Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Then who called the hit?”

  Giving her a seductive gaze, I allude, “In the most difficult of puzzles, the simplest way is usually staring you right in the face.”

  “Diaz.”

  Trudy Diaz’s husband and Deacon Cruz’s stepdad, Javier Diaz, maybe many things, but he is not stupid enough to go after The Unholy. He has to stay in good with Cinco if he wants part of the crates. Diaz hits us, and Cinco will go all Sal-proud on their asses because we are the ones delivering the guns to Cinco in the first place. Not to mention Daddy Cristos will be none too happy, either.

  Let’s have a lesson—

  Crates delivered to The Unholy => to Cinco and others =>

  to Diaz’ Delerium MC club and others.

  This is the way it’s been for four years for us. It’s like a goddamned family tree, and he who sits at the bottom controls the root and wins the motherfucking game.

  Unfortunately, there is a forest full of trees competing to become the one main trunk. Our fathers have some of the largest specimens in the forest, but I think we can grow better. I believe we can modify, simplify, and implement a system with a unified purpose of longevity.

  The Four Horseman will become the four raging stallions, otherwise known as The Unholy—Dom, Nico, Deacon, and myself. Our goal is to band together with our fathers’ businesses into one collaborative effort.

  Will we get there?

  Fuck if I know.

  There is beauty in the journey.

  I hear the question—how does a guy who goes after gutter trash traffickers stomach the lucrative dealings in The Unholy?

  Easy, baby.

  Money.

  More money and power, the more likely I am to cut down my father’s fucking tree or at least remove his disease from it. I’m okay until we hit the human stock. I draw the line there. Everyone has a line. Some hate drugs. Some hate weapons. I hate humans selling other humans. Drugs and bangs—shit happens. I’m not going to stop it, and not surprisingly, Vega tends to disagree with me.

  And I maintain the mafia is in my blood.

  I’m not a good guy.

  I may do good things, but my motivations are Unholy-serving. I don’t take cases which don’t directly pertain to seeking out intel benefitting us in the long run.

  Let me repeat; I am not a good guy.

  “Incorrect, try again.” Stroking her cheek, I hint, “It makes the most sense.”

  “Serene…”

  I give her a sexy as fuck grin. “And why?”

  “To get you out of here!” Overjoyed, she bounces on my lap. Though if this were a test, she just failed. I let her believe she’s right. Trophies and ribbons for trying. “You motherfucking bastard!”

  “Very good!” I praise, not exactly sure how she came up with the convoluted notion, but I’m going with it because it gives her hope. It gives her hope that I know what the fuck I’m doing and maybe she’ll hitch up with Deacon. “You are getting better at playing smoke and mirrors.”

  “… I cannot retaliate against Serene. Does Deacon even know?”

  “No, Deacon doesn’t know,” I brush off, knowing full well I told him to pay up to fifty grand for the hit. Someone good. Someone quiet. Someone unknown. “You retaliate against Diaz because that is what they are expecting.”

  “You and Deacon and Dom are sick twisted fuckers.”

  “Ya?” I admit, running my pad of my finger over her bosom. “And you fucking love it. That’s why your pussy is throbbing.”

  “What do you want to do about everything?” Giving innocent, doe eyes, she adds, “What can I do for you?”

  “… Blow job?” I flirt.

  “I’m serious, aside from being Deacon’s little whore.”

  “So am I... A blow job from someone with lipstick is the holy fucking grail round here.”

  “Oh, fucking hell, Sal!” She smacks her hand into my chest. “I don’t want to know this!”

  “You can help Jaid find Diablo,” I coerce, trying to keep Amber occupied, so she isn’t a busybody. She won’t find him. If Georgia and Jas cannot find Diablo Cruz, then no one can, but sending her on a goose chase keeps her tempered. “Jaid isn’t safe sitting in fucking Texas alone. We are turning into a goddamned hot zone while I am fucking wasting away in here.”

  Batting her lashes, she whispers, “Do you need a blow job?”

  “What do you think?”

  “What would Deacon think?”

