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

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Emily is so young…too young to die…

  Everyone stops and lowers their head as I bravely put one foot in front of the other. And every step becomes heavier than the last, every breath becomes a benediction of reprisal.

  I remember cement culverts when we talked and fought with ice cream on her nose. I held her hand and took care of her with everything I had for so long.

  This should never have happened as I stand at the first row of pews and peer down the aisle as Iris and Deacon get up to join in my grim procession to the ambulance. Emily was a splash of color on the canvas in my violent soaked world.

  And even when she knew I loved Iris, she still loved me.

  I am not a good guy.

  And I’m a hard son of a hitman and a whore to love.

  “Kacilyn…” I whisper, sobbing and teetering near the wooden doors. “God! No!” I ache with unbelievable agony. “Take care of her for me.” My knees try to go down as I can’t shut off the pain. Iris and Deacon both grab an elbow, stabilizing my balance. “I am so fucking sorry!”

  The Suits and Reckless Rebellion blend and form lines on either side as we continue the tragic parade. Deacon opens the door and the chill hits my cheeks. The red and blue lights blur into a rage and tranquility, fire and water.

  I need Iris’ waters to cool my heat.

  And Deacon’s gale to fuel it all.

  “Mr. Raniero,” the paramedic says. “This one over here, we’re so sorry about your loss.”

  I lay Emily on the stretcher and wrap the peach jacket on my arm. She cannot have it. It belongs to my future wife as the selfish love spreads in my veins.

  Bending down, I place one final kiss on her lips. “I love you, Baby Emlee.” Tears spurt from my eyes as I howl with rampage. “Take her. Go.”

  Letting the apocalypse hit me, I turn away, taking the punches—one after another—to my gut.

  On the stairs, Dom, Vega, and Vinny guard the gates of my hell. Deep in the chamber rests the ossuary, where Iris and Deacon vigilantly wait to catch my descent into madness because crazy motherfucker doesn’t even begin to describe the firestorm I'm about to unleash.

  Our intimate, kinky sanctuary is sacred, a tomb of tears, filled with joys and sorrows as I rise like a phoenix from the ash. We swoop and soar, divide and reunite, but this journey isn’t for the weakened or lost. We are more determined and confident together than we ever are apart. Iris and I are a team, and the choices we make for our future, we do together.

  83

  fait accompli

  In the opulent hotel suite, I lay on the king-sized bed, flipping channels on the flat screen. The luxurious room—and I mean it is, panache—is courtesy of The Suits until January 2. I cannot go home to the house and staying with anyone seemed more like a burden. The suite is massive with living room, kitchen, sitting areas, balcony with a glorious ocean view with floor to ceiling windows, spacious bed and bath, and two adjoining, smaller suites on either side.

  Apparently, someone thinks highly of me.

  If you love it, you spend money.

  Two empty bottles of whiskey sit on the nightstand as I’ve shunned housekeeping for four days. The multitude of carafes of coffee stand in a row like soldiers as I empty each one like water. It has been 1,287 days without java. It has never tasted so good. And neither has she.

  The place is a mess.

  Our late lunch of what remains of two New York Strip steaks rests on the rolling tray with a mammoth piece of Italian cream cake waiting for consumption.

  There has been a nonstop piece of cake—red velvet, a delicious white buttercream with blackberries, and a lemon that almost made me come or maybe that was the plate of her breasts, either way—and a bottle of pink champagne on ice. We don’t bother with glasses, sometimes we use forks.

  Her head is on my belly, and I’m petting her hair. We haven’t actually made love, as in intercourse, because this is our time to recover and heal from the carnage. We have these heavy petting, make-out sessions, that are fulfilling every possible need I have.

  Swain, Ho, and Kali are in the adjoining suite to the right, but they’re very good and tend to be more invisible than not. I’m starting to accept what Dom tried to implement years ago with Dale Archer, I need a bodyguard, especially now with my precious flower.

  Baby Mae Archer is doing well, albeit with a few scratches. She is staying with her Aunt Serene and Uncle Nico in Texas. They took Anna home, unharmed as well.

