“So, are you going to the rodeo?” I ask as she secures the soft casts on my wrists and hands. I have enough freedom to move my fingers I can at least smoke. Thank fuck.
“You might as well ask if I’m going to have some soft serve.”
“Ohhh!” I contort my face with a squint. “Burned bad! It must be terrible.”
“Beyond,” she replies, holding my fingers. “Squeeze lightly. Don’t go balls to the wall. You know it doesn’t take a magic trick to make me come, but I need to come mentally, too. I know that sounds so fucked up, but I need the power play, the shift in the dynamic, and the control to get the fireworks I want.”
“You know, I do understand. I can’t imagine what I would do if Iris comes back and says—I only want missionary now babe, sorry. It would probably be a deal-breaker for me, and I hate to think that’s even a possibility.”
“But you could do it to…”
I give her a mock scowl. “Are you aware who you are talking to?”
She smiles. “It’s in your blood. Just like it’s in mine. And without it, we suffocate.”
“Maybe Tristan just needs some prodding.”
“I’m a well-trained submissive, and I do not have time for prodding at this point in my life, Sal.” She starts to gather her things as I begin to think about my next appointment. “Be careful with those paws.”
“You be careful with Tristan’s dick,” I caution with a smirk. “Don’t break it.”
“It’s too late for that. He’s already broken.”
“If you ever ask me to lie to my son again,” Trudy warns as I close the door in the interrogation room ten minutes later. She looks pissed. And instantly, I get hard as if I wasn’t already marching at attention after the conversation with Allie. “I met with Mock at the hotel and gave him everything you asked me to on Iris.”
“It wasn’t that big of a lie,” I dismiss. “You’ll be forgiven.”
“Deacon thinks I’m screwing Mock!” she yells as I strip off my shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Fucking you,” I mention, locking my lips to hers as we pummel against the wall.
Things always heat up fast between Trudy and I. She’s got her hands wrapped tight around my waist as I unbutton her blouse. I bend to kiss the tops of her breasts before cupping one from the bra. I flick at her nipple, and her fingers ruffle through my hair. I love Trudy’s rack.
Technically, I love Trudy.
Her reactions feed the rhythm as we compose lovemaking together. It’s never one-sided, and I’ve come to believe it has to do with maturity. I slide my tongue against hers and grind my dick against her heat. “I need to get off.”
“I’m so happy to accommodate you,” she sasses as I set her on her feet and kneel before fumbling with her belt. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to use my fingers.”
“Do you need some help?” she politely offers, worried. “I can take my pants…” I swoop my tongue over her clit piercing, and she moans, “Oh, Jesus! Hell, Yes, Sal! Yes!”
I struggle to get her pants off, and by the time I do, I am so frustrated I no longer care if this is right or wrong. I rise, and she slides her hand down the front of my pants. Her fingers ease around my dick, lightly stroking.
“Does that feel good, baby boy?”
“God,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “Yes, Ma’am. Please don’t stop.”
“I’m not stopping, Sal.” My breathing quickens as she has me by the balls. “I need you to keep doing everything you are.”
“If I fuck up…”
“Sweetheart, I’m not mad at you, but I didn’t need Deacon with me while I was meeting with your guy. He’s been on me like a shadow since you’ve been in here. I need you out of here so I can have a break from being Mama hen.”
“Tell me he isn’t that bad.”
“He is that bad,” she states, running her fingers along my neck. “And if that isn’t bad enough, Amber is… I don’t know. I don’t trust her, Sal.”
I look her in the eye. “What do you mean?”
“I just don’t trust her not to go all loosey-goosey and end up putting a bullet in one or both of my boys.” Tears form in her eyes. “And I know she’s been with you since the beginning, but I’m not so sure she isn’t your biggest problem. And I don’t trust her with my son.” Her hand braces on my shoulder as she continues pumping me. Biting at the Velcro on the soft casts, I pull one off and then the other. My pants fall around my knees, but fuck if these damn boxing gloves are staying on me. “She’s a little bitch.”
