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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Fuck my ass, and we’ll talk afterward.”

  His eyes opened wide like a deer in the headlights. He never expected my consideration, much less my demand. “… You want me to?”

  “I want you to put your dick in my ass, and when I tell you to swat my back with the belt, I expect you to do it.”

  His eyes skittered to the ground. “Sir, I am asking you to be the Dominant…”

  “I’m well aware of what you want, and I’m telling you how to serve me.”

  The lightbulb went on in his mind. “You need the pain…”

  “I need the pain.”

  “Is the anal necessary?”

  I shot him an intense glare. “The anal is always necessary. I like my dick sucked, none of that spitting bullshit, either. If your mouth is on my dick and I come, you guzzle my load and then release.”

  Amused, he snickered as I took the crucifix from my neck and placed it on him. He was now my collared submissive.

  Good.

  Calm down, boy.

  I’m about to give you a hell of a ride.

  On the bayou in 2011, his submission made a Master out of me, and I’ve loved him ever since. Through highs and lows, my primal obsession over Iris and compulsion to destroy my father, Deacon Cruz has seen it all, stood by my side, and never asked for anything. Good subs never do.

  I know the question—did he do it?

  Well, we’re here, aren’t we?

  We were the most unlikely of couplings, even as friends—his bad boy biker to my dark mafia prince—but it worked because we established the rules from the word go. He struggled with my stunt to earn money in the spring, but we fought about it and made up. I had no desire to be with any other man.

  In Deacon and Iris, I found heaven.

  And not having them lost me to hell.

  His blessed beautiful body spreads before me, ready for the taking. I could easily be victorious in kink competitions with Deacon. I tilt my head thoughtfully, snapping mental pictures of his hands and fingers. Though the thick bands are unnecessary, the cuffs on his wrists turn me on, and his thin, chiseled frame portrays the gear excellently. Our shapes differ significantly from one another. He’s slightly taller with a confident build; I’m intimidatingly stocky and solid.

  He’s the sleek ride on two-wheels; I’m the muddy 4x4.

  My eyes scan over the ink on his arms and the smile I adore. The light undulation of his rib cage and lined abs drive my mind to a place of lascivious madness as my eyes prowl over the slight curvature of his profoundly thick, veined cock.

  Lowering between his legs, I dip down to taste his shaft. The hint of a salty droplet hits like snow, melting on my tongue, and I fly high, swooping over and sheltering his body. We are vampires feasting in a frolicsome dance as we collide in unison to the holy, sacred temple of our purest spirits.

  And I claim his unrest as my own.

  Despite maintaining I didn’t need an escort back to Boston, Deacon rode my ass in his rental car back to Nonna’s house. I figured he’d done enough. We scrubbed and cleaned the entire cabin as it transformed back from private rehab facility to vacation spot. He helped me load my gear, and we parted ways with a hug.

  Or so I thought.

  Now, three hours later, he is unpacking my truck. I’m helping, but I’m slow. And frankly, he looks too cute in well-fitting ripped jeans and beanie to tell him to go away.

  It’s a weird moment for me, having him here. I think Nonna would’ve loved him. Would she have understood? I don’t know, but that’s not for me to decide. Without a doubt, she would’ve been smitten with his gentle demeanor and kind heart.

  Just like I am.

  My phone rings in my back pocket. “Raniero.”

  “Hello, my Italian dahhhlinnngggg!”

  “You’ve got something.”

  Georgia laughs. “I do, indeed! And you better be sitting down because this one is a goodie. So, you want to know what Raniero Fisheries owns or do you want the info on Julie Kildare?”

  “Holy shit, you hit doubles!” I stop sorting out the groceries in the kitchen and pull out a chair from the breakfast table. “I’m down. Give me Kildare first.”

  “Julie Kildare was picked up by none other than Chance Ballister and his team. She was eliminated because of her knowledge concerning a trafficking ring running along the Canadian border from New York to Washington.”

  I’m not surprised, but slightly put off I didn’t find the ring to begin with. “How did she know about it?”