  “He’d probably beat my ass.” …with his cock after I told him to do it. “How wet are you getting?”

  “It may or may not be possible,” she teases, luring me in. “That my jeans are completely drenched.”

  Snarling like the competitive bastard I am, I snicker, “You know I’ll win.”

  “Only because you’ll convince me to swallow,” she sasses with a smirk. “Am I your best pupil?”

  God, no…not this question.

  “You are the best bitch I have on the ground,” I profess. Though, this time I’m not lying. Amber is good, albeit a bit impetuous, which is why I need to provide toys like marrying Deacon and hunting Diablo. “You’re the best at networking and active gameplay.”

  “Only because you have been training me to think ahead for years. Look at the big picture, Amber!” she mocks me with her best Boston-gone-Texan accent, and I laugh. “You know, Deacon won’t kill Diaz. He is scared you don’t have enough protection in here.”

  He’s probably right.

  “Which is exactly why you have to persuade Deacon with your womanly ways to go kill the son-of-a-bitch…”

  “He isn’t going to—I am telling you—you can be a stubborn daego or you can fucking listen to me,” she insists, headstrong. “No one wants him dead more than Deacon, but he is certain Diaz’s death will lead to you being in a body bag.”

  “I got Cinco everywhere, as well as some others…”

  “See, shit like that, Nero, that scares me—as well as some others. How many bad boys are you in bed with?”

  That is a dangerous, dangerous question.

  Picking her up, I set her on the table and bait, “… Twice as many as the bitches I like to fuck?”

  “You like fucking me?” she questions as I tug her jeans off.

  “No, baby,” I ease, breathing in her scent and dipping my tongue over her slit. “I love fucking you; you are my wild one.”

  Pulling my pants down, I thrust in hard as she mumbles, “I miss your piercings, babe.”

  “So, do I…” I agree, holding her wrists with my freshly uncovered hands. “Boy, Dom is gonna have some fun with me.”

  I groan, thinking about the lashing—the constant search for pain—I need.

  Her head tilts as she stares at the new letters jetted into my knuckles. “More Than?”

  Rocking my hips, I dismiss, “It’s a thing I have with someone.”

  “The swirling five-inch letters on your back give your secrets away, Raniero.” The look of contempt is real as she seethes, “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I caution, losing my mojo and pulling out. “It’s my problem.”

  “It’s your fucking addiction, and it’s going to get you killed,” she blindly rages, not having a clue what Iris and I are actually about. “You cannot leave that little cunt alone, can you?” I want to slap her, but I like Amber, so I turn on the discord in my mind. It’ll be loud enough to ignore her in no time. “Walk the fuck away before that fucking whore kills you!”

  She goes too far as I lunge and land on top of her on the table. “Do not ever call her a whore again—ever! Do you understand me?”

  “Fuck you!” she hisses as I let her weasel away. “Iris Amarie will kill you!”

  “This is my fight and my war,” I vehemently rage. “And I will make my moves as I see fit. You do not get to choose.”

  “So, what am I—the holy trinity club slut?”

  “Pretty fucking much!” I’m not a good guy, and I’m not always pleasant
, either. “And you are going to do it because we both know what you came here for—the money and the drugs. You say she is a pig, but are you any better, baby?”

  “I fucking hate you!” Welcome to the fucking party. “I hate Deacon, too! I hate how much you both love me because I cannot fucking stand me.”

  “Well, that’s better than apathy,” I mumble, pulling her close. “I will hold every mofo back and numb you out—all so you can feel it your way—because I fucking love you that much. And if you don’t see that, babe...I am not the only fool.”

  “Does Deacon even know how fucked up I am?”

  “He knows everything…”

  At least everything I tell him.

  “And you are going to be by his side until the end?”

  “I swear on the fallen angel in the motherfucking cemetery.” I cut myself too deep, hitting an artery, as a tear slides over my cheek. I mean every word. “I am never fucking The Unholy over, but you gotta give up fighting me over my girl, babe.”

  I don’t think about what Amber doesn’t know. I don’t think about hot nights in New Orleans where three sweat-soaked bodies found ecstasy. I don’t think about the absolutes. I think about survival, and I thrive.

