The Red Shoes Read online

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Not do what you are doing,” Dom says, wiping his finger along the edge of my nose. “I know you, Salvatore.”

  The feeling of having a parent catching me in the act fills my brain. He does know me, and I cannot deny it. Escape may as well be my middle name. I don’t want to face the fact that she is gone and has been for years. The what if’s start running through my mind on an endless loop until I capsize and succumb to the demons.

  He runs a single finger from the middle of my neck down between my breast bone. He detours around the edge of my navel through the light happy trail and slowly wraps his hand around my cock. I gasp at the strangeness of his touch. We gave up our dynamic long ago, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t days I need his discipline to keep me on the rails. This crosses the line where Deacon and I start, and his pass doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “If you need me, let me know,” he reassures with one stroke. I’m not fully erect, but I am damn turned on. I don’t want to be. “I will always be here for you.”

  He releases my dick and leaves as Deacon comes in. He glances between my guilty look and Dom as the door closes. “What was that about?”

  “He’s trying to find the ground, and I cannot be that for him anymore.”

  “No,” he says, pressing his hands to my cheeks and passionately kissing my lips. He is so good to me. And this is why I must excuse his indiscretions with the love of my life because I need Deacon Cruz. “You are mine, Sal.”

  And now, I am hard.

  “Suck me,” I request, understanding how incredibly nasty I am after the run and the crawl. “Please be my bitch.”

  “There is no one else in the world I would be a bitch for…”

  Without hesitation, he lowers to his knees and takes my shaft in his mouth. It is glorious as I get high on the drugs and his tantalizing tongue. I buck my hips fast and grip his pretty blonde hair. “Shit… Don’t stop.”

  His fingers dig into the flesh of my taut ass, and we rock into the stratosphere where nothing else matters but this moment. I overhear the yelling in the other room as I try to maintain the build-up between Deacon and me. The bathroom door swings open, and Nico’s mouth drops. I hold Deacon’s head to my crotch, refusing to let him stop. “Um, Dom is on the phone with Amber… They are fighting.”

  “I’ll be there in a damn minute.”

  “O—kay,” Nico says, shoving a chunk of French bread in his mouth, as he rolls his eyes and goes to leave. “Have a good one.”

  “Make me cum, Cruz,” I harshly hiss. “Because I don’t want to deal with any of this shit.”

  The clench of his lips compresses as he cups my sack and teases my asshole with his finger. His blue eyes flick to mine, and I thrust, finding the momentum and releasing with a loud grunt. He swallows, and I run my fingers through his locks. “They won’t ever leave you alone, and I cannot say as though I blame you for the things you do….”

  He reaches into the drawer, full of empty vials, and finds the newest addition. He undoes his pants and lays down before me. “Do it. Fuck me up.”

  “God, I fucking love you.”

  Love is cocaine on Cruz’s cock.

  And right now, I cannot be any better than this.

  “Master Dom… Master Dom…”

  “Calm down,” he whispers cooly. “Stop fidgeting with your fingers.”

  With my eyes glazed over from the sordid activities of the night, I note the lightning is illuminating the sky as my fingers grip the sheet. The wind blusters against the shutters causing them to rattle on their rusting hinges.

  “It’s getting bad out there,” I mumble as his hands work magic on my skin, paling in comparison to the uproarious storm. Leaves fly into the window and cling in the water, sticking to the glass. “I’m serious…”

  “You want me to stop, Boston?”

  “Nah.” I close my eyes and feel the jetting of the needle into my flesh. I’ve been sitting here in Cruz’s spare bedroom for hours getting tortured by Dom. Deacon and Nico are in the living room, watching The Notebook.

  The sensitivity is real.

  At one point, Deacon came to check on me in tears. I believe he wanted me to console him. My first inclination was to make some crass joke, but I understand, he’s been having some issues since coming back from seeing my girl.

  “You doing alright?” Dom asks, blinking up from working his sharps into my skin. “You’re loaded.”

  He has no idea.

  “I am fine.”

