Iris still isn’t one-hundred percent comfortable with Emily because she knows of our past, and fears my feelings will come into play. We don’t talk about the lies I’m telling or the elaborate hoax we’re pulling because all we think about is living to tomorrow. There will be a time and place to share these things, but privacy—for her sake and my own—became paramount with the shift in my perspective. With Iris’ encouragement, I vowed to protect Emily vigilantly. Despite her doubts, the last thing she ever wants is an innocent caught in the crossfire.
And Emily is sinless.
We all understand I will hurt Em at some point; I don’t know when and I don’t know how. She is an uncorrupt bystander stuck in the battlefield of our holy war. She refuses to leave my side, and I won’t remove her from my collection of precious things. We play it day by day, taking it as it comes.
My father thinks he has me right where he wants me, but he’s full of shit. And the mind games he plays are nothing compared to the new tribe of ten in The Unholy.
We paid Jack Kerris to take Iris and Anna to Arkansas, and then we sent him up to Massachusetts, knowing full well everyone was watching his every move. In exchange, we promised to forgive his involvement with sharing my case file with Dr. Harry. He’d keep his medical license and that was reason enough for his participation. Dom sweetened the deal by promising—with his fingers crossed—not to make a play for Les Pétales, and thus, our deception commenced.
I was running the goose chase, building the labyrinth, and lining up our ducks. Our solid ten were the only ones who knew the whole truth. I didn’t tell the full details to: Trudy (too worried) or Anna (too stressed) or Cat (too horny). I had to learn to remove and rebuild to achieve the perfect balance of personalities. The Unholy needed to assimilate and work as one without any rough spots or flaws.
My mafia outfit must be fluid.
Meanwhile, Iris and Anna flew off in one of the Sibyl jets from Little Rock to Los Angeles. From there, Anna went to San Francisco to stay with Moses for a few weeks.
Kary Vega secured Iris’ transport to Asia where she spent several months hopping from Japan to Australia until Mock could wire up the residence while the fisheries deal closed with Phantom Storm, and the houses sold. Cat Raniero now owns a home in Guam as well as Nonna’s house, and no one is any the wiser. Mock agreed to do it all for nothing if I would consent to him taking Naby. Of course, I agreed.
As soon as I have Iris back in my possession, Jack Kerris will die for the things he did to Emily and Iris. I haven’t made up my mind up about Mierne, and neither has Dom, which is why we’re keeping her locked down. She threw Jack under the bus really fucking fast.
To me, that’s a red alert.
Plus, she has a lot of expensive shoes I know Nico would enjoy.
“I don’t want to go,” she mutters, crying. “But I know…”
I know, too.
Hanging up is the equivalent of a thousand razor blades peeling off my skin. The pain hurts worse than I ever imagined. And admittedly, I’m a slut for a good round of torture, but saying our parting words mutilates my soul with unimaginable cruelty.
“Have I asked you to marry me today?”
“Mhmm,” she lightly giggles. “I don’t think so, Master Nero.”
A stupid grin smacks across my face as the tears wash over my cheeks. “Marry me, Iris?”
“A thousand times I will say yes, Lucas,” she answers, sobbing. “I will marry you for all eternity.” I hear her breakdown as she succumbs to the heartache. “Hurry. Please. I don’t want to lose to you.”
“Even if you lose and call me, you’ll always win,” I maintain, closing my fingers to a fist and opening them wide. I want to hold her hand. I want to touch her skin. I want to kiss her lips goodnight and cradle her in my arms. “Because you will never lose me.”
“You make a girl not want to compete,” she sasses, trying to recover. “I should take the loss just to hear your voice tomorrow.”
“Take it, baby,” I encourage through gritted teeth as I stand up. I cannot handle the impending silence in the phone laying down. “Spread your wings and claim me, because I am yours. More than words…”
“I love you, Sal,” she breathes.
“I love you, Angel baby.”
The phone clicks.
And I fall to my knees with a howl.
His hand is on my shoulder in less than ten-seconds. He doesn’t say anything because there is nothing to say. Nothing can make this better. And the only thing that could make it worse would be his leaving.
I trust Deacon will never leave my side.
His fingers ruffle through my hair, and he pulls. I’m so cold, aware, and lost. I close my eyes, replacing the pain in my heart with the tug against my scalp. “Do it, Cruz,” I command, crying out the only words I need to say. “Do it.”
I get up from the floor, and his hands undo my belt. My lip quivers as his eyes cast an intense glare into my soul. He understands me.
Bravely, he slips his hand around my shaft, stroking my cock and reigniting my erection. Leaning into his chest and laying my fingers on his shoulder, I bridge the gap between our mouths and flick my tongue over his lip. He grips behind my neck and kisses me hard as I sob, “God, Deacon. Make it go away.”
My jeans drop from my hips to the floor. His hands smooth over my ass, and I bend onto the bed. I hear the drawer open, and he walks to the other side.
“Give me your hands.”
I lay them on the bed, above my head, as he fastens the zip ties to my wrists tight, easing my anxiety. My first hit of a very potent drug to silhouette the torment.
