“I’m not interested in anything else this sack of shit has to say.”
Kieran steps away, studying me. Grabbing the knife from Marco, I glide the dull side over Dominic’s flushed skin, reveling in the horror reflected in his dark eyes. “What’s the matter, Senator? You don’t like knife play? Odd, because your daughter sure as fuck does. I could’ve shoved this blade up her pussy, and she would’ve taken it, loved it, because that pain would still be less than what you caused her.”
Not that I would’ve ever done that. Hurting her isn’t even in my fucking vocabulary.
But he doesn’t know that.
I turn the tip, so it slices against the end of his short, flaccid dick, and his protests resume. He kicks his head back, trying to get away, but there’s no escape. “I want you to imagine her as you bleed out in this room. As the life fades from your eyes, I want the last image you have to be of me fucking your daughter. Loving her, giving her everything she needs, and never got from you. Because she might not be the one here, holding a knife to you right now, but this is all for her. You’ll be the last fucker ever to hurt her.”
Gripping his cock in my free hand, I smirk. “Uncircumcised. Perfect.”
The sounds that gurgle from the back of his throat as I saw his shaft in half set my skin ablaze, a jolt of electricity spreading through my body the way tequila warms your insides.
He’s somehow still conscious, though bleeding heavily. His eyes droop lower with each passing second. I wave Kieran over, who wields an obsidian blade, a strange look of peace on his face. Jesus, this kid’s weird.
Stalking around Dom in the chair, Kieran bends at the back, reaching forward and cutting the ties holding his ankles to the chair. Gripping one foot in his gloved hand, he uses the opposite to drag the blade across the back of his ankle; a sharp, ear-piercing squeal comes from Dom as Kieran repeats the action on the other foot.
“Please, please don’t—” The senator moans, his voice raspy and barely audible.
Marco winces. “Is this fucking necessary?”
Kieran shrugs, moving around to the front of the chair as bright red blood pools beneath Dominic’s feet. He’s pale and barely awake. “Maybe not, but it’s pretty fucking fun.”
My father cocks an eyebrow at me, and I just shake my head. We’re in this now. Can’t turn back.
We watch as Dominic finally loses consciousness, but Kieran doesn’t appear to be finished. He crouches, pinching the skin on Dom’s left thigh, and then glides the blade gently down the middle. A vertical line that immediately begins leaking, blood pumping from the wound at an impossible rate.
“Oh, fuck.” Marco dry heaves, darting across the room to puke in an empty trash can. Maybe he needs to get out of the warehouse more often. My father sighs, and Gia looks away from the mess in front of us.
I swallow as Kieran stands, eyes trained on Dom’s thigh until the last drop spurts out. Feeling a bit woozy myself just from being here with him, I nod to my men and turn on my heel, trying to focus on the success of the evening, even if it did get more intense than I’d anticipated.
As I make my way to my car parked outside, sliding behind the wheel and heading toward the airport, happiness roots itself deep in my soul, a tree sprouting from the dirt and flourishing.
We’re free, baby.
I slip out of my clothes silently, watching my wife’s chest rise and fall with soft, sleepy breaths. When I boarded the private jet, a loan from Rafe Ricci as a late wedding gift, Juliet sat in the cabin flipping through a magazine. She pointed her thumb in the direction of the bedroom toward the back, not even bothering to glance up, apparently not interested in striking up a conversation with me.
Which is probably best given my clothes are covered in her father’s blood.
Kicking off my slacks, I scrub my hands over my face and slide under the comforter beside Caroline, pulling her body back into mine. I tuck my chin over her shoulder as she stirs, kissing the side of her mouth when her eyes flutter open.
The take-off signal appears on the wall, and I sigh in relief, glad we’re about to get some reprieve from this awful little town.
“You made it,” she rasps, rolling to face me. Having changed out of her dress from earlier, she’s clad in one of my old t-shirts; it dwarfs her, skimming mid-thigh, and making me hard as a fucking rock.
“Was there ever any doubt?” I nuzzle under her ear, smoothing a hand over her stomach. “How’re you two doing?”