  …People who say they’re fine rarely are…

  I wish Kaci would shut up sometimes.

  “You need to let it go,” Dom insists, admiring his work. “You cannot stop anything from happening, but drowning—or snorting—your sorrows is only going to work for so long before you reach the point of collapsing.”

  I don’t want to talk about the challenges of my long-distance relationship with Iris, especially with Dom. He resumes puncturing my skin when the power in the house flickers.

  “Fuck,” he grumbles as I hear Deacon scurrying through the house. The old wooden floors carry the vibration like no other. I have about a dozen of his menacing tiny spikes in my chest.

  “Are you okay?” Deacon asks, lighting up the room with his phone. Nico waits behind his shoulder, and I am marginally jealous.

  That is my spot.

  The power returns for a few brief moments, enough for me to catch the worried look in Deacon’s sad blue eyes, before the lights go out again. We were doing some grounding through the pain. But it isn’t the session that concerns me.

  The savage storm intensifies as Dom pulls the needles from my flesh. While I have grown accustomed to the random bouts of Texas weather, this is different.

  It feels off.

  Lightning blooms outside the window, and I notice the brownish, nasty color of the sky. “We need to get somewhere safe.”

  “The bathroom,” Dom declares, standing up as Nico moves beside him.

  “There isn’t enough room for the four of us in the bathtub,” Deacon insists, handing a towel to me. “You two go to the bathroom. We’ll go to the hall closet.”

  … The closet?

  Really, Cruz?

  I grab the whiskey bottle off the nightstand and follow Deacon as Dom and Nico find shelter in the small bathroom. “We cannot go to the master bathroom. There are too many windows.”

  “Add storm shelter to the list of things we need to fix,” I angrily grump as he swings open the door to the stuffed closet.

  “There is one at the main house in the backyard, but I’ve not been in it.”

  Why does he wait until now to tell me this?

  Not that I would hunker down in a cellar I’d never been in… or would I?

  “Take me,” I mutter, intoxicated from the scene and… other substances. I do not think that we will have to trudge through the blustery rain to get there. “To your hidey-hole.”

  “To my…hidey hole?”

  “Ya!” I eagerly boom. “Let’s go!”

  “You are insane,” Deacon maintains, heading for the door. He pivots back to me. “Are you just going to stand there with the drooling look on your face, or are you coming with me?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  I slip my boots on, and we step out onto the porch. The driving deluge splashes onto my chest as I imagine Deacon’s creek near the front of the property is flooding. The thing is dangerous as fuck. “You ready?” Deacon asks, standing near the edge. “Cause I ain’t coming back.”

  In the distance, I nod and hear the snap of a tree. The woods are so thick surrounding his property; it could be anywhere. I jump from the porch into the mud. We scurry into the darkness as the lightning and thunder escort us through the rain. “Are they going to be okay?”

  “Better than we will be if we don’t get to the cellar!”

  We’re running fast up to the old house. He swings open the garden gate, and I follow as the wood slams into my
ass. “Where is it?”

  “Over there,” he shouts, pointing. We are soaked to the bone as the trees dance with a dangerous sway. The pea-sized hail pelts against my back. “We gotta hurry!”

  He tosses the heavy wooden door back and disappears into the darkness. I follow him into the pitch blackness. I pull my phone out and turn on the light, prepared to see skeletons and spider webs. The shelves are filled with canned vegetables and fruits from years ago. There are stacks of empty crates and pallets and a few tools scattered in the small dungeon. It cannot be more than eight by twelve. I feel trapped and start panicking. “Babe…”

  “You aren’t okay,” he says, grabbing an old oil lantern and trying to light it. It flares to life, and he lowers the wick. “I got you, Raniero.”

  “I’m not okay with anything anymore.”

  “I know, and you haven’t been,” he confides, moving some items off the antique church pew. “Did you lock the door?”

  “Huh?”

  Immediately, he darts up the steps as I shine my light on him. He latches the tarnished lock as the storm rustles over the wood. “You ever been in a tornado?”