  Her elated look depletes as fast as it comes on. “… What about Iris?”

  “We are not done.”

  “So, if I run into her, I should protect her because she is part of the six-sided magic dice?”

  “Yes,” I cackle at the analogy. “Save Iris.”

  “I will do this for you because I love you that much.”

  Stroking my beard, I ask, “Give me your best assessment. I need your eyes and ears. How bad is D?”

  “If Serene paid for someone to just pop a bullet—in all honesty, someone fucked it up because he is fighting for his life.”

  “I have no idea who she hired,” I fib, remembering the conversation with Deacon.

  “I paid fifty to one of the guys in the Tennessee Twelve,” he whispered from the visitation booth.

  My eyes caught his. “Name?”

  “X, but call him Ten.”

  “Marks the spot,” I mumbled off.

  “Indeed, it does.”

  Running the back of my hand over her cheek, I say, “I wish I did, but she knows so many people. It could be anyone and really from anywhere in the world.”

  “Who came up with this bright idea, anyway?” she asks, spiraling to a place where Deacon won’t be to blame and Dale will.

  I know Amber, she’s feisty, fierce, and ready to defend—precisely what I need riding on Deacon’s ass. Amber is my soldier to keep Deacon standing, and maybe that’s wrong to admit, but I do everything for a good reason.

  “No! No! No!” she bellows as we shatter the last bit of feeling she has remaining for Dale Archer. I used him. He used me. I used him again. “Tell me he didn’t... Fuck!”

  I work it well, crying crocodile tears. “He has been protecting my ass since Kace. There is no trying to convince him otherwise. He gave twenty-five percent of his business to Serene for her to do it.”

  Not exactly a fabrication—Dale gave a quarter to me for a one-night fantasy and a quarter to Serene because she is his sister. But Serene ended up giving her quarter to Nico, and you know who he gave it to.

  With his investment and trust in me, Nico secured his and Serene’s position and in The Unholy. We weren’t six anymore but eight. I wasn’t about to tell Amber that, though.

  “Oh, my fucking God, he is an idiot…”

  “Amber, I hate to do this, but I gotta.”

  “What?”

  “I need to know if Dale goes, that you will do the one thing that six-headed beast needs you to do…”

  “Not get high? Or go on a binger? Or find some punk ass to mark me up?”

  “Right,” I concur, holding her hands. “I need you to go to Deacon.”

  “If Dale fucking dies on our ass—don’t go kill Serene, find out who she hired, and run to Saint Cruz’s holy fucking son…”

  I’m laughing inside as I say, “Pretty much…”

  “Fuck. You.”

  “I know, babe,” I assure, building the trust between her and Deacon with every word. “I know. And I need you to know, whatever happens, I am here.”

  “Great!” Her sarcasm continues, “When you are acting like a goddamned madman, I should just know it’s all premeditated…”

  “You got it, doll.”

  “You are a fucking sociopath, and your partners are all deviants.”

  “Ooooh,” I moan, getting aroused. “You gonna keep talking dirty like that, and you are gonna give me a hard-on.”

  “The list you are giving me is more than ten items from the grocery store,” she mentions with a wink. “And I may forget some.”

  “I need you to remember it all.”

  “I got it,” she stresses, but I’m not sure she does. “I am just ribbing you cause I like turning your dick inside out.”

  “Fucking psycho bitch.”

  “I am,” she acknowledges. “And I will do whatever is necessary to keep the six safe. I will run to Deacon because he feels like a monster I can tame without losing myself.”

  “You were never supposed to get involved with Dale...and I am so sorry if I hurt you by telling Jaid to run interference.”

  “I know, and I know why you did it. Because you are just as bad as Dale, you would do anything to protect your girls.”

  “You got it,” I say, praying she listens to me. “Good girl!”

  “Don’t dig your hole,” she whispers, easing her hand around my cock. Her fingers feel so good, and I sink my teeth into her neck.

  “He’s gonna see that…”

  “Good!” I beam a smile, thinking about how fucking hard he’ll be. “He’ll know who was here.”

