“We got company,” I inform, grabbing my gun. “I’ll talk to you later, G.”
“Alright, dumplin’, be careful.”
Standing between Sal and the door, I accept I’m about to kill someone in this cabin. I don’t fucking care. The mechanics in the lock turn over as the door eases open.
It’s a woman I don’t know. Her jacket is covered in a light dusting of snow. Her pretty pink lips and intense green eyes focus on me.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who the hell are you?” Her eyes scan over my rough appearance, and she whispers, “And are you a cowboy from Juliet?”
“I ain’t no fuckin’ cowboy.”
“Name is Catarina Raniero,” she says, barging inside and ignoring the fact I’ve got a .45 pointed at her head. She tosses her shit down. “You can call me Cat.”
Holy fucking shit.
“If you’re pointing a gun at me, make it the one in your pants,” she sasses, moving closer to Sal. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Deacon Cruz…”
“You’re the lover boy he’s been pining over?”
I smirk. “… Pining?”
“Yeah.” She smarts off, “Do you need a definition?”
I roll my eyes as Sal wakes up and whispers, “Cat…”
“I’m here,” she whispers, crouching beside him. “You need some fluids.” She scans around the vast room and spots the bags of fluid. “Hold on.”
She strides toward the dining room table where I confront her. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I do,” she snarks, glancing down at my jeans and what remains of the problem from the phone call. “Do you?”
Frustrated, I say, “Get the fluids in him.”
“Get the rack together.” Within two minutes, the hot witch sister has the bag dripping, and I roll the rack to her. “He looks good.”
“… He does?” I ask.
“Yeah, I mean for what all his body has been through.”
“So, I shouldn’t be planning a funeral?”
She walks closer and says, “No, you should be figuring out what position we’re fucking in. I only have two hours, so don’t wait too long.”
Bitch takes off towards the bedroom.
Just like that.
I toss glances between Sal and his sister. “… Is he going to be okay?”
She spins around with her blouse open and her bra undone. Her full, round breasts entice with the offer of sex. “He’s going to be fine. He needs to sleep. Now are you taking care of this or should I go finger myself and think about you?”
“I’m on my way.”
Pulling off my clothes, I drop my jeans in the doorway to spot her naked ass crawling into the middle of the bed. “I want that position. Don’t fucking move.”
Careening onto the bed, I don’t kiss her or engage in petty foreplay. After rolling the condom on—cause I don’t have any clue who this bitch is—I spit in my hand, slather it on my dick, and slide deep inside of her arched up hips. I’m soon met with the moves rivaling one I know and love.
She’s Sal with a pussy, and her name may as well be Heaven.
With every thrust I give, Cat humps back with a delicious roll. Her moaning hits every nerve ending I have as she punctuates with high-pitched squeals and low purrs. I’m trying to be a gentleman about this primal mating thing we’re doing, but she’s making it godawful hard. I want to pin her down and slap her ass. I want her to scream.
“Harder, Deacon.”
Jesus, yes…
“You always so friendly?”
“Depends,” she says, still moaning between words. “I have two requirements. Guy must be good looking and tall if he wants to get his rod in me.” I never considered calling my dick a rod. “It’s like a piston, drilling for my orgasm.”
Holy fuck.
“I got a good rod.”
“That you do,” she praises, smiling. “Are you from Texas, biker boy?”
“How do you know I’m a biker?”
“Because your cut says Cruz,” she elaborates, rocking against me. “And I watched my brother carrying that damn thing from room to room for weeks like a damn teddy bear.”
Wow—I’m humbled he missed me that much.
I missed his doped up ass, too.
“Yeah, I’m from Houston originally.”
“I’ve never been to Texas,” she says as my hand eases over her gorgeous ass. I want to smack it—I don’t, but I want to.
“You should come down sometime. I’ll take you for a ride.”
“You already are,” she whispers, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “Are you a top, too?”
“Yeah,” I growl, her ass tempting with every stroke. “Are you a bottom?”
She ducks her head down and giggles. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about it, more curious what my brother has been up to than anything. I don’t understand.”
“You want me to explain it to you?”
“Yeah,” she mutters as I lower down, grab her wrists in my hand and drive in hard with all the force in my hips. Her thighs spread wide and welcoming. I nip at her earlobe as she soaks around my cock. “You got more?” She pants. I let her hands go, lift back to my knees, and fire my palm against her ass. Not too hard, not too soft. She peers back to me with a wanton, lustful yearning. “Do it again.”
Pulling my arm back, I smack her ass deliberately hard enough to leave a mark. “That’s for making me pull my gun on you.”
“Oh, honey, you’re damn sure pulling your gun now.”
I wallop her again as I get closer to coming. She’s tightening around me with every thrash of my hand, and the chorus coming out of her mouth is impressive. I let go, spanking her with all that I have. “Fuck me, Deacon!” she cries out, shuddering around my cock as I come with a blast and fall atop her sweaty body. “Damn!”
“Cruz, why the hell are you rolling your rod in my sister?” Sal comments from the doorway. “And more importantly, why the fuck are you spanking her?”