  “Because she was paid by Ballister to recruit potential candidates. See, Miss Julie Kildare was a popular girl, a cheerleader, and her parents were both heavily involved in local politics. Julie knew all the kids, and they trusted her because, by all accounts, she was an innocent, young, churchgoing–type girl. When in reality, she was no better than the rest of the human smugglers.”

  “You’re telling me this sixteen-year-old girl was running plays between her supposed friends and the traffickers?”

  “Bingo!”

  Pulling a smoke out, I can’t find my lighter. I motion to Deacon who flicks his, and I exhale, “How did you find this out?”

  “I searched through the complaint logs, and you’ll never guess who knew.”

  “Do tell.”

  I hear the wind-up toys going off. “None other than Dr. Jack Kerris, who also happened to examine a handful of the girls before they disappeared. And his report is significant.”

  “How significant?”

  “I mean Jack knows lots of things,” she emphasizes, suggesting more. “But slow down hotness. Let’s go back to these recruited girls for a moment. They went from Julie Kildare to Chance Ballister to Jack Kerris and were then sold off to the highest bidder. So far, I think I have about fourteen girls from the area.”

  “… The area in rural New York?”

  “Yeah,” she sighs sniffling. “And this is the part that’s going to bite. I went through all the financials from Sibyl for the previous ten years, but I couldn’t find anything unusual. Accounts receivable and payable all check out like basic normal stuff, but I kept seeing a client name I didn’t recognize from 2007 to 2011. I know who our clients are, and these payments were huge—like millions, Sal.”

  “… What was the name?”

  “The name was an alias, doing business as, Henderson Noose, LLC.”

  With Deacon propped against the counter, I lean back and run my hand through my hair as my mind instantly connects between Emily’s rapist that I killed, Eric Henderson, and the noose the murder put around my neck—or the slave collar to the Master in my father that I cannot fucking stand.

  “And Henderson Noose bought Sibyl in 2001. And it’s owned by…”

  “My father…”

  “Technically, no—it’s under Raniero Fisheries.”

  I’m beyond livid, breathing heavily with a rapid heartbeat, as Deacon looks over concerned. “You mean for six years, I’ve been feeding his goddamned machine. He knew where we were and dodged our arrow at every fucking corner.”

  “Yes, but…” she giddily says. “There is a snag in the contract.”

  “What kind of snag?”

  “The previous owners of Sibyl made it so the two cannot be divided. If you buy Raniero Fisheries, you also get the following – and you should probably stay on your ass – Sibyl, Archer Agency, four homes located in some very bizarre locations, a meditation center in Colorado, and the former Delirium clubhouse.”

  “Holy fuck…”

  “Blood money is big money, and Luca liked to invest. Now once it is sold, it can be divided, but Cesario himself cannot divide it without an incredibly expensive legal battle, which I’m not sure he would win…and there is a reason for that.”

  “Who owned it before Cesario?”

  “Luca Raniero originally formed Sibyl for none other than Jake Ballister.”

  Understanding how the past dictates my future, I mutter, “Old Poppa.”

  “Luca was quite mod
ern in his thinking. He knew if he could hire merc agents to work for others, they’d indirectly be working for him. It was smart.”

  “He was incredible.”

  “But apparently, Chance believed he had a right to Sibyl, and Luca looped it into the fisheries contract. If Dom hadn’t taken care of him, I’m certain it was only a matter of time before…”

  “Cesario would’ve,” I interject, strumming my fingers. “How much?”

  “A lot,” she warns, coughing. “His version of chump change is significant.”

  “Why won’t he win the legal battle?”

  “Your grandfather was a brilliant man, Sal. Luca asked The Four Horseman to witness the signing between him and his son because he knew how unscrupulous Cesario was. Angelo Gennaro, Victor Cruz, Luca, and Cesario Raniero were all in attendance. Delarte Cristos was not in attendance because he didn’t agree with the deal.”

