Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Go! Go!” Q says as I plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll finish this later. I will pray for you and yours, Salvatore.”

  I follow Deacon as we dash through the hallways and take the staircase to the basement PACU. Dom is the only patient. I step to the end of his bed. “You fucking scared the shit out of me.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he groggily mumbles, reaching for me. I lightly grip his hand and dip to kiss his cheeks. He presses his lips to mine handing off the proverbial baton. “You need to lead this…”

  “You aren’t dying.”

  “No,” he replies with a light smile. “But I’m not you. I was never you.”

  As much as I want to stop the tears, I can’t. “You are a great man.”

  “I am a Gennaro,” he persists through the lesson. “And you are not. You have a legacy as spectacular as Iris.”

  “I’m just the lowly kid from the North End.”

  “There was nothing ever lowly about you, Boston.” His fingertips brush over my cheek. “You need to go finish this while I rest.”

  I reverently kiss his hand. “I will, Sir.”

  “Salvatore,” he whispers, staring with those penetrating green eyes. “Go.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  With a determined swagger, I arrive at the warehouse close to eleven that night in my—also too small—black tuxedo. I’m starting to think maybe Cat is right about my getting fat. Deacon reassured me that is not it. I stop to light a smoke before opening the trunk of Iris’ pony.

  With the cigarette dangling in my mouth, I carry the large cardboard box and unlock the door. My mouth tries to drop open at the sight of Ashley. The putrid stench is stomach curdling as her bloodied body is mutilated in horrific ways and the only article remaining on her body is her fucking shoes—red stilettos.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, stepping further inside. “… Is she alive?”

  “She’d prefer to not be,” he casually responds, digging in the box. “Holy shit, you brought calzone!” Immediately, he unwraps it and starts scarfing the damn thing.

  “Did she piss and…”

  “Oh, yeah,” he garbles out, consuming the food like a ravenous beast. “It was fucking terrible. I was giving her the D and she shit all over the goddamned floor. Why are you all dressed up?”

  “What the hell did you do?” I ask, studying her almost corpse. “Please tell me Jack is still among the living.”

  “I haven’t touched that bastard,” he says, opening the container of cheese sticks. “You want one?” He holds the tomato sauce dipped, crusty fried cheese out to me.

  “No,” I say, snarling and shaking my head, still aghast at the atrocity. “Thank you.”

  “They’re amazing!”

  “Nico, you are covered in blood and shoveling food in your mouth. Does something about this not seem off to you?”

  Sitting on the table, he chews and shakes his head. “No… Should it?”

  “… What did you do with her eyes?” He swallows and my eyes widen. “Tell me you didn’t eat them!”

  “Nah, I’m not a cannibal,” he maintains, tearing off a piece of bread. “Those guys are fucking freaks. They’re in the bucket along with her tongue, teeth, and fingernails.” He bites another hunk from the loaf. “Oh!” He waves as his mouth is stuffed with food. “And one finger. I slipped.”

  “Are you done with your impressionistic art?”

  He shrugs like a little kid, not wanting to be done. “I can be.”

  “I think you should be,” I caution, reasoning like an adult. “How many times did you…”

  “Four… Well, once in her mouth after I yanked her teeth out. And another in her ass before she shit everywhere. So, I’ve gotten off six times.”

  “Your math skills are impeccable.” I roll my eyes and grip the bridge of my nose. “Ya, you’re done. Remind me never to piss you off.”

  “I don’t usually do dudes,” he informs, dipping his bloodied finger in the tiramisu. “I even think it’s weird with you and Cruz.”

  Me? Weird?

  You play hack and slash virtuoso like some sort of grisly slayer, and I am weird for liking anal…with a guy! Or a girl, pegging can be fun, too. I don’t discriminate.

  I unbutton my jacket, pull the gun from the holster, and attach the silencer—cause I am not going deaf again. “You keep eating.”

  “Hey,” he says, holding up his very bloody phone. “I took pictures.”

