“Goodnight, Dark Prince.” She blows a kiss and I catch it.
“Hey,” I whisper as she turns back. “I love you.”
“I love you, Master.”
46
Stay In Your Own Goddamned Lane
I spend the day chasing a three-year-old in the park. We swing and slide and run through the creek and find frogs. We eat tacos. We sing songs. We skip after toads and chase butterflies.
Until she tugs on my jeans and says, “Mama says you keep a bu—er—fly!”
I smile and lift her high up above my head. “I do! Do you want to be one of my butterflies?”
“Uh huh! I do! I do!”
I notice Cody Cameron in his police car driving through the park. He nods and I walk over carrying Mae in my arms. Deacon steps out of the passenger seat in casual clothes and lays his forearms on the roof of the car with a compelling grin I can only describe as pure love.
“I never thought I’d see this,” he says, charming with those sad blue eyes. “Uncle Sally.” He ducks into the car and says, “Pick me back up.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” Cameron replies as Deacon knocks twice.
“Deeeee!” Mae squeals, wiggling in my arms and demanding to go see him. He walks around the car and scoops her up.
“How is my bug?” He tickles her belly and she giggles before planting little kisses all over his face.
I may be jealous.
Both ways.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I didn’t know how long I was staying.”
He nods and glances down. “You should come by my house later. We can watch the game and order a pizza.”
“I had pizza last night.”
“I’ll pick up burgers from Idamae’s…”
“Deal,” I snarl, patting his shoulder. I want to spend the afternoon with him. I want to kiss him. I want some intimate time with him. “No onions. No mayo.”
“Nero, we’ve been apart for a few months, but I will never forget how you like things.”
“Go Deeeee house!”
I give a puzzled look as he says, “You can come to Deeeee’s house this weekend.”
“Hey! Dumplin!” Amber says, walking from the parking lot.
“Mama!!!”
“I came to check on you,” she says, laughing. “But I see you’ve got some help. Hi, Deacon!”
He leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek, but the distance between them is obvious.
“You want to go have a popsicle?”
“Mmm,” Mae moans and loudly demands, “Mango!”
Taking the baby, she says, “Behave you two.”
We watch them walk off. “… Things aren’t good?”
He shakes his head staring at Amber and Mae at the ice cream truck. “No.”
“Why the hell is she broke?”
“Drugs.”
“She’s using…”
“Oh, yeah…” he says, lighting two smokes and handing me one. I grin and we walk down to the creek away from the playground. “Cameron busted a house recently. Her name was in their books. She isn’t clean in the least, Sal. Dale knows, but he’s got his plate full with Cas. They’re both on a bad train bound for nowhere but the morgue.”
“Why did no one tell me Dom was paying her for services?”
“He was?” He steps back with a shocked expression. “I didn’t know. I stayed out of that fucking mess, but I can tell you the calls to the Gennaro house for domestic disturbance were in the double digits.”
“Any idea where they are?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But the rumor mill around the station is that Dom went out to California. Ashley and Romeo could be anywhere.”
“We need to pray we find them before he does,” I say. “Do me a favor and don’t arrest Ashley.”
“Will do,” Deacon replies. “I’ve got extra officers on duty at night because it’s the most likely time for any of them to resurface.”
“What are you doing with Cameron?”
“I’ve been doing ride-alongs for the last few months, getting acquainted with the guys and stuff. I think we need a bigger budget.”
“How much?”
“If you want it as secure as I know you do, a few mil a year.”
“Take it out of our joint account, I’ll replace it.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me properly later.”
“You want one piece of meat or two in that bun?”
“One. Yours.” I smirk. “And on my burger, get three and we’ll split it.”
His devious grin shines a light into my darkest places.
And with Deacon, I know everything will sort itself out.
After many tears and tantrums—from both of us—I manage to pull away from Mae-Mae. Twenty-four hours in the presence of that doll has formed an impenetrable bond. She may as well be mine.
I say my goodbyes to Dale, Amber, and Cas, but they’re each different. Cas gets a simple hug because I don’t trust she won’t stab me in the back. Amber is a somber goodbye because if what Deacon says is true, I may never see her alive again. Dale embraces my body in those big arms and whispers, “I’ll think about it.” I give Mae a final kiss and she blows one to me.
“I love you Mae!”
“I wuv you, Sal!” Huge tears shower over her cheeks as she reaches out for me. I kiss her on the forehead and close my eyes. I pray my monster wins before evil does. “You come back!”
“I will,” I say with tears in my eyes. “Very soon!”
Heaven help the boys who come knocking one day.
I may just fire them off one-by-one and notch my belt to keep count.
I climb up into my new ride and Dale closes the door. “Send me the files.”
“I will,” I reply, laying my hand on his. “Thank you.”
I wave and back up, wishing this day would never end.
While Mae was napping after the day in the park, I talked to Dale about coming back to work for me. Me, specifically. Not, Sibyl. There isn’t anything wrong with Sibyl, but there is a responsibility that comes with signing on to a merc group that contract work doesn’t have. I told him about Je Suis, the command center I built in Nebraska, and he expressed a genuine interest. Finding things to do around the house was getting more difficult by the day, but he needed Cas and Amber to move out.
