BOSSY BROTHERS: TONY Read online

  She’s not a distraction.

  She’s a full-blown attraction.

  And I want to do this right.

  “Let me get dressed,” I say. “And then I’ll tell you everything while we have our third date, Soshee. I’ll spill all my dirty secrets.”

  I will prove it to her.

  I’ll prove that even though this started out as something totally fake it’s going to turn into something real.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - BELINDA

  My dearest Vann. You are my best friend. You are my rock…

  Oh, this is stupid. I’ve been trying to write some kind of big grand-gesture speech like the one he spewed out at me last night (that came from his heart and wasn’t planned out in advance), and I can’t think of what to say.

  Do I love him? Yeah, but… it’s not like… love love.

  I can’t explain it. I don’t understand my feelings for him.

  It’s more than love, but less than love. And saying that to him sounds like one big brush-off. So I’m not going to say that to him.

  The problem is, I don’t understand my love for Vann Vaughn.

  He’s definitely my best friend. That’s not even up for debate. Even before Tara left, Vann and I were very close. We spent a lot of time together because of work. And I like our time together. That’s why I don’t want to fuck it up with this dating experiment. We know each other well enough that we have inside jokes. I know what he likes to eat when I grab lunch for everyone. I know how he takes his coffee. He doesn’t need to write it down for me. I could pick his favorite t-shirt out of his closet. If I had ever seen his closet, which I haven’t. I’ve been inside the Vaughn house millions of times, but never been upstairs.

  Still, the point is, I know him.

  And this knowledge of him came naturally. We grew from strangers to acquaintances to friends.

  And this friendship is good. It’s perfect.

  But if he’s so frustrated about me not giving him a chance to move on to the next step that he might not want to be my friend anymore, then I have a serious problem that deserves a thoughtful solution.

  What will my life look like without Vann?

  I’m suddenly sad. Because this is the real reason I can’t come to terms with his request.

  Either way, whether I date him or not, this… love… we have, it’s over.

  It either dissolves completely when we fail at being a real couple, or it fades away because I refuse to give him a chance.

  I sigh. And then the sound of motorcycles filters in from outside.

  It’s going to be a nice day, I guess. Every spring there is a Saturday when the Vaughn brothers get their bikes out and the ride season begins.

  Today must be that Saturday.

  And then I smile. Because I know all the Vaughn brothers now, don’t I?

  I know what Vic and Vonn and Vinn get for lunch too. I know how they take their coffee as well. Maybe I don’t know what Vic’s favorite t-shirt is, but I could take a good guess and probably come very close.

  It’s very comforting to be inside their circle. Especially after all the turmoil that came before being allowed in. It’s like a stillness. A sweet, slow stillness that people look for their whole lives and almost none of them find it.

  This stillness, it’s better than money. It’s a feeling of belonging, and acceptance, and… love.

  Just… not that love.

  “Fuck it.” I throw the pen and paper across the room.

  I can’t win.

  Nothing ever stays the same. That’s the only thing I know to be true. And this is why I’m so hesitant to date Vann. Change is coming. This stillness will be interrupted.

  And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  So maybe I should just get on the ride and go where it takes me?

  I get dressed, grab my purse, and go outside. It’s still early. Barely nine-thirty in the morning. Way too early to show up for work. Because if the boys took their bikes out they will probably be gone for a while. Probably even show up late for work today and I’ll have to manage all the waiting customers when that happens.

  I sigh as I hop down my steps and walk around the side of the garage. And then I see Vann sitting on the front porch of the house, leaning against the railing with his knees bent and a helmet in his hands.

  “What are you doing?” I call out as I make my way towards him. “I thought you’d be out on your bike with your brothers.”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “Me?” I point to myself.

  He tosses his helmet up in the air and catches it. “You wanna go for a ride with me?”

  That’s when I notice there’s a second helmet sitting on the porch beside him. “You waited for me?”

  “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

  His response is not facetious. It’s very matter-of-fact. “Where are we going?”

  “Mmm.” He tilts his head back and forth like he’s thinking. Then he gets to his feet, grabs the second helmet, tosses it to me—I catch it—and says, “Get on my ride and see.”