  Dale Archer remains in a medically induced coma for critical life-threatening injuries in the attack. He sustained multiple gunshot wounds to the torso. The long-term prognosis is not good; he is expected to pass without continuous care.

  Kate Capri went home today with her husband, Evere. The graze of the bullet required a few sutures.

  Cat Raniero is on a ventilator with minimal activity in her brain. Deacon has an adjoining room to the left, but most of his time has been at the hospital, talking to Cat and praying she wakes up.

  We visit during the day, but I can’t stay nonstop.

  It is too hard; I feel too guilty.

  Lucilla Raniero, my Mama—and she will always be my Mama, ended up having chest pains and admitted to the hospital where she underwent an emergency double bypass. As sad as it was to say, the insurgence probably saved her life.

  Allison Randall died on scene, immediately after being shot.

  Emily Granger lived long enough to tell her mother, “Tell Lucas, I love him.”

  Two Reckless Rebellion and three Suits, none of whom I knew, all died. Several others were injured with bullet grazes and lacerations obtained during the chaos. One of The Suits, Bianco Oscar Sato, broke his arm lunging to save Reckless Rebellion member, X.

  There is an APB out on Amber Rosen and Cassidy Hope as Kary Vega and his mammoth, wide-scale team are on this shit like a dog with a bone. The Suits issued KOS orders for both with a reward. Massimiliano Vidal is on the hunt. If he finds them, he has strict orders from me to keep them alive. I’ve offered a half mil bonus because I want revenge.

  Strange talks have been happening between The Suits and Deacon’s MC club while I’ve been holed up in a hotel room waiting to bury Emily. They are pooling funds to restore the Cathedral. Father Altromessa has been praying and sitting with Deacon daily for several hours. I think Deacon is quietly recruiting him for our services.

  The funeral will be on January 1, 2019 in Boston.

  For those keeping track, my wife died January 1, 2011.

  Just when I start thinking good years don’t exist for me, I glance at the auburn locks tangled in amongst my knuckles marked with MORE THAN.

  So, we’re together—Yay!

  But we’re both so infinitely melancholy, it’s hard to rejoice.

  We plan on leaving—Deacon is insisting—but I’m not sure where we are going. We may drive south and hang with Morpheus for a few weeks, dip down to Nola, and head home. Or for all I know, we may hop on a plane and go home to Japan. The Suits assure me I can take as much time as I need. I haven’t talked to Dom, but he sent a text.

  Take your time. I love you, Pretty Boy.

  My response: I know, Daddy. I love you.

  I thank GOD every day I didn’t bring my daughter to the wedding.

  Stella and Vinny want to have dinner with us, but we’re not ready—and that is a we. Iris isn’t happy about how my parentage was handled any more than I am. Mama apologized after surgery. I mean, she groveled for forgiveness. I assured her she will forever be my Mama, even though she is my grandmother. Cesario has said nothing. If anything, the shooting was a bitter pill on his continuous struggle to be likable. My sisters, Val and Gaby, have also taken the position of my father and said nothing.

  My mind replays the events of that night over and over, which is why I have two empty whiskey bottles. I question if I actually froze or if it would’ve even mattered at that point—my thoughts were—people are dying. Not, kill Amber.

  I never think of killing first
; always healing and recovery.

  Killing comes later when healing and recovery don’t work.

  It’s a tough call, one which Iris says I need to stop dwelling on. I asked her if she would’ve shot Amber and she said, “No, she’s Amber. You cannot just shoot her and wipe the slate.” She’s right; I can’t.

  I’m searching for forgiveness in the tangles of her hair.

  Unless at the hospital, I’ve been in gray sweatpants, no shirt, ball cap, and my glasses—the fierce tears come on strong and swell my eyes. She lifts her head and shifts her startlingly blue violet eyes—she’s been crying a lot, too. These are the things I never paid attention to before.

  Now, I want all the microscopic details. We’ve talked a lot about simple stuff, where she has been and where I’ve been, and how much love we are in, but the truth is—we don’t know each other as well as we should. We’re working on it.

