None of it.
The two addictions I’m allowing myself are the nicotine because fuck if I am going through this without that and working out like a beast.
I will not give up.
I will not give in.
I check my watch—7:30 PM. My heart races. My hands shake. I chew a piece of mint gum and smoke because the burn awaits.
But overall, I’m good.
The cabin in the woods is a secluded place that my grandfather, Luca Raniero, built years ago. It’s on a lake with a beautiful view. My mother refuses to obstruct the view with any curtain, blind, or shade, which is weird considering we are a mafia family, and typically, things are all locked down tight.
She considers the cabin her retreat from that world because while she may enjoy the luxuries – diamonds, fur coats, elaborate vacations, her twice a week maid, and routine trips to the spa – she does not condone the violence.
The open space past the entry contains all the necessary elements—professional kitchen to the right, living room to the left, and dining area in the middle. There are double, symmetric fireplaces, one in the kitchen, which makes an incredible pie with its brick oven, and one in the living room.
The biggest seating area is the sofa sitting in front of the wall of windows facing the heavily wooded side property. Several chairs form up the square of the living room. The back of the house hosts grand views of the lake with four bedrooms, a sunroom, and two bathrooms. The upstairs loft contains several bunk beds and games. It is a modest house, functioning for the extended family.
The rumor whispered amongst the Raniero children, muttered in absolute secrecy mind you, was when my parents acquired the property my mother stipulated her design elements early on or threatened to divulge the entire tomb of familial secrecy.
Of course, I was very young and remembered nothing of any of this myself, but that is how families are, passing down their histories, lies, and betrayals with the imprint of perception. Shit gets changed, shifted, diluted, and exaggerated.
Because families have glitches prohibiting ever actually re-telling events. We are not transcribed during social functions, and the events leading up to the fights are rarely recorded for posterity’s sake. Emotions break way to fact, and it is those same emotions which enable the radical conditioning of don’t tell. Shh!
Human beings are flawed.
I wake up on the sofa in the middle of the night. I’m drenched, hot, and trembling. I sigh and start to sit up.
“Go slow, Boston,” he growls from the chair diagonally behind which I cannot see.
“You came,” I mutter, filling my eyes with tears, as he stands and moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table. I blink to him and let the droplets fall. “Master… I fucked up.”
“If you thought I would let you go through this alone, you don’t know me,” Dom contends, gripping my hand with his emotions surfacing. “You didn’t fuck up. You fell down. Big difference. We can repair this, but you need help. And right now, we need to do the nasty.”
I laugh at the innuendo, and I know exactly what he means. “The ice chests are in the laundry room. There are more bags of ice in the deep freeze.”
“I do know how to drive, but it’s already being taken care of,” he assures. “We got you.”
“I was preparing to do this alone.”
He waves my notions of isolation off. “Fuck that. You have family.”
“Ice is in the tub,” Deacon mutters from the hallway. In a pair of well-fitting jeans and a black t-shirt, he cautiously moves between the sofa and coffee table. “Are you going to let me help you or do you plan on being a stubborn asshole, Sir?”
“Help me, Cruz.”
He bends down to help me up, scooping his arms under mine, and we end up hugging. “If you ever think I’m abandoning you again,” he threatens in my ear. “I will kick the shit out of you. We are forever, you and I.” He plants a kiss on my cheek. “Nicky apologizes for not being here. Serene is on bed rest. Her water is leaking.”
“Is she in the hospital?”
“Yes,” he answers, lifting me slow. The floor spins as my head pounds like drum someone is beating on. “But she is far enough along that the baby and mother should be fine, they’re just being cautious and wanting to get as much weight on Kade as possible.”
“Give them my love. Is Daisicle there?”
“Yes, she is. Randy has a whole team there, and Jaid was talking about going to be with her mom. When you’re out of the woods, we can do a video chat. Currently, you kind of look like a haunting version of yourself.”
“I feel like hell.”