“You are going to be okay,” he assures through my sobs. “I’ve got you.”
His even-paced stride around the bed continues to drip his narcotic into my veins, hot and comforting, like an electric blanket. I need more, and he serves, taking the crop from the hook on the wall and tapping over my flesh. This is the warm-up before his performance—his submissive masterpiece—relishing in his Master’s masochism.
The strikes come fast, welting my subconscious to a place of accepted surrender where I find the will to behave and keep my pent up violence in check, as he retracts my hatred from the situation.
My ass provides stress relief.
With every lash getting harder and spreading red into my skin, I moan and buck and beg, but he learned torture from a bastard. His continued marks strengthen our intimate bond as the deeper we delve into the psyche—the further we dive into the physical.
I trust him; he trusts me.
“Fuck me.”
I anticipate his thrust into my asshole, but he hastily flips my body. “Scoot up.”
Straddling over my frame, Cruz thumps his hard cock on my lips. “Suck me, Nero.”
I gurgle as he relentlessly bucks into my mouth, gagging me. Slobber flows onto my soul patch. Tears sting from the corners of my eyes. His blue eyes gaze down as he pumps with absolute dedication, isolating his subservience to me. I feel his heartbeat against my tongue, filling my emptiness with his being.
He rips his dick from my lips and rolls my body back over. His crawls down, spreading my thighs and kneeling between them. The sounds of ripping the wrapper open and the pump of lube send a shiver through me. He strums my asshole and strokes his cock, bumping it into the fleshy part of my cheek as a tease.
“Breathe, Raniero!”
Driving his shaft hard into my exit, I know I’ll be okay. I know I’ll get through this. All the doubt and fear leave in an instant. Every thrust brings my mind back to a balanced, peaceful place. Running his fingers over the ink of my Iris Amarie, he growls, “You’re so fucking hot. I’m gonna nut soon.”
I’m humping my hips with him as I imagine Iris soaking around my cock while Deacon rhythmically fucks my ass. I’m gliding into her as he’s pounding into me.
We move as one; love in unison.
“Do it!” I beg as my fingers clutch the edge of the bed. “Come now!”
H
is pleasure echoes with clarity throughout the room as I spit my cum onto the soft fabric. I’m panting; he’s huffing. We’re sweating.
“I fucking love your stupid ass,” Deacon mumbles, carefully pulling out and slapping my butt with his hand. The rawness of this love is our private sanctuary. No one needs to know; this is between three. “You know that?”
With a flirtatious smirk, I snicker, “You’re going to have to wash your sheets.”
His blue eyes tempt the line of sensual seduction as he rumbles, “Yes, Sir.”
I love this part of him. We bend the norms. We twist the labels. I am his Dominant, and he is my submissive doing as he’s told—vigilantly loving and actively providing for my innermost sanctum – my pain slut.
Pieces of the night before rest on the floor as I peek open one eye. The zip ties, cane, condom wrappers, and lube wait to be picked up and put away as the phone rings again. My legs are twisted up in Deacon’s goose down comforter. The soft, white fluff nestles against my rock hard cock, urging my sleepy waking bucks, as my ass stays up and uncovered. My legs split like open scissors around the plushness. I lunge towards the phone and spot an envelope.
“… Raniero,” I groggily rattle.
“I’m sending you a video clip one of the agents found while scanning through the security footage,” Dom barks, pissed off.
“… Of what?”
“You’ll know when you see it…”
Blinking to clear my eyes, I mutter, “Hold on.”
I press the arrow, playing the video. It is an empty shadowy hallway. I see Deacon leave. One minute and four-seconds later, Amber appears outside of the door and hands a brown paper bag off to Mitch. The clip cuts to a shot in the parking lot of the escaped Handcock, standing outside of the getaway vehicle. Mitch comes up with the paper bag and the pair leave. We were infiltrated and under siege by my mistress.
“… What the fuck?”
Replaying the nightmare, I watch the exchange of what I can only imagine were Deacon’s swimmers. My body shivers, knowing Amber’s deceit jars my serene slumber with an ice-cold deluge.
Get up, muthafucka.
With my voice trembling, I grumble, “Who found this?”
Dom pauses. “Do you want to know?”
“Ya, I do.”
“Prissy Pants.”
“Jaid,” I snort, laughing. “Mierne said she was the most dangerous player on the team. Leave it to her to find this.” Cracking my knuckles, I close my eyes. “Whatever Cas and Mitch are involved in, so is my former practice slut.”
“Yeah,” Dom acknowledges, exhaling deeply. “My only question is, what do you want to do about it, Boston?”
Sitting up, I stroke my chin, understanding every one of my tribe is in danger. I must do something to prevent the enemy from her opportunistic plays. “Have her immediately picked up… and we’ll become eleven if Jaid is auditioning with intel like that.”
“Fair enough with Jaid,” he agrees with a serious tone. “Where are we taking Amber?”
“There is one more house not in use.”
His breathing stops. “You cannot send her back to her hometown. The Allegiance is running rampant in the Ozarks. Stanis and his men will eat her alive.”
