A Dark Place (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5) Read online

  A Dark Place

  a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5

  Kailee Reese Samuels

  A DARK PLACE

  a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 5

  Copyright © 2020 by Kailee Reese Samuels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  E-Book Edition: October 20, 2020

  ISBN 978-1-947362-94-9

  Editing by The Red Pen Queen

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  Also by Kailee Reese Samuels

  22

  A&E

  Bad Girl

  Juliet

  Kinky Sex Magic

  Madness

  Poppy

  She/He

  a Tomb of Ashen Tears

  Salt Kissed Love

  Famous Last Words

  Every Minute I Love You

  Diary of a Submissive

  A Dark Place

  Pre-Order Forbidden Sins (3.9.21)

  SONS

  Son of Saint

  Son of Angel

  Son of Cirque

  Sal Raniero Thrillers

  Unspoken (Prequel to Hey Pretty)

  Sal Raniero’s Little Black Book

  Prequel (The Contract)

  Sal Raniero’s Little Black Book 1

  The Story of Salvatore

  The Initiation

  Tea for Two

  Grunt

  Hopechest

  RIDE

  Fluff

  Bounce

  Raw

  Nocturne

  A Shimmering Dream

  The Red Shoes

  Hop onboard the Kailee Train:

  KaileeReeseSamuels.com

  Playlists for all of the books are available on Spotify.

  PRINTABLE READING LIST - Sal’s Reading List

  ADP Playlist

  Listen to the music that inspired A Dark Place on Spotify

  111 songs for 111 chapters.

  I am intentionally not including the list due to the length of the book.

  Thank you for tripping my wires, fueling my art, and inspiring me.

  k xx

  The first thing I told you was

  - WE’RE GOING ON A JOURNEY -

  and that remains true to this day.

  For the best experience, pause between episodes.

  “A woman's guess is much more accurate than a man's certainty.”

