Nothing.
Opening the door, I run smack dab into Deacon. “Cruz!”
Walking forward, he shoves me back into the stall. “I’m so glad to see you. I’m so fucked up. I’m so hard. And you’re so fucking hot. You lost your shirt.”
“And you lost your mind.” I push him against the wall and nip his pout as I grind against him. I’m going for it, rolling my hips, and thrusting slow. “Fuck, Sal.”
“That’s exactly what I want to do.”
My hand rubs his hard cock in the jeans. I’m biting his neck, and my fingers tangle in his golden hair. “We cannot have sex in here.”
“Why not?” I urge, pumping slow against his hip. “Just once. Mend my broken heart.” I lick his ear and whisper, “Let me stick my dick in you, baby.”
“Sal,” he murmurs, holding me close. “We are not doing this here.”
“So, take me home and fuck my ass,” I taunt with a roll when my phone falls out of my pocket and hits the floor. “Serve the Master, bitch.” He bends to pick it up. “While you’re down there...” I mumble, humping against his head. “You can suck me again.”
“What the fuck is this?”
“What?” I mention, looking at the folders marked Iris, R³, and M. Cruz. I forgot his fingerprint is saved in my phone. When he picked it up, he must have unlocked the screen, but I don’t care as I blurt out, “Oh, that’s your son you had with Kacilyn!”
“… My what?”
“Your son, Merritt Amos Hope-Cruz,” I stupidly say. “He’s with my daughter, Rozzalyn Raine Raniero. They’re somewhere in France last I heard.”
“… You knew I had a son and didn’t tell me?”
My mouth opens, but words don’t come out. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” He seems very angry. “You know what— fucking forget it. I don’t know what the hell you did, but you’re no more here than you were the other night at the motel.”
Without another word, he walks away.
And I lost Deacon Cruz.
Waking up a few hours later, I’m slumped against the wall of the bathroom with my arm draped over the toilet. My phone is under my hand on my thigh. “Oh, shit!”
I check my watch—3:21.
I have no idea what time he left, but despite my still hazy state, I manage to stand up, piss, and find my way out of the club. I get a taxi to the hotel and run around to the side where we parked the bikes.
His is long gone.
Squatting down, I pull my hair. “Fuck! No! Cruz!”
Making my way to the elevator, I ride up, and after a few minutes, manage to locate our room. The shopping bags are still on the bed. The shoe box holds his worn Chucks. The towel he dried off with is on the coffee table. I know things are fucked when I spot his Reckless Rebellion cut on the pillow where he left it. He didn’t even bother to come to the room.
… The jeans he wore for two days are on the floor.
It feels like sacrilege.
Brushing my hand over the well-worn denim, I pick them up with great regard and press them to my nose before I crumble to the ground. I’m hitting rock bottom—alone.
“I really fucked this one up,” I hysterically, uncontrollably sob. “I had one person, and I fucking lost him. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
I spend the next three days in the hotel room self-medicating on whiskey and Dr. Harry’s magic pills. I stay in the tub for hours at a time watching the spigot drip. I cuddle his cut like a teddy bear and use his rolled jeans as a pillow.
There are many things I don’t know, but the one thing I do is I cannot live without Deacon.
My phone lights up often with calls and texts from Jaid and Dom, but they don’t seem to know what happened. I don’t bother to call Deacon, and I don’t bother to call Iris because I imagine he’s already told her everything—the deal of my marriage and the children we share with Kaci.
I’m sitting in the bathtub with a needle, piercings, and a bloodied razor blade on the ledge—sanguine droplets puddle, diluted from the water. I’m half-way sober with only two choices. I glance at the scars on my hands and the cuts I’ve left on my forearms. I think how easy it would be to put one deeper into my wrist and end it all.
The door of my hotel room opens as I stammer, “I don’t need maid service today.”
“Well, that’s a damn good thing because I’m not offering any,” Trudy scolds, pissed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Losing my shit,” I whisper, breaking down. “Help me.”