“Do you trust me?”
“I do, but… We got issues, Kid.” Her lips sink against my neck as she squeezes with short bursts. “She’s going to find Diablo. I know it. And it may not be today or even tomorrow, but we have to tell Deacon he’s got a twin.”
That’s not all I need to tell him, Grandma.
Looking up at the ceiling tiles, I search for the answers that never come. I have no reason to believe they will, but if nothing else, Iris is safe with Mock. He won’t fuck me over because he needs my skills. And I want his invaluable lessons.
But right now, all that matters is getting off with Trudy Diaz. I don’t want another handjob from Naby. I want pussy: loads and loads and loads of it.
Kinky. Tight. Wet. Pussy.
“Let me in,” I mumble, picking her up and thrusting inside of her wetness. She’s moving fast and rocking against every drive of my hips. “Ride my cock, babe.”
I’m fucking Trudy and thinking about all the possibilities as soon as I leave this place. And I’m rock hard because I want to fight. I’m ready to fight. And I will win.
“If I need to send someone else to Iris…”
“Yes,” she whispers, not even giving me a chance to finish my sentence. She tightens, and I know she’s going to come on my dick soon. “I will go check on her for you, but you have to promise me Little Bitch isn’t going to hurt my kid. You have to swear to me, Salvatore.”
“I swear to you,” I vow, kissing her lips and releasing hard inside of her. “I won’t ever let anyone take Cruz off the board.”
“You love him so much,” she mutters out, coming. Her hands drape on my shoulders as she rolls through the wave of her orgasm.
“I do.”
Falling into my arms, she whispers, “You know he loves you, too. I don’t think he can be without you. And I think you need to think about if you want him with Little Bitch.”
“Are you playing paranoid Mama?”
“No, I’m telling you because I have first-hand experience. She’s like a fucking Sugar Man farmer. Cause trust me, honey, Little Bitch don’t discriminate on age. She went after Dale, Saint, you, and now she’s going after Deacon. She’s looking for a shield, and eventually – sooner or later – you have to ask yourself—what the fuck is she hiding from?”
35
The Beginning of the End
His Mistress
“I do not understand why our best fucking agent is in solitary, Dominic,” Serene yells into the phone, pacing the kitchen. Her belly is starting to show. “Where are you?”
We’re sitting patiently—nervously—like waiting for word our loved one has died. We are three clicks away from a funeral. I try not to visualize it, but I can’t stop it.
I can see us – The Unholy – dressed in black on the front row.
The row we deserve.
Iris falls over Lucas Salvatore Raniero’s casket. Her tiny fingers grip the black lacquer with ornate silver trims. She is wearing royal violet because he loved the color with her red locks as he rests in his best black pinstripe suit.
They are the romance we all dream about and the nightmare we fear the most.
The aisle is dusted with white rose petals much like a wedding, but they will never marry. They will never get their happily ever after. This is the I do, the goodbye, and the I love you more than…
My eyes fill with tears as I blink between Deacon and Nico. If either one knows anyt
hing—which I’m sure they do—they aren’t talking. I feel like the outsider, the girl who is nothing more than hole services. I don’t even have the power Serene does. My hands feel clammy, my knees feel weak, and I think I may puke. And I can confirm, I am not pregnant—thank fucking God.
“I’m tired of leaving fucking messages on your goddamned service!” The phone flies from Serene’s hand, crashing into the floor, and sliding under the refrigerator.
“Oh, god-damn-motherfucking-cock-sucking-son-of-a-bitch!”
Our eyes widen as no one dares to make a peep. The highly-emotional pregnant woman is furious. Sal used to tell me, “Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Cardinal-S.”
Boy was he right.
I’m almost idol-worshipping of her fire, but too scared of her flame as I shift a glance to Nico with a suggestive tilt of my head—She is yours; You get to take care of it.
“I’ll get that,” Nico offers. “Hold on, Stephanie.”
Letting my hand go, Deacon scoots back from the table. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“Good idea,” I mention, detouring my attention to Serene. “We need to do something. I want to go see him.”