“We’re okay. Glad it’s all over.” She wraps her arms around my neck, drawing me closer. Moving in to press her lips to my chin, she pauses, tilting her head. “What’s that?”
Her hand touches my jaw, her thumb spreading over the skin there. “What’s what?”
“It looks like…” She blinks, eyes darkening into stormy seas I want to lose myself in. A shudder works over her, and I slide my hand to her ass, pulling her leg over my hip. “...blood.”
I lick my lips, entirely distracted by her beauty. “It probably is.”
Swallowing, she stares at the spot, hands retreating slightly. They land on my chest, a whisper of a touch, and I moan because I want them elsewhere. Want my body inside her, want to climb her hills, and die there.
“What did you do?”
“What I had to.” Her bottom lip quivers and I lean down, catching it between my teeth. “Shh, mio amore. Don’t say anything that might ruin this moment.”
Her nails flex into my skin, little pinpricks that have my dick swelling, and she taps me once. Twice. Three times. Tears pool in her eyes, and she shakes her head, blinking them away. “I love you, Elia.”
My heart soars, a flock of millions of starlings taking flight and filling the sky with their black bodies. I tug her on top of me, pushing up the t-shirt and pulling myself from my boxers. Slipping my fingers between her thighs, I find her panty-less, soaking already. “Fuck, baby. I need you.”
No time for foreplay as wanton feelings throb through me, making me feel dizzy. Nodding, she helps me strip her bare, positioning her hips over mine. I fist my dick, lining it up with her pussy, and on an exhale, she sinks down, engulfing me.
Flames of desire lick at my skin, press at the recesses of my brain. She swivels her hips, and I reach around and grip her ass in my palms, guiding her movements. Fast and hard, then slow and smooth, tortuous grinding that has me gritting my teeth against release.
My thumb finds her clit, rubbing tight circles around the pulsating bud, and she undulates on top of me, coming on a silent scream. As her pussy flutters around my cock, milking my orgasm from me, I stuff two fingers in her mouth. “Suck me. Show me what else you love, my dirty, gorgeous wife.”
She obeys, eyes flaring, picking up the pace of her hips. Leaning up on her knees, she bounces up and down, the sound of her ass slapping against my thighs deafening in the little room. I palm one of her tits, rolling my fingers over her hardened nipple, and she fucks me harder, showing me everything she’s never been able to say.
I come like a teenage boy, unable to hold off as her second orgasm wreaks havoc on her body, pussy clamping down around me like a goddamn vise. My seed paints her insides, weeping from the release, and she collapses on top of me, breathing like a track star.
Sliding my hands down her back, smoothing them over the curve of her ass, a sense of surreal contentedness takes over me, settling deep in my bones. I didn’t think I’d ever get this. Didn’t think I deserved it. But as she tilts her face up to mine, smiling at me like a woman destroyed by a fabulous orgasm, I realize I was wrong.
Men like me might not often know peace, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve it.
I’ve just started to drift off to sleep when her timid voice draws me back. “Elia?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Where are we going?”
I smile, letting my eyes fall closed again as I tuck the comforter around us, sheltering her with my warmth. “Paradise.”
“I THOUGHT WE
AGREED we weren’t gonna go overboard for Poppy’s first birthday.” Caroline puts her hands on her hips, appearing in the doorway to my office. She has on a rose-pink sundress with a yellow cardigan pulled over the front, looking a lot like she did the first time I saw her. Except more motherly, now, and a thousand times hotter. “You know, on account of her not really knowing what’s going on?”
Smirking, I wrestle my daughter’s left arm into the sleeve of the princess dress I’m making her wear. She squeals and squirms, babbling dada and making my heart swell. Like the Grinch in that stupid fucking movie.
“And I thought you were going to try anal before we got pregnant again. So, I guess we’re both liars.”
Rolling her eyes, her left hand drops to cradle her stomach; my son’s the size of a deflated basketball, and Gesù Cristo, my wife looks fucking delicious. I don’t know what primal urges her being pregnant awakens in me, but I can’t seem to keep my hands off her.