Her eyes glaze with tears as she grabs everything from the ledge. “Get your ass up out of that water, right fucking now, Lucas!”
“Ma…”
“Don’t Ma me!” she bellows, letting her teardrops fall. “I came because my son is devastated! I came because you wrecked him with your secrets! With your lies! Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because,” I wail, slobbering everywhere. “I was scared he would leave me, and he did. He walked away without saying goodbye,” I blabber, crying so hard my chest hurts. “He doesn’t love me anymore. He fucking hates me. And I want to die.”
She peers down at me. “Bullshit! If he didn’t say goodbye, he is coming back. I know my son. Get the fuck up.”
I do as she says. When I step into the room, her glasses are on the tip of her nose as she studies my pill bottles and vials with one hand and her phone in the other. “You been taking these with those bottles of Jim Beam?” She zeroes in on the four empty bottles.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Really, Sal?” She sighs, lifting one brow and giving me the maternal scowl. “You are smarter than how you are acting.”
“I don’t know how to fix any of it.”
“First of all, stop worrying about how to fix it. Just deal with it. And second, if you ever tell me my son doesn’t love you again, I’m going to make sure you cannot sit down for a damn month. The only reason I am here is that he was scared shitless that you would do something dumb,” she huffs her fury with me radiating heat. “And a good thing I did!”
“Where is he?”
“Staying with Nico and Serene because I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Running my hand through my hair, I mutter, “Great!”
“Do you honestly think he would say anything?”
“… No.”
“And do you know how hard this is on him when every single person we know is calling to ask where you are? Where is Sal? I thought he was out of prison. Have you seen Nero?” She narrows her gaze in on me. “Have you seen Sal Raniero?”
“He’s talked to Iris.”
Tossing her glasses into her hair, she crosses her arms. “Do you know that? Have you talked to him?” I shake my head. “Who do you think he is loyal, too?”
“Me.”
“Right,” she says. “When is the last time you ate?”
I shrug, not knowing. “Okay, I’m ordering food. You are sleeping this off. And tomorrow I’m trailing your sweet ass back home to Sugargrove.”
“Sugargrove can’t be home anymore,” I mumble, aching with desperation. “Do you know what that fucking doctor wants me to do?”
“Yeah,” she acknowledges, “I do, and you’re going to do it. You’re staying the hell away from Deacon. He’ll be back when he’s done licking his wounds, but until that moment happens—until he is ready—don’t you dare interfere with his recovery. You hurt him. And you owe him time.”
Two hours later, I’ve eaten half of a burger. And I’m being cradled in the bosom by a woman who doesn’t like me very much right now, but she loves me endlessly.
And that counts for something.
54
Come
Four bottles of beer sit empty amongst my sunglasses and guns as I chain smoke trying not to stare at Jaid. Her long dirty blonde hair tangles in a mess beneath the clip. If I could have sheltered one girl from the nightmare of the last few years, it is Priscilla Christiane Grace Cristos, aka Agent Jaid
alyn Lovell Chambers.
My partner. My friend. My Ghost.
She offered to marry me.
I don’t think of the lies she’s been subjected to because I’ll be quick to shoot, but if anyone understands where I’ve been and the things I’ve dealt with, it’s her.
“You want the last piece of pizza?”
“Nah,” I say, flipping open the box. “Go ahead.”
Her tablet shines on her innocent face. Scanning through the latest Sibyl cases, she bends the pizza in half and stuffs it in her mouth. Leave it to Tennessee Whiskey to know how to eat a fucking pie.
I hate that she was removed from my team, but it was probably for the best. I liked knowing the details of her daily routine, and I miss our collaborative efforts—that is not an innuendo either. The girl does impressive research, and while she is still working through Kaci’s files, we aren’t the same.
There is no way we can be.