“Let them feast,” I hiss, lighting a smoke. “No boundaries. No bars. No perimeter. No discipline. Penetration attacks without warning to those with Machiavellian ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Snakes live in jungles. Rats stay in cages. Sharks remain in the sea,” I growl, lacing my fingers in each other and cracking all of my knuckles. “And monsters like me compromise the barriers. We break the fence. Stalk the prey. And punish without conscience.”
“Salvatore.” The tone in his voice expresses concern for my sanity. “You can’t…”
“My former mistress just fucked her sweet ride for the final time.”
With a light chuckle, he whispers, “You best be certain because she won’t survive.”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”
“No,” he alleges, understanding those who cross The Unholy will suffer. All the contaminated must be eradicated. “You best not change your mind.”
“The change already occurred,” I inform, rising naked. “I’m done with second chances, complacent agreement, and denial of identity. I’m done living for everyone else. It’s time to be selfish. It’s time to be a bastard. It’s time to be a Raniero.”
“… Is Iris aware of this?”
“The future Mrs. Raniero is very aware of this,” I snicker, opening the curtains to see Deacon’s pearly white ass swimming in the chilly pool. I overtly stare at the man collared by me. Emily waves at me from the garden and everything is fine.
This is our new normal.
Deacon Cruz, the dirty biker and perfect submissive, belongs to me. I like owning precious, rare things, just like Luca Raniero. For now, I keep my little butterfly on an island; he built a sanctuary for his at Juliet.
“And so is the Master’s ride.”
The rest of the world better catch the fuck up because the wickedly focused consume the recklessly wild. When they accidentally trip into the darkened abyss and skid down the drain, the triumvirate awaits, snapping with hungry teeth and insatiable lust and feeding their unholy minions as we await for our time in the sun.
It will come.
It will come.
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Every Minute I Love You
(a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)
RELEASING OCTOBER 1
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Ms. Samuels Notes
Dear Reader,
Famous Last Words is the hardest book I’ve ever written. (And I have a lot to say, so bear with me.)
For those who know my dark work, that may come as a surprise, but my reasons are multi-faceted. Not only was I dealing with Sal’s identity and coming to terms with who he is on many levels, but I also had to learn how to put in ear plugs and compose the story I wanted. The expectations for Sal and Iris to be together and live their HEA are great, and they will get there. I promise! But much like life is a journey, so is the journey of their epic love story.
Sal is an asshole; Iris is a bitch.
They’re both growing, and eventually, coming together.
It’s important to remember when I started with Sal, he was nineteen. He had lived in this bubbled life of his family and ended up straying from that only to end up in Kaci’s maze. In some regards, this book represents Sal’s first foray into figuring out who he is without any other influence.
And Sal is breathing a sigh of relief.
I’m sure you have some questions and I imagine one of the bigger ones is—WHERE IS IRIS?
I included very little of Iris on purpose. I wanted you, Dear Reader, to feel the absence and excitement right along Sal, and I didn’t think I could accomplish that in the traditional first-person dual POV narrative. I debated this with myself for months. Even though I wanted this book to be written from almost a pure Sal-standpoint, I knew many of the fangirls—bless you—were expecting Iris. By isolating Sal, I think we get to experience his step into adulthood.
That said…even though Juliet started with Iris, the whole world was never Iris’ story. My entire list—all 22 books—is about Sal and his story. He has been the focal point since the very first paragraph and he will continue to be the focal point until I complete the Juli
et world.
The main theme of this book is IDENTITY.
I’m not saying too much about Sal and his newfound identity. He’s not much for labels. Love is love. And that is enough.
His acceptance was key. Sal needed to truly take a good look inwards and have that reflection as Deacon poignantly put it, “I mean you are a bit of a slut, Sal.” We must learn to love ourselves before we can love someone else. Sal is one step closer to loving who he is and being whole.
With his acceptance, the next logical step is standing up for what he wants. It’s progressive and I think at the end of FLW, we started to see the hints of his finding the ground and saying what he wants and being okay with those decisions. I never wanted to build him up just to have his legs kicked out from under him. He’s maturing and developing as a character and we’re closer to seeing the man he is in Unspoken, etc (which is set in 2018) or the short story The Difference Between (which is set in 2019) than I think we’ve ever been. He’s got a real growth arch and I couldn’t be happier with him.
I still don’t like some of the things he does, but I have to stay true to him and not interfere. This is his story; I’m just the messenger.
I had hoped to have the book completed in June for Pride. However, life sometimes veers into my plans. I’ve had a tremendous amount of heartache, pain, and loss—pure grief—in the last few months. And I know that shows in these pages as well.
Writing is my therapy, my way of dealing with things, and how I work it out. It is my drug of choice and my addiction. I’m a junkie for the words. The story is the same as it was when I brainstormed while writing Salt Kissed Love, but I didn’t anticipate his words making me cry, scream, and laugh the way it did. Famous Last Words was cathartic and integral to my healing and recovery, and I want to thank you, Dear Reader, for standing by my side, reading my pages, and giving me all the love, I could ever need.
Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2) Page 60