Which is how we wound up pregnant, again, before Poppy’s first birthday.
Caroline walks over to us, pressing a quick kiss to our daughter’s soft blonde hair. It’s just long enough to put in a single ponytail, but the ends curl and make it difficult to capture each tendril. So, we went for a bright pink bow instead.
“You’re lucky she doesn’t repeat words yet,” my wife warns, shaking her head at me. But she can’t cover the smile that lights her face, and I grab her wrist, tugging her into my lap.
Poppy giggles, clapping her hands and reaching for her mother; I lift her off the desk and into my free arm, my heart so full it might fucking burst.
News broke of Dominic Harrison’s apparent suicide while we honeymooned with Juliet in Copenhagen. Exploring the countryside, we managed to experience a small sort sol all on our own.
I like to think it was my mother, expressing her happiness for me from wherever she exists now.
There was never an investigation because Kieran barely left enough evidence to even put in a casket. Kal wasn’t kidding when he said that Irish hacker was a good backup. And after that gala, no one really gave a shit what happened to Dominic, too horrified by how he’d deceived them all.
Caroline and Juliet decided to have his remains cremated anyway and buried him in the family plot.
A plot neither would use in the future.
Their mom went into hiding somewhere in the Deep South, as allegations about her husband coupled the headlines of his death. The federal government is still looking for her, wanting to question her involvement.
My girl is still healing, working toward a future she’d never bothered planning out. She doesn’t like to talk about her father, instead focusing on her career and being a mom.
She and Phoebe became good friends at some point during Caroline’s pregnancy, and Phoebe ended up helping me pick out the storefront I gifted my wife for Christmas. Now that she’s in the beta stages of starting her bakery, she’s trying to poach my best bartender from Crimson and hire her for the store.
I’m putting up a fight because I don’t want to lose Phoebe, but in all honesty, I’d give Caroline the fucking moon if she asked for it.
I kiss her neck, inhaling that fruity, floral scent that lives in her skin. “You’re lucky, Mrs. Oh, Elia, harder! Choke me! Shove your cock deeper in me—” She clamps her hand down over my mouth, giggling, as Poppy peers up at us with wide, blue-gray eyes. The perfect combination of us.
“God, shut up! Just because she doesn’t repeat doesn’t mean she’s not picking it up.”
“Then you should stop being so loud when we fu—”
“Okay!” Caroline claps her hands together, hopping up from my lap, and turns to scoop our baby into her arms. She pinches Poppy’s chubby cheek, her voice lilting as her audience changes. “Let’s go check on that two-tiered cake your daddy insisted on for your big day.”
She shoots me a look that hits me right in the dick. I grin and lean back in my chair as my girls sweep from the room. Fucking Christ, my life couldn’t be any better.
There’s a garden Caroline planted in my soul, replacing the tar and darkness from before, flourishing with each passing day I spend with her and my daughter. My family.
Heading downstairs, I enter the kitchen and find my father holding Poppy and talking to Juliet, who’s living with us for the last semester of school as she tries to get an internship in Stonemore. “Oh, good, my daughter’s entourage finally arrived.”
Juliet rolls her eyes, poking Poppy’s belly, eliciting bubbly giggles. “You’re the only entourage around here, old man.” She points at my t-shirt, and I glance down, shrugging.
So, I had screen-prints of Poppy’s newborn photoshoot done. It’s not like anyone else is wearing it. “If she remembers anything from today, it’s not gonna be your boring-ass attire. It’ll be this bomb-ass shirt, declaring my unconditional love.”
“Sure, son. That’s what she’ll remember.” My father winks at Juliet, jiggling my daughter in his arms, and I exhale, clearly outnumbered.
Gia and Marco sit on the sofas in my living room, blowing up balloons, and I spot Phoebe and Caroline out by the pool, arranging pink cupcakes in a circle around the center of the patio table. It’s an unusually warm day for February in Maine, so we decided to do an outdoor celebration in case the chance doesn’t come back up.
Juliet’s warnings about global warming went unheard.