  Pausing for a moment, I counter, “Because Cristos was in bed with Cinco and owning Delirium went against that. And that is why my father is getting such an enormous piece of the Cristos Casino pie because he agreed to sell the fisheries. Cristos did me a favor. He knew it was all tied together like a fucking shibari tree.”

  “Very good, probably, and interesting simile,” she praises with a squeal. “I’m glad you’re coming back to me.”

  Funny part is I’m not so sure I am.

  “Who was the witness, Georgia?”

  The dick, balls, and boob wind-ups are going all at once. I’ve been on the phone with her enough to know how she is. “Who do you think?”

  “Anna.”

  “You get an A+!”

  “Fuck.”

  No, I get a living nightmare.

  I went through hell only to land in the dungeon of the demon.

  “We need Anna.” With Dom on the phone, I keep my mind from thinking about Deacon leaving and the goodbye kiss we shared. His generous lips invited a blowjob on my grandmother’s sofa as my hand graciously stroked him off. I have his cum stain on my jeans and the smell of his dick in my hand. I don’t want to detox off of him. I want more. I crave more—more control of his total being, more of his kneeling, and more of his clamped hole tightening around my shaft as I’m shooting a full load. “There is no not finding her.”

  With careful consideration, Dom proposes, “What if we come in with an offer so large he cannot turn it down?”

  “We’re tied up in the Cristos Casino,” I sigh, acknowledging how hard my father fucked The Unholy in our non-lubed asshole. “He knew I would put almost everything we had to get into the Casino.”

  “No,” Dom calmly corrects. “The Unholy are tied up in the Cristos Casino. I can get the money if you want to try and swipe up the deal, but I need to know right now.”

  I hated the idea of Dom borrowing money.

  His familial money was locked up without a marriage. The estate terms were easy to read. He must be married and living with his spouse for twelve months before any funds could be obtained. The same marriage I destroyed with doubt. I feared he was pulling away from The Unholy, and the last thing we needed was Dom Gennaro with Daddy’s substantial mafia money. Still, he and Jaid married in the summer, and I pushed back months in our growth because I failed to trust.

  Stroking my overgrown facial hair, I ponder, “We still have to find Anna.”

  “Yes,” he snorts as I flick Deacon’s lighter on my jeans. “And we’re going to, but maybe if we calm down one stress point, we can make headway with the other.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Knowing all of this,” Dom replies, thoughtfully. “I would almost guarantee your father has a hand in it, but something is outstanding about that Sal.”

  Cracking my neck, I hiss, “What good could come from Anna and Iris being gone?”

  “He won’t kill them, Boston,” he cautiously points out. “And neither can anyone else. As long as he thinks he can use Iris’ strings to manipulate the puppet in you, they’re safe.”

  With my temper igniting, I assert, “Jesus, can’t I just go over to the house and put a bullet in his brain?”

  “I wouldn’t suggest that, not now,” he warns.

  “He’s got me in a damn noose!” I burst out, unable to deal with this.

  “Henderson Noose to be exact.”

  “Thanks,” I smart off, unamused. “He’s circling me like a damn shark, threatening to ram the box out from under me, and all I want to know is why does he fucking hate me so goddamned much?”

  “I wish I had an answer for that.”

  I pick at the loose threads on my jeans, wondering where Deacon is going. He didn’t say where other than he was helping Dom. “Where are you at?”

  “I’ve set up command in Scarlet House,” he informs. “I’ve secured twenty units to continuously work around the clock in the private dungeon dorms on the fourth floor. And the basement dungeon is nice for my office.”

  I can just imagine Juliet turned into base command for The Unholy.

  Sizzlin’ hot.

  “Ya, I know it is,” I say, tugging my hair as memories of Iris flare in my mind. What I wouldn’t give to take a bubble bath there with her again. What I wouldn’t give to have a war with the flour from biscuits dusting everywhere. What I wouldn’t give to…whip her ass. Releasing my hair, I grip the arms of the chair.

  I’m an addict.

  There will forever be a temptation.

  “… Do I even want to know who you are entertaining?”

  “You’d laugh at the irony if I told you about my attendees.”