  “Great!” I smile and turn away, unable to handle the gruesome glory that is Nico Cristos. I love the guy, I do, but he has an issue. I approach the disgusting thing that once was Ashley Gennaro.

  Poor, poor Ashley.

  I lean closer and whisper, “See you in hell, cuntbag!”

  She comes to just enough to lash out at me like some sort of eyeless, toothless zombie. Her arms wave about as she makes grunting noises in her throat. Nico maniacally laughs. I fire one clean shot and she slumps over, dead.

  The Unholy is done with you.

  “What should I do?”

  “Finish eating, leave, I don’t care,” I answer, stripping off my jacket and holster. “Just stay here.”

  “Nice bow tie, but why is it turquoise?”

  “It is not turquoise,” I correct, picking up Dom’s cane. “It’s teal because it matched the Pixie’s custom made dildo.”

  “You’re so odd.”

  I walk away.

  The storage closet is small, but Deacon and Nico left Dr. Jack Kerris strapped to a chair, which is peculiar considering our first encounter. I feel like I’m going backwards, rewinding the memories, and changing the picture.

  Nine years ago, Jack was my hero.

  I thought he understood me, but he only wanted to use me. “The noises coming from that room have been revolting.”

  “I’m sorry,” I lie as I extend the cane. I’m not sorry at all. “Shall I list the revolting things you’ve done?”

  “Only if you need to remember them.”

  “I don’t.” I swing back and thwack the cane against his skull. He wobbles in the chair. I go for round two.

  “Wait, Kid!” He straightens up and says, “You need to know why I had Jaid taken.”

  “No, I don’t.” I throw another swipe against his head. “I don’t need to know. It was a ret hit for Nick Veramonte’s death.”

  “Retribution doesn’t even begin to describe the lies.”

  I let loose, beating his body, with no regard. He is going to die. By my hands. Right fucking now. “You fucking shot Dom!”

  “Do you care at all where Jaid is?”

  I breathe with the force of wind igniting my flames and the fury of water balancing my inferno. “Tell me!”

  “Mexico with the cartel.”

  “… Immortal?”

  He nods. “Muerte.”

  “Motherfucker!” I hit him so hard I knock him to the ground before beating his once beautiful face into a bloody mess. Red splatter spits like venom onto my pristine white shirt. “You fucking sold her!”

  With my vengeance written in blood, I let my tightly wound ball of hate unravel with every swing and rebirth into a man of my own choosing. “Cas is coming for Iris…” he warns, grimacing from the critical injuries. “But I wouldn’t trust your flower… she may have a real sweet snatch but her petals are poison.”

  “You will never…ever…talk about my wife like that again!”

  His manipulative smirk emphasizes his last words. “Iris will never marry your thug ass.”

  With a menacingly dreadful gaze, I growl, “… Wanna bet motherfucker?”

  Straddling over the chair, I jab the cane through his rib cage and puncture his heart. Again and again and again.

  And I set myself free.

  Stepping out of the storage closet, I pace over to Nico. I’m dripping in the carnage of twenty-eight years of betrayal and lies. I cannot escape who I am or what I did.

  He scrutinizes over the bloodbath costume and gives an approving
nod. “We’re going to need a clean-up crew, broseph.”

  I scoot back onto the table with Nico and pull my smokes from my jacket. “We’re going to need far more than that.”

  He’s still eating. “… Is he dead?”

  “Oh, ya,” I reply in disbelief. I killed—I murdered Jack Kerris. “You have my cheese calzone in that box?”

  “Yeah,” he says, setting the pan of ravioli on his lap and finding my dinner. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, Nicky.” I unwrap the huge calzone and pull off a bite. “Just fine.”

  People who say they’re fine rarely ever are.

  We sit eating in silence for a good ten minutes until he says, “This is good. Spending time with you like this. We should do this more often.”

  I hear the garage door come up. “Did you call Cruz?”

  “I didn’t call anyone.”

  I slide off the table and head through the office to the door. With no peep hole, I have no choice but to open it to the shrieking scream rivaling any bad B-movie.