  “No. And I was hoping to keep my record.”

  “It’s bad out there.” He tosses his wet hoodie and slicks back his hair. “We should clean this place up.”

  “The whole thing,” I mutter, shaking on the bench.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No, I’m fucking terrified, though.”

  He crouches and sets his hands on my knees. “When I say, I have you, I mean—I have you. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Not now. Not out there. You’re safe. What can I do for you?”

  “Tell me, I will have her…”

  “Iris?”

  “Who else?” Laying my hands over his, I nod. “Tell me I didn’t make a mistake by not just offing my dad years ago and calling this done.”

  “That wasn’t a mistake,” he says. “That was smart. You have uncles and a whole family of his network, and we didn’t need their barrels pointed in our direction. We’re a big enough target already without Cesario’s cronies breathing down our necks. You’re going to win this, one way or another.”

  “I just thought…”

  “You thought it would be easier than it has been,” Deacon subtlety offers. His words sound more like condolence, a long drawn out sympathy card, and if it were from anyone else, I’d pop the middle finger and swagger off. But he is right. “You are in love with a girl thousands of miles away. I respect the hell out of you for staying true to that,” he pauses, confessing his honesty. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “… Really?”

  “Seriously, you got some balls. The two of you deserve one another for both being insane enough to even try this skewed version of long-distance relationship.”

  I hate to admit how turned on I am by his words. They affect my soul in a way I cannot even begin to describe, etching their way deep into my atoms, and altering their full view. “Thank you.”

  “Take your wet jeans off, Nero.”

  “I’ll be naked then,” I ramble off with a smirk.

  “And I’ll be buried in your ass.”

  “I’m so fucking high,” I mumble, standing on my wobbly legs. “Jesus…” His fingers make quick work of the denim. He peels them from my body. “We gonna do this on a church pew?”

  “Don’t go acting all innocent now.”

  “But it turns me on when you do.” I stick my tongue out with a devilish grin. “My holy saint.”

  The wooden slats of the door fight against the fierce winds drawing our attention. There is a leak. Drip…drip…dripping down the stairs to form a puddle on the floor.

  “Fuck…” Deacon grabs one of the old towels in the corner and tosses it on the mess. “We cannot drown in here.”

  “You know, the dungeon in The Dollhouse floods. Kaci insisted on putting in pumps, but she was crazy.”

  “I’m not the measure of sanity,” he says, undoing his pants. “I’m the Dark Prince’s secret loverboy. I don’t have my head on straight.”

  “You are by far the most level-headed out of all of The Unholy.”

  His brow furrows to a distinct line. “On the surface, I will agree with you, but beneath all of that—I am probably the least stable next to you. Don’t think the cut and club earn me some righteous status. I’ll fucking take anyone out who hurts you or Iris, even one of our own.”

  His admission strikes my heart with the vibration of his love. The intimate levels of our candor are off the charts as we make promises in a dank cellar. “I won’t let them take you from me.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you so damned much that I would let you take my girl for a spin,” I remind.

  “But would you let me drive your truck?” he teases, pumping his dick slowly. His fingers caress up and over the dampened tip and urge on my arousal. He is beautifully perfect, and I am so fucking flawed.

  I lay back onto the pew, craving his weight on me. He grounds my extreme rollercoaster with his constant desire to serve me.

  Deacon Cruz is my submissive, surrendering to every whim and passion I have, and I take full advantage of it. “Anytime.”

  Stepping close to my head, he rubs the tip of his dick over my lips. I taste the saltiness of the pre-cum and welcome the gloss as I open wide and suck his hardened shaft down. “Are you going to make me fuck you in a twister?”

  “What else are we going to do down here?” I ask before running kisses along the ridge and swirling my tongue around his pronounced mushroom head. His dick is thick and veined. I tend to think of his cock as stout and substantial. I understand why Iris loves screwing him, and I cannot blame her because I do, too. I spread my legs as my fingertips rest against his belly. “Take me.”