  In the light while I wasn’t turned on, I studied her naked body and noticed the barely noticeable scars from her surgery. I ran my finger over them and she confided the details of her choices.

  After the bachelor party, she needed a complete makeover. She lost weight, tucked, and did a rejuvenation on my kitten—for which I take full possession.

  There are nine hooks hanging at The Mean.

  I haven’t decided if I’m using eight or nine.

  I made a promise to make them pay and one way or another, they will. Dom was there to keep an eye on her, will I hold him accountable? Now is probably not the best time to decide. Or will I hold Mierne responsible for instigating her initiation which never should’ve occurred. Right now, she is serving as the party favor for the Reckless Rebellion. Maybe she should take the ninth hook instead of Dom.

  Jack Kerris is dead and one hook is occupied by my razor-sharp bottle cap whip.

  “Let’s order a pizza.”

  “Okay, what do you want on it?”

  “Whatever,” she whispers as I call room service. “And another bottle of whiskey and champagne too, please.”

  I place the order for the vegetarian, minus the onions, and our booze. “It’s seven. They’re busy. Said it would be at least an hour.” She sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed and stares at me. “What?”

  “You need to be reminded how much I love you.”

  “I love you,” I declare, opening my arm for her head. She’s been sleeping on my right shoulder every night. She shakes her pretty noggin, smiles, and pokes my dick. Literally, pokes it. Not hard, not soft. “May I help you?”

  “No.” She mischievously grins. “But I can help you. I happen to be very well trained at certain activities.”

  Laughing feels amazing as I snort. She bites her lip and pokes my balls. “I’m gonna get you, girl.” Her grin is massive, filling her cheeks, as she shakes her head again. “I will chase you around this fucking hotel suite.”

  “… Really, bad boy?” she taunts, slithering from the bed. “You think you can catch me?”

  “Fuck yes!”

  She skirts by the bucket and grabs the half full bottle of champagne as I pursue her. Playing feels good when nothing else does. Yesterday night, she beat my ass at checkers—checkers, not chess. When I asked if she wanted to play chess, she said, “No, you’ll beat me.”

  Guess I’m not the only one who won’t play if I can’t win.

  “Come on, you’re getting slow,” she challenges, darting into the living room with the polished floors and awe-inspiring view. “Get it!” Her squeal fills the air as I stalk closer and pin her in the corner. I tickle her sides and she screams a high-pitched screech.

  POUND–POUND–POUND

  “What did you do?” Her eyes widen as I scold, “Stay and do not move.”

  I swiftly dodge the furniture to answer the door. It’s Kali, ready to throat punch me. “Is everything okay with Ms. Nakamura?”

  “Yes,” I arrogantly reply. “She’s fine.”

  With a steady stare, she implores, “I would like to talk to her, please.”

  “She cannot move or she will be getting A SPANKING OVER MY KNEE!” Iris delightfully squeals again as she restlessly bounces in the corner.

  “May I come in?” Kali asks.

  “Of course.”

  As a warning, I lift a brow to Iris as Kali approaches the semi-clad Iris. She’s in one of my midnight blue Henley’s and a pair of hot black lace panties I bought at the store across the street. She needed girl things—makeup remover pads. I bought her some nail polish. She threatened to paint my toes, but after I agreed, her fun diminished. I laughed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she laughs, eyeing me. I point to my eyes and to her and back again as she delightfully squeals. “Really.”

  “Is Mr. Raniero…”

  Uncrossing my arms, I come closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “Look, Kali, I’m going to be honest with you because you don’t know,” I honestly say, pressing a jazz hand to my heart. “I really enjoy making Ms. Nakamura scream, and I’m also into some really kinky shit with Ms. Nakamura.”

  With her cheeks turning red, Iris flies into an uproarious amount of effervescent giggles.

  “Oh!” Kali says, shocked, as Iris smiles. “Is this true?”

  “That I might be screaming at all hours with Mr. Raniero?” She quickly nods. “Yes, because he is full of himself.”

  “You’re gonna be full of me in about five minutes if I have my way,” I snarl at Iris as Kali’s eyes open wide.