  “What in the hell are you doing here, Emily?”

  There is a moment in life where you cross a line and can never return. That line for me was in killing my mentor. Tragic events change us. That shit scars. That shit defines. Traumas remap our mental topography and alter our physical beings. Those wounds never heal.

  We wear them like badges of honor.

  Marks of where we’ve been and the horrors we’ve been through.

  I am the sole survivor.

  In my wreck of a house, I watch my wedding tux go up in flames in the fireplace while I sit naked in the middle of the floor. The pitch black house enhances the light of the embers. The crackling of wood fills the air with a triumphant death as we were never meant to last. We were meant to burn to cinders and ash to fly again like a phoenix.

  I am no longer the puppet; I must be the Master.

  Skeeter accidentally let Emily get away and she knew where I was because of my phone. I left the GPS on today in the flurry of activity, in the haste of sheer terror.

  We all make mistakes.

  Just like I did at nineteen, trusting those who only wanted to do me harm.

  Deacon showed up shortly after Emily. I must decide if I should eliminate her for the things she has seen or beg for her silence. Until I make the choice, I will sit and rock and pull my hair.

  I texted for a janitor, and then I called Jas to make plans to send an evacuation team to rescue Jaid. She’ll be home soon, but she’ll never be the same.

  We all have demons. Some are worse than others. Some follow like hungry ghosts, begging for one brief lapse in the guarding of our mental gate, and that is all it takes to trigger a maelstrom and fall prey to the cataclysm.

  Covered in blood, I crack my neck and knuckles as the past succumbs to the fire. I have tumbled into the catacombs of my kingdom where hate resides, and I will remain here for all eternity to suffer amongst the wicked and march with purposeful punishment.

  The life I once knew is over.

  My world is red and this house is perfect for a massacre.

  … of myself …

  I glance at the shimmer of the blade sitting in my hand and contemplate the unthinkable.

  “If you’re going to sit there naked, Mr. Raniero, then you should be prepared to be assaulted.”

  Dropping the knife, I spring up and turn. “Iris…”

  She cannot see my bloody flesh as she excitedly wraps her arms around me. “Deacon called to tell me that Dom had been shot. I couldn’t stay away. Please don’t be upset with me.”

  “Baby, I’m not,” I whisper, smelling her hair. It’s been several months since I’ve seen her and all I want to do is run away with her, but I know if I do, we will never stop running.

  And I am tired of running.

  “Why are you…gooey?” I briefly step away and grab my phone to shine the light upon my darkness. “Oh, God… You need a shower. And so do I.”

  “The power is off in here. The house is completely trashed,” I remind, brushing my fingers against her hand. “A long time ago, I wanted to move into here with you.”

  She whispers, “… And now?”

  “I want to burn it down.”

  “Okay, well you cannot do that tonight,” she says with an acknowledging giggle. “But maybe we can do something with it one day.”

  “Will you take me up to the farmhouse to shower?”

  “Of course,” she whispers. “I will take you anywhere you want to go.”

  She leads me to the door, aware of my mental suffering, and I laugh. “You brought my truck and Swain.”

  “What’s yours is mine.”

  “And what is mine is yours,” I venture, slowly swaying. “So, what are you going to do with my fiancée in the dungeon?”

  An hour later, I walk into the dungeon to find Emily sitting on the bed. “I was so worried about you! What happened?”

  “Nothing you should ever know about.”

  “But there are some things you should know about,” Iris informs, slipping in the door wearing one of Serene’s Dominatrix outfits. The black lace corset with heavy buckles shows off her gorgeous rack and the leather booty shorts lend to the curvature of her heart-shaped ass. Her legs and feet are bound in black thigh high boots. I cannot wrap my mind around how we’ve come so full circle.

  I fucking love this girl with all of my heart, mind, and soul. She is the one. The missing part of me I’ve been searching for my entire life.

  “What are you doing here?” Emily asks with trepidation. “Lucas? Why is she here?”