  “Make love to me, Nero,” she says as I sink into her folds and coat all my sins in her wetness. “Why do you not trust Dale?”

  “It’s not him. It’s his business, but your grocery list is long enough,” I remind, understanding how controlled Dale Archer is by his johnson. He’s proven that time and again with his niece, Jaid. He’s reckless. And in my world, that equals swing vote. I have zero guarantees he won’t climb into bed with the enemy. “You’ll forget something and have to go back to the store.”

  “Try me,” she offers. “Let me have the glorious win of proving Raniero wrong.”

  “It’s not the Cyclone Indies porn,” I say, segueing our conversation. “Something is going on with the Archer Agency.”

  “He barely has anything to do with it anymore,” she argues as I speed up my tempo to silence her inquiry—using that dick of mine again. “Don’t stop, Sal… God, fuck my pussy...do it….”

  “Promise me—Deacon.”

  “You don’t let me come, and I swear I will watch Iris burn.”

  Say it again, and I’ll let Nico have you, bitch.

  I pull out and flip her over. I’m fucking angry as hell. She isn’t going to let this Iris thing go, and I don’t want to see her face when I make her scream.

  “Fuck that pussy hard. You haven’t had any in months…”

  “Actually…”

  “Shut it, asshole,” she snarks with a smirk. “You wanna fuck my ass?”

  What? No. No. No. No.

  Say that to Deacon. Be loyal to Deacon. Protect Deacon.

  “No, but thank you. I appreciate the consideration, but you should save that for Deacon. He loves a good tight ass. And God knows, Amber—you are a tight ass.”

  “You’re lucky. I like you.”

  Wishing I had a ball gag, I rebuke, “And you’re fortunate I like fucking you.”

  “Touché,” she says. “I am gonna come…”

  “I know,” I simmer, letting her have it good and fast. “You are fucking bound around me like a damn ring.”

  “Oh, quit your bitching, Pretty Boy... You know it feels good.”

  “God,” I moan, thinking about how beautiful Iris looked on Deacon�
��s face. “Does it ever….”

  Pumping to the max, I release with a grunt as she gasps, “God yes, fuck me...Nero!” I fall over onto her back. I’m sweating. She’s sweating. “Deacon is gonna be pissed.”

  Only because he didn’t get any.

  Playing the cards, I smart off, “Or so turned on that he keeps you horizontal for three days.”

  “I am not delivering your take-out, you sick fuck,” she rants, snarling. “I love you.”

  “I know you do,” I say, staying true to every word. “I love you, too.”

  Now keep my boy safe, Slut.

  Because I am not a good guy.

  “Do you believe in heaven?” she asks, glancing at me. “I mean aside from the Catholic thing?”

  “Ya, I mean—every life has a purpose—and once it’s completed, you get to level up,” I say, grinning. “It’s just a matter of what you believe.”

  “Death is never negative for you, is it?”

  “It can’t be,” I acknowledge, crunching on a celery stick from our picnic. I knew Martinez would buckle. I stare at the ceiling, needing an answer. “I lost the girl I wanted to marry and then my wife.”

  I start thinking about the past, the issues, and the possibility that Bertrand might not be dead.

  “… Do they always feed you this good?”

  Lost in my thoughts, I say, “No, but when guests come, I get the A-list treatment.”

  Or I did until Deacon tried to kill the Deputy.

  Sliding her fork into the cheesecake, she makes a sensuous move with her mouth. She’s about to make love to the fucking creamy goodness in my prison shirt. I think I’m jealous. I know I’m getting a boner. “And why is that?”

  “Because everyone has their hand in someone’s pocket,” I admit, rolling over and savoring the bleu cheese on a chicken wing. “People are so stuck on the physics of time—like if this, then that, and equal and opposite reactions. But time flows both ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean think of it as preventative care,” I instruct, dipping my finger into the container and making a mess. I’m reminded of Iris and my reprimanding her—don’t drown your food! Not to mention how utterly repulsive I think I’m being by licking out a container. Even I would have my ass.