  “And in the course of him filling me up, I may make some very high-pitched squealing, mewing, crying out noises which could resemble pleasure or pain.”

  Still uncertain, Kali asks, “How am I to know he isn’t harming you?”

  “Sal would never lay a hand on me.”

  “That’s not actually true,” I interject, chewing my gum. “You take one more inch forward, and I’m going to have my hands all over you.”

  “Just know, if I am with Sal, I am safe.”

  I tilt my head, humbled by her admission. “I’m seriously touched.”

  “I mean it,” Iris tenderly whispers as we ignore the presence of Kali in lieu of an intimate moment together. “I’m never in danger when I’m with you.”

  “That said, get out Kali,” I prompt, getting up, as Iris grins. “This is our time. My girl is fine.”

  “Very well.” Walking her to the door, I shut and lock it.

  Tipping the bottle of champagne to her lips, Iris takes a long drink. “Mr. Raniero, that was remarkably impressive. You told Kali to get.”

  Striding over, I take the bottle from her fingers and down the remainder. I spit my gum in the bottle and set it on the ground before swooping my arms around her and lifting her high in the air. She looks down at me. “I’m going to protect and defend this love we have for the rest of my life. If that means with Kali or our families or our Juliet family, I will not fail you.” I carry her with one arm and tickle her belly. She squeals again. “Or our future babies.”

  “Can we have some fun first?”

  “Absolutely,” I assure, sitting on the sofa, as she straddles over me. I kiss her lips as she grinds against my arousal.

  KNOCK–KNOCK–KNOCK

  “Must be our pizza,” she says, crawling off of me.

  I jog to the door and open it. “… Hello? Donatien?”

  “My nickname is actually Dragon,” he says, shaking my hand. “I believe I’m your second cousin.”

  “How old are you?”

  He smiles. “Eighteen. My mother is running the Veramonte business in Italy, but she is looking to expand. I don’t want to keep you, but I wanted to introduce myself before I left tomorrow.”

  “Are you heading back to Italy?”

  “No,” Iris interrupts, peering over the sofa. “He’s going to Georgia.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  I back up. “… Do you two know one another?”

  “I met him a long time ago when he was wee high,” Iris sa
ys, smiling and waving him in. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

  Really, Iris?

  What is this bizarre fascination you have with ruining my good time—mostly with young, thug males who are relatives? Not that Dragon seems to be a thug, more like a wannabe suit.

  “… If it’s alright with you, Sir?”

  A polite one at that.

  I nod and welcome him in. “Can I get you a beer? Juice box? Milk?”

  Iris snickers, disappearing to the bedroom.

  “I’ll have whatever you are,” he says, wandering over to the windows. “The view is stunning.”

  Ya, I was about to fuck my babe with the scenic backdrop of boats and lights, reflecting on the water, until you showed up.

  “Apologies,” Iris says as I furrow my brow. She is wearing a pair of my gray sweats, rolled down at the waist and up on the cuffs. Her long hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She looks hot as fuck. “You probably don’t remember me.”

  “Actually, I do,” he says as I give a scrutinizing eye from the bar. I grab the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “You spent some time in Georgia with Morpheus.”

  Curling her feet under her butt, she gushes, “I love Morpheus.”

  And that is why I partnered with him on Christmas Eve.

  “I just know, my mother is really wanting to move to the states, but is reluctant to do so because of our associations in Italy. If there is any advice you could provide…”

  I sit down, very close to Iris, and pour two glasses. “Why are you going to Georgia?”

  “School, Sir.”

  “Stop calling me Sir, cuz.” I wink as he takes the drink from my hand. “I’m teasing, call me Sal.”

  “I graduated early and I’ve been majoring in business finance, Morpheus suggested coming to the states. I applied and will be staying with him.”

  “Wow,” I reply, impressed. “I’m about half-way way through a doctorate in psych. I had to take some time off the past few years.”

  “… Really?” Iris bursts, almost spitting whiskey on my back.

  “Yes,” I grin, opening up. “It’s not something I talk about often.”