  “I’m going to tell you what I am going to do,” Iris articulates with confidence. “And then you are going to tell me what you are going to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Emily replies, innocently. “But if you think I’m giving him up, you have another thing coming, bitch.”

  I cross my arms and step back because really—I’m not involved in this war. Or maybe I am heavily involved in it, but my tacky ass bastard self just wants to see what Iris is bringing dressed like that.

  “Salvatore and I have been intensely, intimately involved and in love for a very long time, little girl.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “Yes, I am aware. But then you broke up. And he thought you died.”

  “Not exactly,” Iris notes, sitting on the bed. I can’t decide if it would be more fun to watch them make out or cat fight at this point. Don’t go placing bets. “We have a very complicated relationship, but the one thing I know is you can marry him.”

  “I plan on it,” Emily interrupts.

  “Don’t talk over the top of me,” Iris scolds, keeping her elitist composure. “The only thing I know is that you can marry him, but you need to be aware, for the rest of your life, I will be his Mistress.”

  With a quizzical, shocked expression, Emily asks, “… She spanks you?”

  “Oh, little girl, I spank his monkey all night long.”

  Rubbing my face, I snicker under my breath, garnering their attention. “Is that true Sal? Is she your Mistress?”

  I really wish Cruz were here.

  “Yes,” I admit, letting the pieces fall where they may. “And I’m madly fucking crazy in love with Iris.”

  “I will not give him up, not for you or anyone else,” Emily counters, locking her eyes on Iris. If she lifts one finger to my flower, I will make Nico look like a fucking amateur on open mic night. “He is going to be my husband, and you really need to accept that, whore.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  “I am his whore,” Iris confesses with a hush, inching closer and taunting Emily. “And it will always be my name he moans when he comes.”

  With a savage look in her eyes, Emily hisses, “It doesn’t matter what you do, if I do not make it to the altar with Sal on December 25, I will tell everyone…everything.”

  Iris lifts her finger and barely brushes against Emily’s cheek. “No, you won’t because you want one thing far more than him.”
/>
  “… What?”

  “You want to be a submissive.” Iris winks and I shield my smirk with my hand.

  “I want it with him,” she sniffles, breaking down. “Master Lucas.”

  “But you took it with Maka, didn’t you?”

  Emily nods as my eyes widen and I frown. “Wait… You’ve been…”

  “I’ve been with Mistress Maka since the beginning, Sal,” Emily confesses as I shake my head, completely sideswiped. “I wanted to experience what you had and refused to share with me.”

  “… You fuckin’ cheated on me?” I bellow, hands waving.

  Iris gives a harsh side-eyed glare. “Pot call kettle black black! Kneel, Nero!”

  Holy. Jesus. Fuck. Me. Nowala.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I fucking go down before my Queen as she commands, “Deacon, now.”

  With those intimidating blue eyes, he strides in and handcuffs me. And I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven. “He’s good, Lady Iris.”

  “Let me train you,” Iris warmly invites. “Let me bring you up, proper.”

  “You can’t be serious!” I object, wishing I could swing my hands. “No!”

  “You need to be quiet, Raniero,” Deacon reprimands, nudging his boot against my leg. He growls low, “Right fucking now.”

  “Sorry, Sir,” I snarl, playing their silly game. “I will refrain from further comment.” He punts my ass—in the sore target—with the toe of his boot. “Ow! I was…”

  “Salvatore…”

  “Sorry.”

  Iris glares at me. “So, you can have your cake and your husband and his Mistress, too.”

  “… Do I get Deacon, too?”

  “Don’t be a greedy little bitch,” Iris rebukes as Deacon snorts and breaks into a laugh. “He is all mine.”

  Not earlier, he wasn’t.

  “We can come to a happy place or we can continue to battle it out,” Iris contends, using her impeccable art of seduction. She is so classy. So put together. And so fucking mine. Yeehaw! “And the choice is all yours, Emily.”

  Her troubled blue moons dart between Iris and me. “And if I say no?”

  “Then you accept your future, but you must choose.”