66
A Crop of Circles
The look of guilt on my sister’s face was worth waking up for, but Deacon’s gloating proved badge worthy. He earned more than one notch for conquering her bad.
He has that effect on sluts.
“You want some more ice chips before I go?”
“Where are you going?” I ask, taking it slow. “Can you not stay?”
“I can’t,” she says. “We have a big meeting in the office tomorrow afternoon. Besides, no one knows I was coming.”
“I don’t even think you knew you were going to cum,” Deacon remarks, and I offer a high-five with the IV base in my hand.
“Okay, you two are too much testosterone together,” Cat laughs, grabbing her coat. “I’m out of here.”
“Did you give Deacon your number?”
A light blush covers her cheeks as she smiles. “I think I gave him more than my number.”
“Hot,” I reply, eating ice from the spoon. “You realize I’m never letting you live this down, right?”
“I realize I’m going to Texas very soon,” she says with a nod. She kisses my boy, flat out Raniero-tongue-lashing style right in front of me, but it’s an odd mix. Kind of like watching myself in girl form with the guy whose rod I love. It’s frankly, weird. She moves to peck my cheeks. “Go slow. I know you! Don’t overdo it.”
“I won’t,” I promise, holding her hand. “Who called you?”
“Dom Gennaro,” she volunteers, swishing her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the door. “Just like I called and told him where you were.” With a wink, she suggests, “Call me, Deacon.”
It’s bizarre to have Deacon being the guy, but the pounding in my head can barely manage to lift a utensil to my mouth much less deck him.
Deacon locks the door behind her and declares, “She fucking scared the shit out of me. I pulled my gun.”
“Clearly.”
“We need to talk.” He comes close
r and takes his spot as I carefully lay my head against his thigh. His fingers stroke my hair as he relays his conversation with Georgia, including sordid dick pics.
“She’s going to find Merritt and Raine,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “She has to.”
“And we’re going to fucking France.”
I doze off and on almost all day Thursday. I briefly wake up to show him how to change the fluid bag, piss, and drink some water. I feel like I’m dying. He’s texting with a grin on his face when I finally wake up at 5:30.
“Any word from Dom?” I mumble, reaching for his hand. I can see the rage, heartache, and fear in his sad blue eyes. “Just tell me. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“They’re gone.”
My body crumples as I lift my legs and arms like a dead bug and cry like my world is disintegrating. And the worst part is—I can’t do shit about it. “She should have been safe with Anna.”
“She was,” Deacon insists, rubbing my chest. “We had everything nailed down tight. This wasn’t your fault. Dom wants you to finish detox and get home…”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. You can drive my new car back home. And if you brought your bike, we can put it in the truck bed with mine. We’ll make it in…”
“Not home to Sugargrove, Sal,” he solemnly whispers. “Home to Boston.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he has Georgia, Jas, and a whole team working to find them,” he says, trying to subdue me. “And Dom is leaving Chicago to find her.”
“I should be finding her,” I argue, getting angry. “She’s mine.”
“You need to calm down,” he insists. “Your blood pressure was up this afternoon, and you’ve started swelling.”
“I need to find my fucking girlfriend.”
“Sal…” His expression is full of anguish. “She isn’t your girlfriend anymore. She doesn’t want to see you. I came up here against her wishes, and the shortened version of the last words she said to me was, “If you go up there, you can fuck off, too. I never want to see either of you again.”
“You chose me…”
“I chose you.”
With the fire in my mind rebuilding from desperation, I want to walk by Friday. I know it will help with the swelling. Deacon is with me as we walk out to the lake and stroll like snails along the dock.
“I’m angrier about the fact you broke your promise with Iris than I am about a son or a brother I didn’t even know I had,” he confides, watching over me like a hawk. “You broke your promise to me. I got mad, and I’m sorry. I just expected you wouldn’t leave her again. I thought you would find a way out of your father’s blackmail before you left Sugargrove. I figured you were staying.”
Scanning over the lake, I say, “He was going to let them file rape charges against you. That would’ve put you back in prison. Do you think I could handle that?”
“No, but you had a chance to do everything right. You could have stayed at Juliet with Iris, and you didn’t do that. You’ve got this huge family, but you don’t trust any of us, so what good are we to you? Where is your loyalty?”
“My loyalty is with The Unholy.”
“But it wasn’t,” Deacon ventures, picking up a rock from the wooden deck and throwing it into the lake. “You talk about Amber forsaking you; you forsook The Unholy by not trusting any of us.”
We’re quiet for a minute as a few ducks quack nearby. “I don’t know what you want me to say. What would make it better? Whose ass do I need to kiss to make all of this okay?”
Leaving Deacon, I turn towards the house, moving slowly and contemplating how I need to change things. He catches up, nudges my shoulder, and flirts, “Are you offering a rim job?”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
We stop to take a rest, and he gives a broad smile, knowing I’m going to be okay. It’s going to take some time to recover fully, and we don’t know what the lasting long-term side effects are, but they can’t be any worse than where I’ve already been.
“I forgive you for everything,” Deacon whispers. His blue eyes shimmer in the sun and their reflection between the sky and the water leaves me in awe. I wish I had my phone to take his picture. “No more secrets. No more lies. No more.”