From the side of the refrigerator, Deacon gives a concerned look while holding the flashlight for Nico. “I don’t know if either of you are ready for that.”
“I want to go see him, Deacon,” I beg, blinking with pleading eyes at Serene to take home my point for the win. For the girls. For Sal. “Please.”
“He’s refused to see everyone else,” she says, shrugging with her hands in the air. “We may as well let Amber try.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder to look at Deacon and Nico. “I don’t know that Dom hasn’t royally fucked us all over. And if he has, Amber may get more traction than anyone else.”
Realizing I’ve been sideswiped the last few weeks by personal issues or my affair with Deacon Cruz, I step closer to the kitchen counter. “… When was the last time anyone saw Sal?”
“I’ve talked to him on the phone,” Deacon admits, frustrated. “He seemed okay, but I don’t know what he’s doing or why he’s still in there. I know he’s not okay.”
“Has anyone talked to Jaid?”
Nico switches his gaze from Serene to me and mutters, “She doesn’t want to talk to him.”
Angrily, I say, “What, is she pissed?” Lifting his hand to his neck and blocking my view of his face with the angle from his elbow, Nico is getting upset, but I do not care. I yell way too loud, “Answer me, Nicky!”
“A little,” he mumbles, dropping his arm. “This is my sister you are talking about. She may be Jaid to all of you, but she is still Priscilla to me. I suggest using caution with your tone, Amber.”
“Is she upset?”
“Yeah, Sal asked her to marry Dom, and she did,” he announces the news we already all know. “But there’s more to it.”
“Yeah, there’s more to it!” Bent out of shape, I move to grab my purse. “She’s in love with her partner and has been for years! He doesn’t feel the same way, and rejection fucking hurts.”
I may be imprinting my issues with my soon to be ex-boyfriend, Dale Archer, onto Jaid and Sal.
Maybe.
“Baby,” Deacon consoles, attempting to defuse the bomb that is about to detonate between Nico and I. “Let me take you in the morning.”
I’m pissed off by all of it—Nico’s arrogance and Deacon’s passivity—but I don’t have much choice. “Does Sal know about us?”
“I’ve mentioned we were together, but that isn’t the problem,” he says, laying his hands on my arms. “Calm down, Amber.”
“The only problem is we are two fucking months into this, and no one seems to know how to get him the fuck out of prison! This was supposed to be brief. This was supposed to be a couple of weeks. It’s been over two months. Now Sal isn’t talking. Jaid isn’t talking. And Iris is God only the fuck knows where, so do not tell me to calm down!” I spin fast, away from him. “I’ll be in the car.”
I make it to the side entrance and overhear Nico informing Deacon of one emphatic fact. “A man should never tell a woman to calm down.”
Deacon’s voice rises, “And she should listen to her Dominant.”
But he isn’t you, sweetheart.
Her Master
Nine weeks have passed since my incarceration started. The last three, I’ve been in and out of solitary. I’m here again for causing a tiff with one of the chomos. He tried to touch Naby, and I pinned him against the wall.
“Raniero,” Martinez crows from the other side of my door. “You got a pretty visitor. You want to see her?” I say nothing as he opens the door. “Says her name is Mae East.”
I shift my gaze from my still swollen hands to his scowl. “Private. Two hours. And I want a fucking picnic basket. You’re going to make it look like everything is great.”
He teeters between his feet. Shame, he is such a putz. He is a deceptively good looking douche canoe. “Why should I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, I’m telling Juan Neves what his disciple has been doing and Cinco will never receive a dime for your protective detail.” I hop to my feet and stalk closer. “I’m telling him all about you and the camp kids. I’m telling him exactly what kind of reputation you’re bringing to Cinco.”
I menacingly grin.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I’m fucking psychotic,” I hiss, glowering in his grill. “And I no longer give a shit! And I’m a madman who is fucking evil.”