“Yeah, you shouldn’t have ever done that shit… I could’ve told you that. I tried shit as a teenager, and it fucked me up good. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to your crazy sober head.”
“It hurts,” I reply as he gets me up and we walk towards the bathroom. The tub is filled with ice and water. “This is misery.”
“You’re going to get through this,” he assures, peeling off my soaked clothes. He drops my pants and tugs my shirt off, landing his fingertip beneath my chin. He gently presses his lips to mine. “I needed to do that before you start puking.” He smiles. “On second thought…” Coming in closer, he kisses me with all the fuel of our love, skyrocketing the stratosphere where we are free. I close my eyes and relish in the bliss as I descend into hell. He is my life rope. And Deacon will never let go. “You are okay,” he breathes into me. “We are okay. I’m not leaving you until I know you’re good. I am still in love with your stupid ass, and I always will be.”
I grip his forearm and step into the ice. “Fuck! I got to get my bad ankle out.”
“Get your ass in the ice, and then you can toss your foot over the edge.”
I ease into the water, and he lowers to help me. I look him straight in the eye and whisper, “… Is she?”
“We aren’t talking about her right now.”
Even closing my eyes, the light is too bright, and I use one of Deacon’s black t-shirts to cover my face. Mentally, I’m hysterical with bouts of utter wailing and blood-curdling screaming. With Deacon and Dom standing guard, I spend the next two days sweating, drooling, freezing, puking, pissing, and shitting myself.
Glamorous, I know.
“I’m gonna puke,” I blurt out, waking from my maniacal slumber, as Dom sets down his tablet and picks up the trash can. With my head resting on Deacon’s thigh, I barely make it. Watery puke splashes into the bottom of the trash can. Thank God, I hit the target. I wasn’t so lucky yesterday. “It hurts,” I moan out in pain. “God, take the light away. Help me.”
“We need to ice you again,” Deacon declares, rubbing my back. “You’re too hot.”
“And then we’re getting you on fluids before you end up in the emergency room,” Dom adds, with worry.
“I’m screwed up,” I mumble, clinging to Deacon. “Please don’t leave me.”
“You would’ve been fine if you hadn’t started the snow,” Dom calmly says, petting my hair. “Loopy Looper had you on some mega doses of experimental shit. You should have never been on all of this at one time—ever.”
“Dr. Harry,” I correct, trying to smirk. “It was strange,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the washcloth. “He didn’t even really talk to me. I mean, he did, but we didn’t have a therapy session.”
Setting the trash can down, Dom helps me up as Deacon takes off to man his ice duty. Turns out sixteen bags isn’t enough for one fucked up bastard.
“So, who did the diagnosis?”
“Jack had recommended him,” I whisper as everything starts to spin. “He said he had spoken with Mierne in great detail concerning my case.”
“… She what?!?!” Dom furiously replies as Deacon helps me out of my shorts.
“Miemie talk—ed to the doc about me.”
“Before you went to see him?” Dom quizzes, losing his olive color. “… Unauthorized?”
Deacon and Dom exchange a look I can
only describe as hitting the boiling point with a vehement ire. We instantly all understand The Unholy’s wrath is about to erupt with the force of a furious behemoth.
“I’m on it!” Dom angrily spews. “I’m going to Sugargrove.”
There is a moment of silence before the dam breaks…before the storm comes…before all hell breaks loose.
With an intense hearth of love for me and hate for the terrorists attacking The Unholy processor core, Dom bellows, “My fucking sister has some shit to explain!” He grips the bridge of his nose and paces the perimeter of the bathroom. When he finally stops, he shuts his eyes and roars with the violence of a cat5 hurricane savagely plowing into the shoreline. “I’m ripping Jack Kerris’ fucking heart out!”
“F—uck!” I stutter, dizzy, and incoherent. “Chi—cago.”
His eyes widen with the realization I left Iris with Anna in Sugargrove. “Shit! I need to go!”
