“Hey,” Sal gently coaxes. “This is not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is,” I argue, knowing I left the door between the garage door and the door into the house open. “I was bringing in groceries.”
“What happened?”
“The car pulled in behind my SUV and before I realized what was going on, they grabbed me and tossed my gun. I managed to get away after racking one guy in the balls, but another one threw me on the dining room table,” I painfully recount, letting the anguish fall onto my bare chest. I cannot imagine how horrible I must look. “There were four of them.”
With a low growl, he mutters, “Go on…”
I’m heavily sobbing, trying to pull my shit together. “I’m so sorry, Sal.”
“No,” he reprimands as his breathing intensifies. “You don’t apologize to me for what happened. This is not your fault. Do you hear me?”
I glance over the disarray in what was once a beautiful home, but now, even the drywall is damaged. Not only did they attack me, but they ran a path of pure destruction through the place. “The house…”
“Don’t worry about the goddamned house, Zoe!”
“Sally…”
I hear his lighter and know the stress he’s experiencing, I’m responsible for—not truly—but that is what it feels like. Like all of the mess could’ve been avoided if I hadn’t fought back.
“I’m sending Georgia along with a team. They’ll be there before she is. Lead agent is Paulie Downin. She’s good.”
“Her name is Paulie?”
“Pauline. She’s middle-aged, dark hair, petit frame, and thorough.”
“Is she nice?”
He breathes. “Nice isn’t a word I would use to describe Agent Downin. More like vicious, rabid, unyielding.”
Understanding what is about to happen, I lean my head back and ask, “Did you train her?”
“Basic tactical was done by Randy. Specialized was done with Dale,” he informs, exhaling. I feel the tension building in his voice as he says, “I did extensive training with her involving my other line of work.”
“She was going to be Iris’ bodyguard…”
His voice teeters on the edge of cracking as he confides, “Yes.”
I glance at the cuts on my hands. “Can you stay on the phone with me?”
“We can talk about anything you want, Sissy…”
“Anything but the weather,” I say, trying to giggle, but every piece of me is battered and bruised. “Are you marrying Emily?” I venture, hoping I haven’t crossed the line with the man I consider my brother. “Tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know,” he answers, and I believe him. “It’s a tough call. I need some shit to happen.”
“You would never have trained Paulie if you didn’t have a plan,” I speculate, knowing him. “You’re going to do something.”
“… How do you know?”
“Because I know you,” I whisper, making a fist and remembering the hours I spent on my back as the men took turns with me. One after another. Some twice. No condoms. A mess of DNA. A lump forms in the back of my throat. “Javi Neves’ men wouldn’t have done what they did to me if you weren’t planning on something. He may be dead, but they are not, and they are pissed the fuck off.”
“… Are you sure it was Cinco who hurt you, Zoe?”
“I know what Cinco cuts look like,” I answer, quietly sniffling and trying to not remember every excruciating detail of the gang rape in my rental home. “And I’m not in some state of shock.”
“Who else was there?” he calmly asks, building the case of me. For months, I’ve studied, learning to build the profile, but I never imagined I would become one. “The officer…”
“Which one?”
“The one from a few years ago when you were incarcerated,” I reply, rubbing my tongue over the cut on my lip. “Malcolm Martinez.”
His composure breaks as he angrily shouts, “What the fuck?”
“So why don’t we start with the truth about what you are doing, Raniero.”
“You don’t want to know the battle lines being drawn.”
I lightly snicker, “It doesn’t matter because the message he sent was me.”
Be present when they count.
72
Epic Fissure in the Globule
AMBER ROSEN
Make no apologies for who you are.
The sultry bar in Ciudad Juárez blares Tejano music as the walls brim with colorful crepe paper flowers. It’s mid-afternoon and the lunchtime crowd is winding down. The bar is lined with remnants of empty food baskets, beer bottles, and shot glasses.
Removing my sunglasses, I take a seat in a corner booth along the wall. I’m waiting to meet with my contact, which sounds more official than it is. The client offered more than any of the rest, and I took up the routine payments because it made things so much easier. But I never planned on actually having to meet the buyer in Juárez.
A few scantily clad women in satin and lace come down from upstairs where a brothel exists. Shortly after they make their way to the bar, a well dressed American man, looking blissfully relieved of all those swimmers he’d been storing, dons his dark shades and exits.
With trembling hands, I light a cigarette. This isn't my first time across the border, but this town is far different from Matamoros. I'm the known mistress of an Italian mob boss, a hit woman for hire, and I have no doubt Immortal knows I'm here. I'm a sitting duck and for a half of a heartbeat, I question…
What if this is staged by Sal?
What if this is my removal?
What if I end up face down dead in the desert with nothing more than a bullet hole in my brain?
I probably deserve it. I know I've earned it on disrespect alone. These bad boys of mine don't take kindly to unruly behavior—for which, I have taken top honors for a very long time. Thankfully, Raniero laps up the emotional plays right out of my hand.
“Señorita?” A rather plump woman from behind me asks as she lays her hand on my shoulder. In my mind, I hear Sal chastising my choice to not put my back on the wall.