Serene had already volunteered to keep Mae if Dale wanted to go back to work. Her nanny, Rosalina, had been with Kade since he was three months old. The only thing holding Dale back was himself.
He feared failing me.
I called bullshit.
Stopping by the liquor store, I pick up a bottle of whiskey for me and a bottle of tequila for him. In the small grocery store next door, I buy a carton of smokes after briefly glancing at the lube. I decide I am overthinking our flirtation. We haven’t been together since ridding the world of Nissa six months ago.
Poor, poor Nissa.
I drive out to Deacon’s house near Little Bee, but I’m unsure if the dusty driveway with the dog is his. I snatch my phone and call his ass.
How could I not know where my lover lives?
This shit has got to change—fucking quick.
“Cruz.”
I snort. “I think you stole my greeting.”
He laughs. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m out on Del Rio Canyon Road by a rusted mailbox that has seen better days.”
“Turn left, baby,” his rough voice says. “Go about a mile in. Just keep following it.”
“What the hell did you buy?”
“A parcel of land—it’s 1200 acres.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Cruz,” I mumble, turning onto the property. It’s overgrown with brush but beautiful with the dappled light from the canopy of trees. The woodsy feel reminds me of The Dollhouse property.
“I needed room to breathe and I got it cheap.”
I stop at the rushing water that is about a foot deep. “Do I dri
ve through this creek?”
“You got a truck,” he insists, making fun of me. “I have a back entrance on Coronado Way that I can bring the bikes up when it floods.”
“… You bought a property that floods?”
“Hell yes… Just wait.”
“Holy mother of God,” I say, hitting the brakes and rolling down the window before the grand estate. The stately Victorian is falling apart. “How old?”
“According to the records, 1872,” he informs, puffing on a smoke. “Stop getting a boner over my house and get back here.”
I note the water lines. “Did it flood?”
“It has. The older couple renovated back in the sixties, but it flooded the year you were born. It hasn’t been touched since. All of their belongings are still in there because they were in the nursing home. The kids just wanted it gone.”
“How many square feet?”
“Over seven grand if it was restored by the right guy,” he suggests, teasing me. “Would you stop your dick drool and get back here…” He sounds anxiously excited that I am here, like the royal visitor from a far off land has traveled to see him.
This shit has got to fucking change.
“I’m going to hit you,” I warn, pulling around the house to the long stretch of open pasture to the tree line where he is standing in the driveway. I gun it for him as he grins wide. “It looks like a Craftsman!”
“It is…1920…built for the help. The original family owned all of this area and most of Little Bee. Just park anywhere.”
A couple bikes are in the brand new garage along with my black Challenger as I pull up behind it and stop. His truck is an F-250 beast that makes mine look like a pussy truck.
“What the hell?” I yell, waving my hand at his sweet ride. “Had to outdo me?”
“I got it used and cheap. They dogged it out and it’s got issues.”
“Why the hell did you buy this?”
He scans over the property with a proud connection to the land and homes. “I needed to sink 2.5 into something fast when I came home.”
“Where did you get the 2.5?”
“Ma stole it from Javier Diaz’ account after he died,” he says, nodding, like he can’t believe she did it.
“… She didn’t get it?”
“Fuck no,” he says, hopping the several feet onto the porch. “Bastard left it all to the kids who want nothing to do with him. I bet they don’t even know he died.”
“Who’s dog?”
“Neighbors. His name is Chubbs. He’s got a pit bitch he knocks up named Serendipity. She just had the most beautiful blue pups. I’m going to get one as soon as they’re done weaning.”
“It’s so fucking quiet out here.”
“Not a goddamned sound,” he says, opening the door. The wooden floor squeaks and creaks with every step. I notice the slope and it triggers memories for a minute. “Unless the other neighbors shotgun goes off. They like to shoot the hogs.”
“With a shotgun?”
“He’s ancient,” he excuses, noticing my unease. “You okay?”
“You need foundation work.”
“I know, I just moved in a month ago. I bought it when I got back from Japan, but I’ve been busy with work and staying with Ma.”
“Soon.” I calm the panic as he hands me a beer. “I’ll pay for it.”
“I don’t need your fucking money for my swamp shack.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t call it a swamp shack. More like a beautiful estate in need of some serious resto.” His small kitchen is filled with appliances from fifty years ago. The faded orange and yellow wallpaper looks to be from the seventies. All the rooms have that old brown paneling with the appearance of wood. The whole place is rather dark and bleak. It reminds me more of a sociopath’s home than somewhere Cruz would ever reside. It’s clean, but there is a musty faint odor and hints of a heavy smoker—perhaps a pipe or cheap tobacco. I note the car calendar with half-naked girls and all of the names he has labeled with a black Sharpie. “Are you dating?”
“Some,” he says, leaning against the cabinet. “It’s hard.”
“That’s more than some,” I mention at the dozen or more names.
“You know Cat’s name should be on there.”