With tears in my eyes, I confide, “I can’t keep denying who I am.”
“So, stop…” His declaration is my revelation to be free. “I’ve fucking got you. And there is nothing more I can do to prove that to you now, Sir.”
“Don’t.”
“You can’t take that away from me,” he hisses, ready to fight for what he believes is right. “I’ve earned the right to call you Sir and Master. You don’t get to pull out and break off this thing we have just because it’s a little uncomfortable for you. You want to talk about uncomfortable, Pretty Boy mafia son, I’ll tell you all about it. I tell you about kids at school fearing the biker kid until they found out he had a thing for dick. I’ll tell you about getting gang-raped under the bleachers and being called things so much worse than a faggot,” he pushes, crying through the tears and resurrecting before my eyes.
His truth is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed.
I cannot handle the emotion, and I buckle to my knees.
“You keep your ass on that throne, and you let me lick your fucking boots until you can offer praise, but don’t you fucking dare tell me to go away, Master Raniero. I promised you I would never leave. I got pissed off at myself and thought I failed you. I thought you were pulling the shit you were because you didn’t love me anymore.”
“I’ve loved you since day fucking one!” I shout out, letting the heavens hear my cry. “I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t even know I wanted you, but I did. And I do. I cannot do this without you. I’ll check out. I don’t know if I can go back to Boston.”
“You don’t get to do that,” Deacon prods, squatting and running his fingers through my hair. “No more checking out. You get up with that confident swagger, and you play these cards because your Master told you to. That is what you do.”
“I don’t know if I can…”
“For fuck’s sake Sal, Dom isn’t screwing you over any more than I am. He loves you, too. So, you’re going to get up off of your knees, march into Boston, and fake it until we figure this shit out because Iris needs you. Iris fucking loves the hell out of you. She is just hurting. You hurt her. You did that. If you wanted to get back at her for sticking a gun to your temple, you damn sure did that.”
He offers his hands, and I take them. “Can you handle being away from me?”
“I’m going to help Dom,” he stresses, holding onto me. “I have to go bring you back to your girls.”
The plural hurts, crashing into me like a giant tidal wave, as I try and comprehend Anna, Iris, and Raine are among the missing. I am Sal Raniero, a black ops agent with a focus on trafficking. I know this. I understand this.
But now, I’m the family waiting by the phone.
I’m the loved one screaming for someone to listen and begging for information. It doesn’t seem real. And yet, my trembling hands and racing heart are the only proof I need to know it is. We were had. Someone took advantage of us all. And the worst part is I feel like I failed Luca.
His Anna. My Iris. My baby girl.
They are gone.
Vanished. Abducted. Gone.
I cling to Deacon’s shoulders, threatening to fall again. “What if she doesn’t ever come back?” I question, thinking the worst as the pain burns with an intensity of a blow torch. “What if Mierne or Jack or whoever is behind all of this takes her from me? What if I never get the chance to make her Mrs. Raniero? What if they take that away from me?”
“Then they better watch out because The Unholy will rain an apocalypse. Just trust us. You built this. Trust us.”
He’s crying, full of rage; I’m deliriously filled with an unknown fear. I don’t know this; this isn’t real. There were no instructions for this in Kaci’s notes, logs, and files.
“I don’t know what to fucking do, Cruz.”
“Go to Boston, Nero.”
We muster our way back to the gravel path up to the house when I say, “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me shit.” He lights two smokes and gives me one. “But I would like to know why you are looking at property in Nebraska.”
I take a drag and glance down. “Because I may be your Master, but I can’t go back to Juliet ever again. It’s too addictive for me. I said my goodbyes to Texas, Sugargrove, and Juliet…and I meant those. I lose my shit, and all I can think about is controlling every little thing, and if the slightest fraction is off, I flare up like an inferno. I don’t know how to control what Luca gave me. And I can’t go back. I need someplace safe to live where I won’t be tempted. I need someplace to be alone where people won’t get burned by me. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
“And what about when Iris comes back?” he asks like it’s going to happen. He’s the light to my dark again. He is the eternal optimist, and I am…well, I am starting to feel like me again…and that feels damn good.
“Then I guess she moves to Nebraska with me, and we raise our daughter.”
“Ice water is fucking cold!” I declare on Sunday, my seventh day sober. “It hurts!”
Deacon laughs. “Just stay in there two more minutes,” he bargains, sitting on the toilet lid. “I’ve gotten myself into a mess of trouble with these two.”
“Are you texting Georgia again?”
“And your sister!” he exclaims, a blush of pink rising on his cheeks. “I wasn’t planning on either one.”
“We get what we need when we need it.”
“That’s almost positive for you,” he chides with a wink.
“Did you ever send Georgia a dick pic?”
His blue eyes shift around the room. “I think we’re up to a folder’s worth now.”
“Speaking of dick—mine looks like a goddamned turtle with antennas, can I please get out of here now?”
“Yes!” He stands to hand me a towel. “I think that maybe your last one, judging by the looks of your swelling. Good job there, Sally!”
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 53