“Every move you make; you must be aware.”
“Si?”
She waves me on as I gather my things and follow her upstairs. The long hallway of bedrooms reminds me of days gone by at Gina’s Bar in New Orleans. I want to panic and ask her where we're going, but I breathe deeply and calm.
“You're going to get in and play this like I'm a motherfucking bastard you hate. Play that shit up. You want revenge. Offer to assist them by putting a target on my back. Trust me, they'll bite.”
“And if you're wrong?”
Rocking his hips into me, he snarled, “I'm not perfect. And I make mistakes. This is not one of them.”
“What if they kill me?”
“They aren't going to kill you,” he assured, running his hands over my breasts. “You hold the keys to the Dark Prince.”
I nervously twitch as we approach the door at the end of the hallway. The woman's wide hips stop swinging as she turns around and gives a toothy grin. I prepare to die.
“You get Immortal on my ass, and I guarantee Keishi Nakamura will surface like a beast from the waters of the Far East.”
“You mean Iris will force the issue…”
“I don't know if it will be The Chairman or his beautiful granddaughter calling the shots, but an Immortal issued hit on Sal Raniero will damn sure call up all my friends from the dark reaches.”
“Do we really need an accounting of who will come to your party?”
“We do,” he said, closing his eyes, as he edged closer to coming inside of me. “We must always be aware of who our friends and enemies are.”
“… Which am I?”
“Both,” Sal chuckled. I smiled, understanding the damage I had caused by not trusting him in the beginning. It was my fault. “The enemy I keep close like my best friend.”
“You always stick your dick in your friends?”
“Sometimes, dep
ends how much I like them.”
Furrowing my brow, I asked, “How much you like them?”
“If I like what's between their ears,” he replied, pulling me closer.
“What about tits and ass…good hard cock?”
“You're eliminating a good seventy-five percent of the stimulus by not including the mind,” he said, bouncing my body like a rag doll on his lap. “Big mistake.”
“It's not a mistake; I don't think you know how much a good rack gets you up.”
He snickered, “I don't think you know how many good racks I turn down.”
The round woman peers up and eagerly says, “Ready?”
I nod, uncertain, as the door opens to an ornate golden four-poster bed. I step inside and the door silently closes behind me. I notice the woman in black, standing at the window. Her side pieces on her belt leave nothing to the imagination. She's packing double Glock 22’s and I don't need to know if she can shoot. She can.
And she will.
She spins to show off the black corset, tight leather pants, and thigh high boots with six-inch heels. She strides purposefully towards me. Her straight, long, black hair flowing behind her like a cape.
Only she isn't a superhero; she's the bad guy.
No matter what angle we spin on this, the woman with her overpainted face – lash extensions, blue shadow, and red lips – is one thing—deadly.
“Put your bag in the chair, take off your clothes, and kneel.”
“Yes, Madame.” I do as she requests, though my erratic breathing and trembling hands threaten to overburden my emotional capacity. Naked on the floor, I await her further instructions with the I'm trained for this mantra running through my head.
“Did Raniero send you?”
“No, Madame,” I answer, feeling slightly off by our age difference. She's at least a decade younger than me, which begs the question—where did I go wrong? This situation should be reversed. “I have contacted you on my own. I want him eliminated.”
“Why not do it yourself?”
“Because everyone is expecting that,” I say, hearing his voice in my head—“Make them believe you want me to suffer.”—and take a breath. “I need a professional hit job—a team—for the entire outfit to hurt.”
She approaches, unzips her pants, and grabs a fistful of my hair. Pulling hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, she shoves the harnessed dildo down my throat. “Suck my dick, slut. You're gonna have to show me how much you want to be my mistress. I'm not some sappy Raniero boy. I only give one chance round here.”
The head of the purple silicone dildo gags my throat as I clearly understand why Sal sent me to do this. He knew her challenges wouldn't be initiation killings but an increasing scale of fuckings. He knew my years of being a stripper, a call girl, and his whore would all come into play.
Only he didn’t know I wasn’t coming to Juárez as a single player.
I am my own woman.
And I will flip the game on his trust.
“I'll let you stay here, but it's going to cost you dearly,” she says, pulling my body upright and shoving me towards the bed. “If you talk, I’ll remove your tongue. If you call, I'll snip off your fingers. And if you run, I'll sever your legs from your body.”
“Yes, Madame.” I bend over readily—easily—and close my eyes as she rams her cock into my pussy. I've never been assaulted by a woman. The trauma is worse, much more offensive. We're both women, but she isn't my sister. She'll play in the boy’s club, and to her, I'm nothing more than an old, used up bag of bones.
This is my last desperate plea as I realize I’m not truly on the inside anymore with Sal. This torture is his punishment. And it no longer matters whose side I play on because he proved how expendable I am the second I stepped foot in Juárez.
He is using me.
And I’m getting a team to go after The Unholy.
She jams her finger in my ass and simultaneously violates both holes. “You're tight for a tramp. I don't fuck men, Amber. Only easy bitches. You want in good with me—you stay naked and ready non-stop. And you don't argue.”
“I'll be your new favorite slut, Cas.”
