer,” he says, wiping up the bar. I try to not stare at his ripped chest and corded arms, but I discover I have pushed my legs closed tight to avoid any further distraction. This man makes me wanton and takes my mind to a place where I am desirable despite my puckering thighs. There are millions of girls who could be in my place with prettier faces and better bodies, but he continually chooses me.

  Bridging the distance, I reach across the bar and he instinctively holds my hand in his. I bravely ask the question that makes me fear his answer. “Are you going to sleep with Cas again?”

  His furious, swirling moss eyes blink up to me as he comes back with, “Are you?”

  I simper, not knowing my own truth. “I don’t know. I want to say no, but it’s difficult.”

  “Ya, I get that. There is pressure with Cas that shouldn’t be present in a consenting relationship,” he responds, saying exactly how I feel. “You are scared to say no because you don’t actually trust she won’t do something dumb. It’s kind of a hostage situation.”

  It may sound harsh, but the sentiment is true. Sipping on the delicious drink, I whisper, “I don’t want her with that man.”

  I agree, “That makes two of us…”

  “What if we did an intervention?” I query, skirting the edge of tattling to the board.

  “You mean take her somewhere away from Sugargrove and intersect any dumb ideas she may have before they occur?”

  “Exactly,” I say as he lights a smoke. “You got anything better?”

  He rolls his eyes at me in a cute wanna-take-him-home-puppy-dog-kind-of-way. Grabbing the bucket holding both the champagne and the gin, he finishes off his whiskey and heads to our spot. He disappears briefly down a small hallway that connects the living room to the bedroom and produces a fluffy comforter and pillows.

  Following his denim-covered, perfectly fine ass, I ask, “Are we bunking here?”

  “I am making us a pallet on the floor, so we can watch the rain. Or I can move the fucking bed,” he suggests with a marked lift of his brow.

  “I ain’t too pretty,” I declare, shucking my boots and kicking them away. “I can get on the damn floor.”

  “You are my princess,” Sal mumbles, sprawling out onto his creation. “But watching your face against this backdrop when you come on my dick will be pure heaven.”

  My lips part. I hate when he tosses words like that to me. His thoughts leave me breathless and wanting more. “Are you my prince?”

  “Only if I am a dark prince,” he says, pouring more champagne in my empty glass and swigging back a shot of gin from the bottle. “Because I am no white knight.”

  “I wanna shot,” I whine, sticking my flute at him like a needy little girl. He obliges and pulls a vape out of his jeans. “What else do you keep?”

  He smirks mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Iris…”

  “I would actually,” I say as he offers a hit to my lips. “How bad are you, my dark prince?”

  “I can get whatever you would want, but you as my submissive do not need anything I don’t provide,” he states rather domineeringly. “I am not walking down the road of another addict.”

  Puffing on the vape, I ask, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I have dealt with breaking Amber’s coke habit for years,” he informs, pulling up his knees and tightening his arms around them. “She has demons and sometimes they break out of the cellar door.”

  “And Cas?”

  “I do not provide Cas with anything other than the occasional ganja,” he remarks, completely transparent. “That girl has issues beyond snow. Namely anything and everything she can do to harm her body. She has had some scary times when I didn’t think she would make it, but until she decides to change—nothing anyone says or does will matter.”

  “This stint in rehab…”

  “Her fifth time in as many years,” he reveals as I am stunned. “It’s not always cutting, sometimes it’s drugs. But she isn’t ready to say no.”

  “How does she manage to stay at Juliet?”

  “She takes a leave of absence and they enable her,” he imparts the details of the academy I love. “I voiced my opinion once on the matter. I was quickly reprimanded and told to stay out of it. This is of course before I was a Dom, but shit… It doesn’t take much to recognize she has a problem. It’s the one thing Jack and I always agreed upon and why he never wanted anything to do with her. Cas stays in Juliet because of Serene. And I don’t get it and I’ll never claim to. Because let me tell you, if I pulled half the
shit that girl has, I would be out on my ass.”

  Biting my lip, I whisper, “Did I get you out on your ass?”

  “Ya, but you were worth it,” Sal claims, toying with my fingers. “It’s time to move on. I can’t keep living with Serene, knowing Cas will be right back in rehab next year.”

  Under his touch, I feel invincible. “I hate to ask, but does Cas’ free ride policy have anything at all to do with Kaci?”

  Staring out the grand floor-to-ceiling windows, Sal focuses on something in the distance, his eyes slightly squint and his lips pucker, defining his jaw line with the strictest of angles. Reluctantly, he mutters a solitary word, “Yes.”

  I want to push for more, but I refrain. He keeps secrets and I cannot force his hand. I doubt it would do any good anyway. In my attempts at getting to know this man, I embrace the challenges that he poses. He is at times—distant, arrogant, and an asshole. I am okay with all of that, but his silence frightens me and pulses the questions of uncertainty through my veins.

  How well can you really know someone?

  Standing up, I pull off my socks and move in front of the mammoth glass panes as I set down my champagne, he asks, “What are you doing pretty?”

  I lift my pointer finger for him to wait. Slowly, I rock my hips slow and lift my sweater, dropping it with one finger. He grins as I twirl away from his gaze and let my hair fall out of the clip. I toss it behind me and he says, “Caught it.”

  With shaking, nervous hands, I undo my black leather belt and creamy vanilla colored jeans. Bending over at just the right time, I offer up the view of my apex tucked at my core in my pink lace undergarments. I swish my hips and twirl about, dancing sensually at the man I adore.

  After a few minutes, with my back to him, I toss a glance over my shoulder and unhook my bra. Spinning it around, I toss it at his deviant smirk. He grabs it quick and inhales my scent as I ease out of my panties.