We’re at Serene’s farmhouse on the back porch, which I suppose I should say is my farmhouse that Serene and Nico live in. Deacon isn’t here. He’s in Houston with Trudy and helping her pack up the last of the Delirium MC memorabilia since Javier Diaz is thankfully no longer among the living. The defunct club is scattering like roaches because of the reckless actions of Amber.
That leaves a giant vacancy sign and room for Cinco and Immortal to duke it out. In a way, Delirium being eliminated helps The Unholy move up in the ranks, but it doesn’t negate all the lies Amber has told. Her rogue antics are dangerous, and her ability to keep a secret is lethal. She sounds perfect for my team if she hadn’t chosen my life to be the forsaken.
According to Trudy, Reckless Rebellion is moving their headquarters to Little Bee, just a town over from Sugargrove. Trudy bought a sprawling ranch house to be closer to Deacon when he takes his position at Juliet in January.
I’m out; he’s in.
We still haven’t talked.
Knowing the deal, I accepted, Jaid asks, “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
Rubbing her lips together, she says, “Have you talked to Anna?”
“No,” I solemnly say.
Our polite, distanced conversation acts like the one-night stand in Ronnie’s office didn’t happen. I suppose it’s easier that way. “How is Lex Conrad?”
Leaning back in the chair, she says, “He’s alright. His team is different. They’re mostly ex-cops, so it’s a bit formal for my taste. One of them asked me out on a date.”
My eyes squint as I consider why she feels the need to tell me this. “… Really?”
“Yeah, his name is Kiran Golf,” she informed, polishing off her beer. “He invited me for a weekend to his farm in Arizona.”
That’s more than a date.
That’s a weekend sex fest.
Golf? What the fuck kind of a name is Golf?
With my blood pumping, I involuntarily clench my fists. Not my girl, asshole. Not that Jaid is my girl. She is one of my girls. She doesn’t need to be spending a weekend wrapped around anyone I didn’t know. I take a mental note to chat with Mr. Golf and make sure he clearly understands who Jaid belongs to.
Check.
“Are you going?”
She finishes chewing and pulls her feet into the chair before shaking her head. Wiping the corners of her mouth with her finger, she says, “Probably not. The last thing I need is an asshole with a dick.”
I ignorantly take the bait. “What the hell am I?”
“You’re my brother-in-law.”
“Of your dead sister,” I point out, my temper rising. “Who you were fucking a week ago.”
She covers her cheeks with her hand as she presses her lips together several times. God, I fucking hate how naturally gorgeous she is. No makeup, hair a mess, and I’ve got a boner from here to next week over my ex-partner.
She pops the cap on another beer, takes a sip, and rudely asks, “… Have you seen Amber?”
I say rudely because her tone is one of a jealous, jilted lover. “No,” I mumble, grabbing the box of smokes and lighter. “I assume she’s off doing her Amber thing. She’s been removed from her duties.”
Staring straight into my soul, she questions, “… So you are done?”
With the cigarette perched between my lips, I flick the lighter but decide instead to answer her. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it does.” She nods with a serious expression. “Very fucking much—it matters. Did Amber trigger the incident in Colorado, Sal?”
“If you’re asking when the last time I had my dick in my mistress…”
Huffing, she interrupts, “I’m asking if you’re still so hung up on her that you can’t see straight, not when you last got off.”
Setting my jaw, I try my best to keep my ass in the seat, but she’s pushing hard. “Babe, the last time I got off with a girl, it was in my pants after doing a few lines.”
“… A few lines?” Scowling with a fury I’ve never seen, she darts up to slap my cheek, and the cigarette goes flying. I didn’t see that coming. Brave bitch goes for a backhand, and I grab her wrist.
“No,” I reprimand, “you don’t hit me!”
“Then you don’t ever do something so stupid again!”
“I didn’t mean to!” My voice screeches. Fuck, I’m weak. “It was an isolated incident.”
“You still did it!” She argues with a worried look in her eyes. “You broke down and did a bunch of shit you had no business doing. Instead of calling me for help, you stayed holed up in a hotel room for three fucking days, Sal.”