  – Rudyard Kipling

  Contents

  I. Prelude to Chaos

  survival

  N E R O

  No Shame

  November 2019

  1. the winter chill in the southern hemisphere

  2. Hitting the Zodiac

  3. A Not So Innocent Saint

  4. UNh0lY W R E C K

  II. Second to None

  Summer 2019

  5. No Shortcut to Paradise

  6. Steal Some Tarts

  7. Pluck the Catgut

  8. Give My Regards to the Old Bastard

  9. Table for Eleven. Tea for One.

  10. Soul-Depleting Hellcat

  11. Bless Me In Your Flames

  12. dominate my love with your strict rule

  13. four posts

  14. the standoff

  15. unpleasant reminders of things long forgotten

  III. Creeps Upon the Earth

  16. All That I Am In a Lemon Meringue

  17. oscurità

  18. rites of tenebrous passage

  19. 純愛 p u r elove

  20. Spill My Guts

  21. Blood on My Hands and the Sauce in Her Grotto

  22. the meeting of the minds

  23. Daughters of the Waters

  24. water of the last moment

  25. no migrant to these blood soaked lands

  26. light the fuse

  IV. A Faint Hatchling

  27. I’m Reacting Now

  28. water of the first moment

  29. f e e d t h e beast

  30. passing the night

  31. Tangled in an Angel

  32. Pendulum Swinging in a Stolen Shrine

  33. Six Thousand Miles and Who I Am

  34. Unwanted

  35. Suffocating in a Pavilion

  36. Breaking Point

  37. Until Peru

  V. An Omen of War

  38. One Hello

  39. Reviviscence

  40. Grey Water

  41. Crippling Depression

  42. little terrorists hitching a taxi ride

  43. An Invader Stealing My Last Cigarette

  44. A Mad Q U E E N

  45. Hateful Situation

  46. When I Get Mine

  47. He knew before me.

  48. w H i P P e ∂

  VI. the ghost of strigiformes

  Early Fall 2019

  49. Two Houses

  50. The Sacrifice

  51. Hostile Situation

  52. A Red Dress, A Bottle of Tequila, and A Sinful Saint

  53. Straight to Hell

  54. One Waitress Strategist, Please

  55. A Haunting Coda

  56. if you only knew

  57. The Gilded Bones

  58. Raising Hell

  59. Elastic Sacs

  VII. The Drop Off

  60. A Shallow Shore

  61. Into the Lands of the Big Dicks

  62. Fuck With My Fists

  63. Into the Abysmal Sweltering Seas

  64. Count Your Blessings

  65. Fortune Cookies, Anyone?

  66. A Monster in a Machina

  67. No Rose Colored Towels

  68. The Levee

  69. A Path, A Crossing, and Zero Resistance

  70. Let the Water Break

  71. The Sway of One Lotus

  VIII. A Revolutions Menacing Error

  72. Breach the Light

  73. A Riveting Chess Match

  74. A God’s Call

  75. Hostage Situation

  76. Snakes in Jungles

  77. Who Will Save My Prayers?

  78. the princess and the hellhound

  79. racherché splooge

  80. Little Leprechaun Go Away

  81. A Fortunate Abduction

  82. CODA

  83. D-FAM

  84. lachrymose savant

  85. A Bomb Clock

  IX. Casus Belli

  86. One Night That Brought The Sun

  87. Wailing Flowers

  88. Argh! Ahoy, me mateys!

  89. Rats in Cages

  90. Silent Baptism

  91. The Milkmaid’s Revolt

  92. The War We Didn’t Plan

  93. a blizzard in a desert

  94. ruby red in the jungle

  95. slaughter the cow, inherit the soul

  X. East of Eden

  November 2019

  96. Facts of the Actual Event

  97. Intentions of Gold<
br />
  98. More Than Me

  99. dark labyrinths

  100. in our tragedy

  101. Green Lights Shaded Blue

  102. sharks in the sea

  103. The Catalyst of Reckoning

  104. Deus Benefaction

  XI. Monsters Like Me

  105. Compromise the Barriers

  106. Break the Fence

  107. Stalk the Prey

  108. And

  109. Punish

  110. Without

  111. Conscience

  Forbidden Sins

  Love the Sal?

  Ms. Samuels Notes #29

  I

  Prelude to Chaos

  survival

  According to the dictionary, triggers are distressing situations, bringing on feelings of past trauma.

  I fundamentally disagree with the definition because—good and bad triggers—exist. From the taste of an old family recipe to the smell of grandma’s soap, we are triggered by good memories as well as bad.

  Not every trigger is foul.

  We must strive to detail the language, understanding that tone, amplitude, and volume—the execution of the delivery makes the difference.

  And I also shun the common overuse of the word. We’re rife with warnings, numbing our machine’s handling capabilities. We’re altering our processors in doing such. Our hard drives can withstand great amounts of stress, pressure, and misfires.

  We are built for survival.

  Don’t overclock and melt—cool the burn.

  Don’t avoid—overcome.

  Find balance.

  N E R O

  Nero are the elite influencers in the mafia.

  Nominated by a recommendation letter, qualified candidates are selected by the priests of Sanctum. Assassins must have an outstanding track record of discretion, a quick-thinking ability, and possess a thoroughbred pedigree. Due to the family lineage requirement of the guild, no Nero is an unknown. However, their identity remains undisclosed, even within the clandestine operation.

  After a Nero member furnishes a black coin emblazoned with a fleur de lys, an initiate commits to life, swearing to secrecy, and serving to protect time-honored traditions—interrogating with barbaric tactics, delivering merciless punishment, and honoring their marriage to Sanctum, the sacred state of the mafias.

  Existent rejections to join do not occur.

  Failure warrants a death sentence by the brotherhood.

  Nero number less than fifty.

  No Shame

  “You are a killer. And The Commission and Sanctum are extending a cordial invitation to visit their tomb. They’re waiting for a legend,” Massimiliano Vidal claims. “But understand, joining Nero will be your marriage vows.”

  “They don’t marry?”

  “Rarely, ever.”

  “Sounds like a dark place I would love,” I snicker, grinding my jaw. “There will be no shame amongst the famiglia.”