Half an hour later, I’m showered and walking into one of the interrogation rooms. They don’t trust me in the grief room anymore. I think I left a cum stain on their forty-year-old loveseat. Grins.
“Hey, babe,” I growl low. “Look at me. Look at me—it’s Salvatore,” I say, stretching to grab her hand. “We only have 120 minutes. Let’s not waste it.”
“Sally…” Her eyes brim with tears at the sight of me. I may be clean, but my hair is long, brushing the tops of my shoulders. My beard is full. I do not look like myself, but closer to that of a vagrant. “Why did you get to keep…” Her hands wave at my hair as the frightened look showers over her expression.
“Don’t ask.” Staring at her blue eyes, I lie because it is all I can do. I lie because she won’t be able to handle the truth.
I lie to protect and serve The Unholy; they are my number one job.
I caress her fingers. Her skin is soft, and she smells like heaven. I know she wants to know why I’m in solitary, but it’s none of her concern. It doesn’t pertain to her and right now, funneling information to the right people at the right time is everything.
“How are you going to get out of here?”
“Dom is working on some things along with the others, and I’ll get out soon.” I continue the lie with a wink and a smile. Truth is extraction relies on Lily Miller-Armstrong. “Don’t worry about me, doll.”
Her fists ball as she smacks them into her lap. “… How can I not?”
I snarl like the cocky son-of-a-bitch I am. I will get out, but it won’t be Dom helping me. Hell to the fuck no. He is the reason I’m sitting in solitary with Handcock next to me. This is his idea of a game. This is his plan to break me, shake me, and make me kneel for his Dominance once again.
But I—I won’t give in.
“Fuck, don’t play games with me, Nero,” she snaps, leery of my charms. “You’re the one locked behind bars.”
“Baby, I’m going to be fine,” I profess, not believing a single word. “But I need to know you’re fine.”
The silence forms a wall between us like a third party. Quiet promises not to divulge our secrets; the mind swears it will not betray. I don’t believe it.
I politely ask, “Do you want some coffee?”
“Can I have a hug?” she asks, sniffling and rubbing the tissue over her nose. I must be quite the sight to cause a tough girl like Amber to crumble. She moves slowly around the table and notices my neck. The cross she gave m
e is gone, and her finger runs over where it should be. “I need to see you. I need to know you are whole.”
Backing up, I tug my shirt off as her lips part at the sight of my new. Nothing specific; just new. This is the new Salvatore.
Love me. Hate me.
Her fingers glide along the crucifix blazoned between my pecs. She examines The Unholy names scrolled on my forearms—just because I’m playing hard to get with Dom, doesn’t mean I won’t play.
“You’re not only going after your father,” she acknowledges, sitting on my lap. “You’re going after everyone not inked on your body. And you want me with Deacon?”
“You are either with us or against us.” If I tell her to protect Deacon, she will. “You gotta trust someone, and it should be Deacon.”
With barely a whisper, she asks, “Do you really not trust Dale Archer?”
“Do you?” I bait, testing her waters. “It’s not so much D, but those who know him.”
“I don’t know. I want to believe I can, but he makes that difficult when I cannot even trust him to keep his dick in his pants.”
Rubbing her leg, I acknowledge, “I get it.”
“Deacon mentioned getting married,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Is Dom making a move on Agent Grace, or is she already Agent Gennaro?”
That is already a done deal, baby girl.
Evading the question on Jaid, I encourage, “You need to stay with Deacon.” The reluctance in her face is real.
“Tell me you didn’t order the hit last night on Dale.” I give her my best poker face. “You did it…”
“No, I didn’t do it,” I rattle off, knowing we paid for the hit. Targeting ourselves – or in this case, an associate of The Unholy – is always a great decoy. “But I know who did.”
“Stanis is taking the blame for it.”
“Of course, he is!” Stanis Kozlov is a fucking idiot. He believes by taking the blame, everyone will revere him, but the reality is he just put a big fucking target on his back, which is exactly what we want. “We didn’t do it. I promise you that. I don’t trust Archer, but I do not want him dead.”
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 28