“What did you want me to say?” I defend, yelling. “Hey, I’m fucked! I lost my Master. I lost my best friend. I lost my girl. And I’m going to lose you, too.”
“No, you’re not,” she whispers, crying. “I’m sorry…but that won’t ever happen.”
Tears swell in my eyes. “I couldn’t call you when I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Don’t you get that? Don’t you know how fucking hard this is on me?”
“Which part?” she sighs as I loosen my grip and take her other wrist in my hand. “The part where you are suffering in silence or the part where you like bending biker boy over?”
I blink mortified.
“Yeah, I know,” she hastily reveals. “And do you really – really – think any of us care? I was fucking my goddamned uncle, Sal, even after I knew! Who has a right to judge? Tell me. Because I got a thing or two to say.”
“Who told you?”
She snaps, “Who do you think?”
“Iris.”
“But you don’t see any of the truth.” Her passive aggression is starting to get on my nerves. I need a drink, something stronger than hops. “I married Dom because you asked me to. And I’m getting a divorce because you asked me to. I fucked Dale and hurt Amber and licked her damn wounds. I’m doing everything right, and it doesn’t matter because you don’t see it. I’m right here,” she howls, spreading her arms wide. “Maybe I should start offing people like Amber or randomly serving every bachelor party like Iris. Is that what it’s going to take for me to get your attention? Because being half asleep and making love didn’t do it for you.”
“Pris…”
“Don’t Prissy Pants me!” she sasses as her tears drip on my forearms. “No one else has stood by your side and fearlessly fought for you as I have. And yet, I always lose.” She shrugs away, but I pull her closer, tugging her into my lap. “I’m not straddling you. I don’t want to know how I make your body feel when I can’t have your heart and mind, too. And I don’t want to feel this systemic weakness I have for you either, Lucas. You’re the addiction I crave, and the worst part is I don’t want to be sober.”
“Get your goddamned ass on my lap properly.”
Through gritted teeth, she says, “You’re leaving…”
I get in her face. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice; you’re just choosing wrong.”
“Is that it?” I yell, losing my
composure. “You think I made a mistake to go behind bars?”
Pursing her lips together, she smiles sardonically and shakes her head. “No, I think you were wrong in doing all of this bullshit for a girl who would just as soon put a bullet in your brain.”
Grabbing her cheeks, I yank her mouth to mine, forcing my tongue inside. She tastes like home and returns the kiss with fervor. We satiate the aching lust and bask in the desire. She breaks away from our make-out session, pulls her shirt over her head, and slides her legs on either side of me.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” I grumble, grinding my hard cock against her heat. “Do you know how many times I question the things I’ve done? Maybe I married the wrong damn sister, and if I did, where would we be right now?”
“Don’t say that,” she whispers, rocking against my erection and nipping my lip. “Don’t even think that.”
“It’s too late,” I agonize, gripping her ass to my body as I lift us. Holding her tight with one arm, I swish the beer bottles and pizza box to the ground before laying her on the table. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
“I know,” she mutters, handing the guns to me. I put them in the chair and pull her jeans off. Lowering to her warmth, I nuzzle the shelter I long to sheath around me. “I would never put the barrel to your head. Not for real; not to feign. I’m in love with you and whether you ever see that or not…” Standing up, I rip my shirt off as she stares at the ink and scars etched in my forearms. “Oh, hell… I should’ve been there.”
“Trudy got me,” I inform, popping my belt off and unzipping my jeans. Coaxing my hand over my dick, I place myself against her wetness. A shiver runs up my spine thinking about how tight she’s going to be. “Jesus fuck, I’m sorry about this.”
“… What?”
“What I’m about to do to you,” I growl as she sits up and runs her finger over the head of me. “We can’t keep pretending there isn’t a thing between us…”
“The piercings are still out,” she stutters, realizing how much I’ve changed. “And we’re back where we started.”
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 43