Crossing one foot over the other, he blushes and ducks his head. His dirty blonde hair falls in his face. “I can’t date Cat. She’s in Boston. And I won’t move to Boston, no matter how much I…like her.”
“You almost said love!” I counter, pointing.
“I did not,” he argues, grinning like the devil. “Besides, you are her brother and that makes shit weird…fucking siblings is something you do.” I flip him off and pull a chair out from the round table to sit down. “How long you staying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Em?”
I wave my hand. “With Maka…Asia…Japan.”
“Ouch,” he hisses, pulling our burger from the oven. “That bad, hmm?”
“There is a reason I’m in Texas, Cruz,” I concede, sipping on the beer. “And I can assure you, it isn’t to assess your crooked floors.”
He pops a French fry in his mouth and pulls the tomatoes off his half of the burger and places them on mine. This guy knows me. I cannot stop grinning when he blinks up. “What?”
“I missed you.”
“I know,” he mutters, scanning over my ink. “And I’ve missed this part of you, Sal.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate because I know things haven’t been the same since I moved to Boston. I abandoned jeans and ripped t-shirts for suits and loafers. But even more importantly, I left a huge part of my heart in Texas three years ago.
Trudy warned me not to come back.
Good thing I never listen.
47
Fresh New Hands
The one lamp post pours light into the sheer curtains in his bedroom. The furniture is sparse, but the ornate queen wrought iron bed frame belonged to his father. He brought it up from New Orleans, where there is an entire warehouse full of antiques from Victor Cruz’s house. His ma contends he was conceived in this very bed.
“Stop hesitating!” I scold as my sweaty hands grip onto the edge of the bed. We are sprawled out across the middle, from side to side. “Do it!”
“We haven’t done this in ages,” he rebukes, fingering my puckered hole. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Who is the pussy now?”
“Me,” he admits. “I am. I can’t do any of this without you.”
“Fine,” I say, rolling over to my back and spreading my thighs. “Fuck my ass this way. Wait…what are you talking about?”
He falls to his hands, hovering over me, and kissing my lips. “I mean I bought this place because I thought you would love it. I don’t know how to do all of this.”
Stroking his dick slow, I mutter, “You bought me a kingdom between Little Bee and Sugargrove?”
“Yeah,” he coaxes. “I did.”
“Did you think I would be coming home?”
“It’s time,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “You need to get the fuck out of this farce with Em because it’s killing you. Think of all the shit you’ve done since being in Boston. You aren’t you anymore but some hollowed out version of a Sal we all once knew and loved. You’re a shell.”
“… A Sal shell?”
“Yeah.” We both laugh and fall into a tangle of limbs and sheet. We’re blazing hot with a fiery core once again, only this time I don’t think either one of us want to extinguish the volatile inferno. I feel the steady rock of his hips as my erection presses against his belly. “Just come home to me, baby.”
Shit.
“The hell you say,” I mutter as the agony brings a gasp from my lips. My heart radiates with a deep savage pain. I can’t lose him again. “Say it again.”
“Just come home to me, Sir.”
My cock throbs. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re broken. Those sad blue eyes tie a noose
around every piece of me. And you lure me in. Roll over, bitch.” I don’t have to tell him how I need his head down and ass up. Smacking his ass cheek hard with my hand, I contend, “I need this.”
“It’s yours—all of it,” he mumbles against the sheet as I fire off another pop against his ass. I nudge my dick closer to his exit and know this is the line we have drawn. If I ingest this moment, I won’t recover my addiction to Deacon Cruz ever again. He isn’t the mountain but the drop into the abyss, and I must trust he will catch my fall.
After years of traversing the cataclysmic topography together, we arrive at the foot of the nefarious gate. We will march, side by side up the steep, rocky incline, and plunge to our death. If we die…and we may not…but the if brings on the notions of gambling in a game I know we will never win.
I must accept defeat.
And that alone is the challenge.
We cannot win against our enemies. We can rescue the princess from the tower and bring her back to the kingdom, but there are no assurances here. There are no guarantees of safety, implied or otherwise. We are the sons of Gods and Kings; it is a given, violence will swirl in our very breath for the rest of our existence. We are caught up in the maelstrom of another man’s war and our sole focus must be survival.
How I come to all of these conclusions with my mushroom pushing into Deacon’s tight asshole is beyond me, but I do. The lean of the room challenges every linear concept in my mind. It is the madness in the mayhem, the tension of the storm—the hurricane we know is coming and it is too late to evacuate. We cannot escape her surge.
Iris may drown all of what we built to save her.
The amelioration of our lives in vain.
And when I succumb to those waves, I want to go down with my fingers in one man’s hand. And he is a Saint, where recklessness and rebellion meet to upsurge a beast of his own creation. He is my warrior, my tactician, my strategist…and my lover.
I pull back and thrust in hard, giving him the full impact of all that I am, all I have ever been, and all I promise to become. A moan escapes from his lips as I fall prey to the demons sitting deep in my dark soul, coursing over like tiny sharpened grates, shedding my skin, and baptizing me in the blue waters to be pure again.
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 37