I slip out the back door, nodding to my men in passing, and pull my wife’s hips into my pelvis, unable to resist her even for a moment.
Phoebe’s nose scrunches up. “Y’all are gross.”
Kissing Caroline’s shoulder, I grin at my bartender. “Get used to it, Pheebs. You go to work with my wife, and I’m gonna make sure I stop by all the time and pull her into the storage closet for raunchy quickies.”
“Jesus.” Phoebe picks up a cupcake, licking at the icing, eyes darting momentarily inside and then landing on us again. I turn my head and see Marco standing at the window, a beer in hand, chatting with Luca. “How many kids do you guys want, anyway?”
“As many as she’ll let me pump into her.”
“Oh, my God, Elia.” Caroline shoves me away, adjusting her dress and studying the cupcake display. “Can I get through this pregnancy before you start planning the next, please?”
“And can you plan silently?” Phoebe quips, face twisting in disgust.
“Jeez, I’m sorry my happiness annoys you.”
Caroline grins. “Well, as long as you apologize for it.”
Later, after the candles are blown out, the presents opened (by us, since Poppy decided she was more interested in trying to dive into the pool), and the guests have left, we sit together on a chaise lounge, watching the pool water ripple back and forth.
Caroline toys with the necklace Poppy’s Auntie Liv sent from her vacation in Mexico; finally taking time off work, she decided to jet off with some woman she met on business in Los Angeles. The heart-shaped pendant glimmers in the sunlight, and my wife drops the jewelry back into its gift bag.
Poppy’s light snores draw a smile from me, and I stroke her head on my chest. Caroline sits up, reaching into her cardigan pocket, handing me a folded sheet of paper. “I have something for you.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“I know.” She shrugs, brushing her hand across Poppy’s forehead. “But, this is long overdue.”
I unfold it, curiosity getting the best of me, and scan the title. “Certificate of Name Change?”
She nods, a blush staining her perfect cheeks. “Keep reading.”
My eyes scan the page, reading quickly. “You’re...Caroline Montalto.”
“I am.” Her face beams with pride, and a surge of lust and love, equal in my feelings for this woman, renews itself in me, making my blood sing for the millionth time since she came into my life.
Like an endless ocean, I feel my heart stretch, absorbing every bit of happiness it can wrench from my soul.
>
I slip my hand behind her neck and crash her lips to mine, murmuring into her skin, “about fucking time.” Knowing now that if I can’t consume her, devour her, make her one with me, this is as good as it can get.
My soul feels cleansed, rebirthed, and atoned, despite the blackness that still lurks in its depths.
But for now, I choose to focus on the light.
THE SHOVEL BITES into my palm, and already I feel blisters splitting my skin, but they don’t deter me.
This ritual can’t be postponed.
Tossing dirt over my shoulder, I hunker down in the hole as the sound of female giggles pierces the night air, unwelcome in these hallowed grounds.
Well, kind of hallowed. By most.
Not me, if the grave I’m desecrating is any indication.
But another month’s passed, and I can’t let Murphy’s ghost go unattended. I’m the only one that ever visits, anyway, like he didn’t exist to Mom and Fiona. Like they weren’t complicit in his death.
I guess their guilt doesn’t run red through their veins the way mine does.
Peering out over the grass above the grave, I scan the cemetery for signs of other people. There’s no reason anyone should be traipsing around the King’s Trace Memorial Gardens at midnight in the middle of March.
There’s no real reason for me to be here, either, but that knowledge doesn’t stop me from coming. I can’t rationalize against the eeriness that grips my bones at the thought of missing this anniversary.
All I know is, when I visit my dead brother and commemorate him, it feels like I’ve single-handedly diverted the Apocalypse.
The girl giggles again, and this time it sounds closer. I squint into the darkness, my eyes finally landing on a couple entwined, their silhouettes barely visible in the moonlight.
“Are you sure you want to do this here?” The other voice, a male’s, bounces off the headstones, uncertainty lacing his words. “It’s kinda creepy.”
“This is the only place I can have sex on my dad’s grave, Jace. Stop being a pussy and help me dishonor him.”
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 24