“I’ve got him,” Deacon firmly claims, his nostrils expanding as his fists constrict into solid, deadly weapons. “Go! Now!”
“I will call you,” Dom assures, grabbing Deacon by the shoulder. He leans down to kiss my forehead. “You fight! You get out of this! Do you hear me? Do not leave me, Boston! I’ve spent too much of my life working on you to lose now. I love you.”
“I—ris…” I mumble as the room spins, and I cover my face with the black shirt.
“I know baby. I’m going. I’m going!” I hear Dom ask, “Can you put a line in him?”
“I can put anything I damn well want in him,” Deacon says, and my heart warms with a glow. “He won’t give me any grief. Do you need me to do anything?”
“Just make sure we don’t lose him.”
“Dom,” Deacon fiercely shouts, so loud it echoes through my body. “You fucking tell Nicky to not spare any detail on mutilating that fucking whore!”
“By the time he arrives, he’ll be lucky if she’s still breathing…”
65
Are you a cowboy?
The Master’s Ride
After Dom leaves, Wednesday night going into Thursday morning is the worst. I should have expected it because I remember Sal saying day three to seven are pure hell. He’s done this—not to this extent—several times during training, but I don’t think any amount of preparation would have mattered. He’s always recovered. But just in case, I’ve taken to praying to a nameless, faceless entity I refer to as my God.
I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed another person be so sick without being in the hospital. His willpower to fight is inspiring. I’ve called Ma and told the Tennessee Twelve to get to her house. Kill on sight. We’ll deal with the bodies and mess another day.
I’ve called Anna.
She isn’t answering.
I’ve called Iris.
She isn’t answering.
And alone—all I can think about is them both laying in a pool of their blood in Scarlet House. We’re low on resources with Nicky in Florida and Jas and Georgia in Nebraska. I talked to Dom and asked if we should call Jaid. His answer was a passionate, emphatic no, which I completely agree with.
We don’t know what is happening in the middle of nowhere, Texas, and Dom is pulling together a team, including Dale Archer. He’s taking Mae to Florida to stay with Jaid who is with Serene and Nicky. Nicky may be returning with him if Serene and Kade are stable enough.
I knew it would be bad, but I had no idea it would be so underhanded. I anticipated shoot-outs on my bike, not biological warfare on Sal’s mind. We have no idea who is behind the attack. Mierne and Jack are only the messengers, and when Sal comes out of this, he’s going to have to deal with their betrayal.
His phone rings and the ID reads: Hot Pants.
Dear God.
I debate answering it, but fear who it will be. After their third time calling, I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey, hey Sugar Lips,” Georgia says. “I got something something for ya.”
“Jesus, you scared me!”
“I got you, but not your digits,” she says, flirting. “How is he? Did you get fluids in him?”
I glance at him, dozing on the sofa in nothing but a sheet. “Not yet. He was exhausted from the ice bath.”
“Okay, you need to do it soon.” I hear her eclectic instrumental music playing in the background. “The medicine Looper had him on is like fucking high-tech shit, and he may have saved himself doing what he did because it was counteractive. He must have known there was a problem, but he was trusting the doctor to do what was right.” My phone lights with a text from Dom. Dr. Harry Looper and his wife were just found murdered execution-style. “Oh my God…did you see that?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“We didn’t do that,” she informs, clicking her nails on the keyboard. “… You know, Frederick and Agnes Bindel were killed the same way; I’m going to go through and look at Sal’s notes and compare with whatever Dom gets back.”
“Who found the Loopers?”
“New Agents Zoe Hess and Ainsley Boothe,” she informs. My brow lifts at the notion of two hot girls with weapons. “Sal quietly recruited Zoe when they went underground at La Chiesa, and Ainsley has a long history with Angelo Gennaro. Iris and Ainsley were his tension relief specialists.”
“Wow…” I mumble, slightly turned on.
“Girl power!” she cheers with a giggle. “Okay, now calm down the snake in your pants cause I got intel concerning the fisheries.”