“You already are.”
I bite my lip and forget everything I knew twenty-four hours ago. The Unholy were nothing more than a bad training ground. I went upscale as the future Cinco Queen just claimed me as her mistress.
Cas is the daughter of Kate Capri and The Maestro, set to inherit Les Pétales, adopted by the Neves family, and favored by the dead brother, Javi, she is the one no one ever saw coming.
Not even Salvatore fucking Raniero.
The Unholy will pay for shoving me aside like yesterday’s garbage.
“I'm loyal to Cinco now.”
“No, bitch,” Cas corrects, smacking my ass with a fiery impact. “You're only loyal to me.”
Make no apologies for who you are.
73
Iris in the Hurricane
NICO CRISTOS
Find humor in everything.
A blood curdling scream erupts from her lips as the whip lashes against her backside. Fortunately, not a single person can hear her. We’re at the log cabin in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains in Tennessee. The closest neighbors are a good ten miles away.
“Please,” she begs, glistening with sweat and blood. “Nicky…”
I scan over her naked body stretched over the bed and land my eyes on her bare feet. Sal insisted we do this without shoes. Pity.
Poor, poor lying whore.
Heaven forbid this bitch ever wear shoes during a scene with me again. I have a habit—a bad, dirty habit. I will carve her flesh up finer than sushi on her pathetic lack of loyalty alone. I believe the pain she has brought on is enough reason to end her life, but Sal will not allow her death.
Torture—sure.
Death—no fucking way.
I throw the braided leather whip against her back once more before tossing it aside and unzipping my jeans. I cannot handle the temptation as I spread her limbs wide and mount her from behind.
“Nicky, please,” she pleads, crying. Her shocked expression deteriorates to one of absolute terror as she realizes I’m seriously about to harm her. “Don’t do this… Just take me back home and we'll pretend none of this ever happened.”
I’m not thinking about what occurs after this, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m so worked up that if I don’t get off now, I will end up hurting an innocent in the next four hours. My mind reels and my heart pounds, knowing I need release.
Grabbing my cock, I solidly pump my hips once and sink deep inside of her pussy. She’s tight, clenching around my dick, as her tears splash like a waterfall onto the sheet. Her cries do nothing to deter my actions.
I’m a monster.
And I’m ready to play.
“Do you think I care?” I chide, smacking her ass hard with my palm. “Do you think any of The Unholy give a shit what you want? You fucking sold us out, cunt! You’d think eventually you would run out of chances, but that hasn’t happened yet…so here we are…doing what should have been done years ago.”
Her sobs escalate to a tormented wail. Rape is nothing compared to what I want to do. This is a bright, sunshine-y day, full of rainbows, and unicorns; her life fucking spared because I know my Boss doesn’t want her dead.
“I don’t know… anything… anymore…” she whispers, taking my violence. “Nothing. I’m sorry for everything.”
“You know you love it,” I hiss, holding her down and sinking my teeth into her neck. “You’re lucky I kept you face down.”
Gritting her teeth, she braces against my savage thrusts. “Sal would never approve of this! And neither would my brother!”
“Oh, really? You’re all of a sudden going to play the I am Dominic Gennaro’s sister card?” I chuckle, slowing the pounding of her flesh onto my cock. “You think he doesn’t know?” I lean onto her back and seethe, “Sal told me to do this. He begged me to teach you a lesson. He is so fuc
king angry with you. I tell you what… Why don’t we go see him and we’ll see how long you live?”
“No!” she cries, understanding how fucked she is. “He won’t forgive me!”
“You’re right,” I agree, lifting and smacking her ass again. “Because you sold out the one thing that is sacred to him.”
“But I didn’t…”
“You told them everything, whore!” I pull out to the tip and thrust in with all of my force. “You gave the location,” I inform, giving her another jam of my dick. “Dom told me to teach you a lesson or two about keeping your mouth shut. You fucked us over for the last time by telling Vinny Veramonte that Sal murdered Jack Kerris and Iris was in Texas!”
“Please, stop,” she cries, “Nicky, this isn’t who you are… She will be fine. I’m certain nothing will happen to her.”
“If you think this isn’t who I am, you don’t know me. I can’t stop now. It’s too late to put the brakes on. You should’ve behaved the dozen other chances Sal gave you, but you never did. You rode that fence line until you had splinters in your ass.”
“What will Serene say?”
“My wife will never choose you over her Buttercup!”
“Stop!” she screams as I pump deep into her womb. “Please…”
“No more middle riders. No more uncertainty. No more second chances. You are done. The Unholy is through with your kind. People are either with or against us. And it is clear where you stand.”
“I stand to protect Sal,” she argues, lifting her head. “I only wanted to keep him safe.”
“Bullshit, whore!” I backhand her cheek and press her down into the pillow hoping to silence her lies. I’ve heard enough from her for one lifetime. “You always wanted to control him and keep him for yourself. Just like so many other unfortunate souls who’ve departed.”
“I know what happened,” she rebukes with a surprising fight. “I know what Sal did that night. And that isn’t like him, either.”
Every Minute I Love You (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 3) Page 61