  He kneels between my legs and spits onto his shaft. Taking some of the spit, he rubs my puckered hole before sinking one finger in deep. “This may hurt.”

  “… Do I care?”

  “No,” he whispers, lowering his torso to mine. His hand rests on his sharpened arrow between our bodies. He will hit the target; there is no doubt. His precise aim is enviable, especially in chaotic states. I glance over to the ongoing drip…drip…drip. “Ignore it. Focus on me. Nothing will happen to you.”

  The trust he asks of me is like no other, which is why I loosen up and allow his cock entry into the portal of my passage. People can talk all they want about what we are and aren’t, but the facts are we are romantically tied up in such a way, I don’t know that I could ever recover from a breakup.

  We are erotic and sensual, and so much more than two alphas bucking in the darkest of the night. We are balanced by his light and my darkness, his saint to my sinner, his holy goodness to my unholy wrath.

  “Cruz…” I mutter out as he slides deep inside of my sanctum. He feels good, like home and happiness. He thrusts into the hilt and stills. I want this with him as much as I want Iris. We spin like delicate plates balanced on pedestals. If one crashes, then the risk of breaking is significant. But we try because of love. We keep a constant vigil because of love. We fight to stay as triumvirate because this is home. He is home. She is home.

  I crave my home nonstop.

  This home is the thing forcing my crazy and calming like no other.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, dipping down to kiss my lips. “You did a lot of coke.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, uncertain if I believe it. “Just don’t stop.”

  I do the drugs to soothe the voices in my head, to torpor the fires from burning everything down, to find the ground that keeps me from slipping into pure insanity. And when no one understands, Deacon and Iris do. They get it. They get that sometimes, whiskey is a necessity.

  Without blunting my spastic need to control, I will do things—bad, bad things—like putting a bullet in my father’s brain. And the worst part of it all is I won’t care. Another dead man. Another funeral. Another soul who I couldn’t care less about.

 
Protect the home burns deep in my core.

  I am the incinerator to guard the perimeter of us. Deacon is my spiritual advisor. And Iris is our bliss. Fire. Wind. Water.

  “I love these first few moments inside of you,” Deacon confides with his rough gravelly voice. “You are so tightly wrapped around my dick like you need me. This isn’t about pleasure but resistance; in your ass, you don’t resist. You welcome my entrance into your exit. And it’s fucked up to go in the out. And it’s wrong to want you this bad.”

  “Wait,” I slur out. “Why is it bad? Are you afraid of flaming unicorns and magical rainbows? Can you not accept the gay act?”

  “This isn’t a gay act,” he correct. “This is an act of love. And it is wrong because you belong to one another.”

  I hadn’t considered his perspective on the matter. From my seat, I worry about Iris and Deacon forming some insatiable lust, but Deacon worries about Iris and I leaving. Being eliminated from the equation is his greatest fear, I can see it bloom in his eyes. He doesn’t want to lose his home, either. As if my fight could be anymore, it flourishes, replicating and spreading like a virus in my blood.

  And if he is worried about his place, then Iris, too, must be concerned of hers. Does she think Deacon and I would run off in the night only to wear leather shorts and wave rainbow flags in the air? Would he follow collared to my leash?

  I cannot envision this without the fabulousness of Iris.

  We’d carry her, in all her pompous glory for which we encouraged, on our shoulders. She’d wave as we marched, and we would be…home.

  “We belong to each other.”

  With every thrust, the mantra runs through my mind.

  I must go home…

  I must go home…

  I must go home…

  PART II

  Two

  Gold Path of Sexcellence

  I wake in a foreign place where the cellar is no longer dusty but spotlessly clean. I glance around, aware, and in awe. The canned fruits and vegetables are no longer aged with a brown hue but fresh and crisp with color. The antique church pew is restored to its former glory. And the stacks of crates and pallets are gone. A crystal chandelier dangles from the center of the room, and the walls are all painted a creamy vanilla color. The wooden shelving is stained to match the pew. The dark gray slate floor is cold beneath my feet.