Pulling my hair back into a rubber band, I snicker, “You know us boys too well.”
“I just know the friends Sal keeps,” she points out. “Raniero Fisheries owns a multitude of side businesses. They were the umbrella until Raniero Enterprises came along. I’m still researching, but Sal is on to something. I need you to let him know he was right all along.”
“I can do that.”
“The next order of business is we still don’t know where Hennessey Bindel or Diablo Cruz are…” her voice hitches. “Oh, shit.”
“… Who?”
“Um, Sal should tell you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sal is knocking on death’s door at the moment. I don’t think he’ll be very enthusiastic about talking.”
“Fine,” she says. “Trudy Diaz had two children with her lover, Victor “Saint” Cruz. Her husband, Javier Diaz, forced her to decide between the two. She did, and the eldest went with Dale Archer’s mother, Virginia Archer, who put him up for adoption. We do not have the location of your older, twin brother Diablo Cruz.”
I want to be mad. I should be mad. But I take one look at Sal, frothing at the mouth and sweating buckets, and I can’t. “… Did Amber know?”
“Yes.”
I cut it off. I shut it down. “Where is my son?”
“I also don’t know that yet, but I’m working on it,” she insists as what sounds like a wind-up toy makes a click-click noise. “Last reported sighting was April 21 in the south of France.”
I gotta get to France.
“What is that noise?”
“Wind-up dick,” she bluntly states. “I play with it when I’m nervous.”
“You should find a real dick to play with when you’re nervous.”
“Then all I would ever do is play with…no! You’re just as bad as he is!”
After she walks right into it, I chuckle. “That’s why we’re good together.”
“Tell me!” she hoots as I hear it zipping across the desk. “Also, the Cristos investment can be sold off, but he probably doesn’t want to consider it’s already quadrupled. Cesario is about to line his pockets in gold. And finally, before I let you go…”
“You don’t have to let me go.”
“If I had my hands on you, I wouldn’t let you go anywhere, ever,” she soothes, easing my stress. It’s nice to hear a friendly female voice after the shit Amber has put us through. I miss the hell out of her crazy, but I don’t know where we stand. She’s bad news, a deadly spider. Not to mention, Boss on the sofa will kick my
lily-white ass if I even attempt to go back there.
Giving it the old heave-ho, I ask, “You got a picture?”
“I have lots of pictures.”
With a snarl, I growl, “When do I get one?”
“All you have to do is give me your numbers, sweetness,” she flirts as I immediately send her my phone number in a text message. I light a smoke and take a sip of water. I wish like hell it were something stronger. “Are you about to send me a dick pic?”
I choke, coughing, and disturbing Sal. I get up from the chair and stare out the darkened window. The snow is coming down. I receive a picture of Georgia Wills in a short black and white polka dot dress with a red belt, red shoes, and a red bow in her pretty hair. A sexy looking pair of legs match her sharp cleavage dip.
Holy hell that’s a lot of woman to love.
I understand why Sal is so into her—she’s a total doll—she’d look so hot riding bitch.
“Do you want a dick pic?” I charm as she pauses, saying nothing, probably believing I wouldn’t bite. But I’m Deacon-fucking-Cruz, and I’ve enjoyed taking on Sal’s spot. “Ms. Wills?”
“Mr. Cruz?” she softly replies. “If you send me one, you best send your face, too.”
“I’ll do it as soon as I hang up.”
“You’re going to work up a boner just to take a picture?”
“I’m already hard, baby.”
I hear her gasp. “You should call me later.”
“Hey,” I say, scouting for any signs of intruders. “What were you about to tell me?”
“Oh! Yeah, sorry. Got a little distracted there. Tell Sal there are 78 properties for sale in Nebraska meeting his criteria, and if he needs details, I can send him the specs.”
“… Nebraska?”
“Yeah,” she says as I notice a car pulling into the driveway. I check my watch—2:02 AM.
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 52