  His hand brushes the side of my curls as he whispers, “Have no shame, Lucas.”

  November 2019

  1

  the winter chill in the southern hemisphere

  His Butterfly

  The blinding memory flashes a bright strobe in the darkened forest of my recollections. The skeletons nimbly march with the heavy din of footsteps in the debris as I stay eclipsed in the shadows. With my toes sluicing in the sloshy mud of minutes passed, I reconcile the heartache and vow to hire a therapist to be accountable for the registry of my grievances.

  My scars won’t be forgotten.

  My hair blusters around in the whip whirl of the helicopter blades as it launches into the sky. I drop the gun to the ground with a heavy thud. My head lowers with regret, knowing I should’ve begged for transport away from this gruesome place.

  This dark jungle is infesting me.

  The memories relentlessly hunt, coursing over my body, tearing at my flesh, and impacting my heart with punctuated jabs.

  I cannot escape.

  When the beast hovers overhead with those who departed, I spot the passenger who exited upon arrival. The black ball cap restricts the movement of his delicate tendrils, just like he prohibits my disappearance.

  They will not get out of this alive. They will be ripped apart, shredded by sharks, as saltwater pours into the wounds and tenderizes the meat to be fed to gators in the swamps. And I will be forgotten—left to die—withering in the sun, the decomposition hastened by the elements.

  A rotting flower.

  With my thin charcoal hair strewn up in pigtails, I tugged on my grandfather’s sleeve. I had been staying with my grandparents since Christmas because my parents were always fighting.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I loudly yelled, garnering his attention. He opened one eye, peering down as I demanded, “What are you doing?”

  The balding, older middle-aged man said, “I’m meditating.”

  Without regard to his cross-legged position, I crawled into his lap. “Why?”

  “Because this is how I pray.”

  Tears stream over my cheeks as my tongue flicks over saline lips. I part them with the breath, collecting the pieces I can before disappearing. The urge to erase the past clings, but I keep running…running…faster…deeper into the woods…into this life chosen for me.

  This life of a mafia princess.

  I am nothing but a rotting flower.

  And every time I escape a few inches, insidious monsters rise from the gutters, hauling me back down into the catacombs of hell again.

  I will never be free; I am enslaved.

  Bound to the past, he is my Master.

  This life, my prison.

  My hands pressed against the glass as drool frothed from my mouth on his every thrust. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking what is mine.”

  “You’re borrowing time,” I muttered, lacing my fingers with his. “And eventually, you won’t be able to pay your debts.”

  “I’ll find forgiveness in the confessional.”

  Dripping in diamonds, I cackled, “You pray often?”

  “Only when I’m fucking you.”

  “… And what about Saint?” I sharply accused. “You pray he fucks you?”

  His hip dance slowed to a still. “Don’t say his name in vain.”

  “He’s your number one,” I pointed out. “He always will be.”

  With his hands holding my buttocks, he leaned back. “You still don’t get it, Dandelion.”

  “You’re blowing wishes off of me to get to him, Raniero.”

  “You have no clue who or what I’ll blow to keep you safe.”

  I glare at the helicopter sweeping over the mountains into the blue oblivion and understand the choices I have made foretell a future in a scrying orb that I may not want to see. My pale cream dress is the canvas stained with blood splatter from a madman’s painting.

  I am tainted, tarnished, and weathered. My skin is toughened leather, suitable for the distant reaches we must go to achieve victory, and penetrable by those fortunate enough to guess the weakest spots, worn and frayed from years of use.

  I am not a product of neglect but crafted in the depths, sheltered in the core, and suitable to blend into any shallow environment or convoluted bunker tucked within the dirt. I am the perfect arm candy for any sportsman, showman, or…mafia boss.

  Closing my eyes, I remember the party for Soleil, a darling four-year-old girl who was unfortunately blessed in the unrest of being born a Herrera. Balloons and ribbons and paper flowers. Cake. Sparkling candles. Little fingers. Sticky smiles. And laughter.