  I stretch my fingers, release the tension, and try to pop my knuckles. It hurts too much. “Do you think Tristan Kerris knows?”

  “My best guess is no, but I’ll have Georgia run a full background.”

  Feeling a bit worn out, I remark, “Have fun with Ashley.”

  With a deep chuckle, he concedes, “It’s not just Ashley. It’s Ashley, her sister Allie, and my new ex-wife.”

  “You’re a slut for nerds.”

  “I always was, Boston.”

  Trusting my one true Daddy, I smile. “Tell Prissy I said hi.”

  “I will.”

  68

  You Can Have Two

  Pulling the Porsche up in front of Emily’s house on late Friday afternoon, I step out of the car in my off-white sweater, black jeans, and Bollé shades.

  “Sal!” she screams from the doorway and comes running towards me. She jumps without any hesitations, and I spin her round and round. She kisses me. “I’ve missed you so much! How was your business trip? Oh! My! God! I got flowers!”

  Emily is always either rambling or completely silent. There is never a middle ground. And I hate to say how devastatingly charming I find it because I shouldn’t feel anything. My emotional map went off-roading, and I landed deep in the jungle with lush and thick fauna.

  I see nothing but green.

  “I missed you,” I reply, taking a deep whiff of her hair. She smells sweet like bubblegum, which fits her exuberant personality. “The business trip was long and hard,” I snarl, remembering the last night with Deacon. “I’m ready to have a relaxing weekend.”

  I’d trade this for a vegetarian pizza, some football, and Iris sucking me.

  Can I have what’s behind that curtain instead?

  No matter how many deals I make with the devil, I know there is nothing I can do. I have to trust the family—Sal’s team—I built to bring my girl home to me. If I attempt to counterattack the devil myself, I lose the game. I have no doubt my father would brutally hurt Iris. He would make Mitch’s turkey baster full of Cruz look like a ride on a merry-go-round.

  I set her down, and we grab her bags from inside as I play the role of the attentive boyfriend. This shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. I serviced plenty of female clients and kept my emotions on the back burner for years. There were only a couple – Ella Hemsworth and Mierne Risen – that ever got under my skin.

  My how things have changed.
r />   Now, Ella and Kit both have a position at Juliet, and I want to kill Mierne.

  “Can I drive?” Emily bounces with a wide smile. “Please!”

  Her boobs are just big enough to make this worth it. Maybe I should hold off and make her do it for about five minutes…on my face.

  Will you bounce all weekend?

  “Absolutely,” I say, beaming a charming grin. I walk around to see her inside. “I double-checked our reservation at the bed and breakfast.” I turn on the GPS and pop my phone into the holder. “Drive when you’re ready, m’lady.”

  “Oh, wow!” Her blue eyes are saucers staring at the lovely Victorian place on the screen. She taps the button, and we go. Her hand stays on my thigh in the passenger seat. We get to the freeway when she whispers, “Lean that seat back and close your eyes.”

  Falling asleep on the ride to our romantic weekend, I feel like a schmuck, but it must say something about Emily and trust.

  And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  “Talk to me,” Emily says at the small diner in town. She’s sipping coffee while I have my tea. We have mammoth burgers, and I ended up eating three-quarters of mine, which is the most I’ve eaten in a while. Em can fuck with some fries, dipping them in her hot sauce and ketchup mixture. I scoffed at first, but it’s not that bad.

  “I’m an open book, ask away.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asks as the waitress brings our enormous slice of Brown Sugar Praline Pound Cake. Her eyes light up as she bites her lip. “That is…magnificent!” She glances to the waitress and asks, “Can we have another slice to go?”

  “Sure,” she replies. “Will this be one check or two?”

  Em says, “Two.”

  “One,” I correct, giving her a harsh but playful look. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not expecting you to pay for everything, Sal.”

  “No, I am though. I invited you.”

  She digs into the cake and offers me a bite. The sweetness is divine, much like she is. Her smile is natural and those blue eyes remind me of Deacon’s as he spewed white-hot cum against my belly by the fire.