  He nods his head towards his bike. All the Vaughn brothers have very nice bikes. They are all custom. Their brother-in-law is Spencer Shrike, after all, who might be the most famous person in this whole town. But they didn’t let Spencer build these bikes. They built them themselves. Spencer’s shop just does the paint.

  It occurs to me that knowing this about them is also part of that special love I can’t seem to describe.

  I start to slide the helmet on, but Vaughn crosses the distance between us and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hold on. You can’t go like that.”

  “Like what?” I look down at myself. “I have jeans on. I should be fine.”

  “No, Belinda. Your hair. You have to tie it up or it’s gonna get all tangled.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “You don’t know that because we’ve never been on a ride together before.”

  “Hmm. I guess I never thought about it before.”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hair tie. “Come and sit on the porch.”

  I cock my hip and tilt my head. Trying to hide a smile. “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” He takes my free hand and leads me over to the porch. “You sit there.” He points to the bottom step.

  I sit. And then he sits on the step directly behind me and starts gathering up my hair.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I laugh.

  “Tying up your hair.”

  I bite my lip. Probably blush, too. And then his fingers are dividing my hair up into sections and it feels so—different? Good? Both?—I almost want to close my eyes.

  Then I realize what he’s doing. “Are you… braiding it?” I laugh. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

  “I have nieces, remember? Rory used to make me play hair salon with her before Ariel was old enough to take my place. She taught me all the skills.”

  I giggle like an idiot as I picture Vann dutifully playing hair salon with his niece. But then the sensation of him doing my hair—the spring air, the warm sun, the upcoming ride on his bike—it’s all so delicious, I settle in and just enjoy it.

  This could be the last time I have him this way.

  We will date. I realize that now. There’s no other way forward, except for me to move out of their garage and start all over again. And I’m not fool enough to do that. So we will date.

  And who knows what happens after that?

  It could all explode tomorrow.

  It’s not even up to me. Saying I will date him isn’t the solution. Just because we date doesn’t mean we fall in love. The future doesn’t come with a guarantee.

  Well. Maybe one guarantee.

  Nothing will ever be the same again. That’s the only thing I know for sure.

  So I enjoy this. I enjoy every moment of it.

  He takes his time braiding my hair. Like he’s enjoying this just as much as I am. And when he’s done, he fastens the elastic ban
d and pulls a ribbon out of his pocket, showing it to me in the palm of his hand. It’s black satin and has little skulls printed down the length of it.

  I recognize it because we sell them in the shop.

  “Can I use this as the finishing touch, Belinda?”

  I turn my head and look over my shoulder at him.

  “No?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes,” he repeats, smiling. And then he ties the skull ribbon on the end of my braid.

  I stand up and turn around, my hand automatically reaching for the long braid behind my back and pulling it over my shoulder so I can see the bow he tied.

  I look at him. And when our eyes meet, I think I blush seventeen shades of scarlet.

  “Ready?” he asks, getting to his feet. He’s wearing light blue jeans with a few rips along his upper right thigh. There’s an old grease stain on the other leg, faded now from being bleached out. And if a stranger were looking at it, they wouldn’t know it was grease.

  But I know it’s grease. Because these are his favorite jeans. And that t-shirt he’s wearing, the white one with the black Shrike Bikes raven and skull logo on the front, that’s his favorite shirt too. And the boots on his feet—not the typical black ones he wears every day, but the old, scuffed-up brown ones he reserves only for bike rides—those are his favorite boots.

  His blond hair is tousled and just a tiny bit too long. He has an appointment to get it cut next week. I know this. I know this because I made that appointment for him. So right now his hair is just the right length. The way it hangs over his face just enough to make his blue eyes a little darker than they really are takes his charming good looks to a slightly more mysterious level.

  I nod. And that’s all I’m able to do. Because I am suddenly at a loss for words.

  He nods back, slips his matte-black helmet over his head and points to mine. Which I have been holding this entire time.

  I slip it over my head and he adjusts my chin strap. Then he walks over to his bike, straddles it, kicks back the stand, and kicks it until the engine roars. Filling the quiet, quaint Mountain Avenue neighborhood with the promise of danger.

  He waits for me on the idling bike, looking at me with… I don’t know what that look is.

  Longing?

  Desire?

  Love?

  All of the above?

  His shoulders look a little bit tense. Like he’s waiting for something bad to happen. Waiting for me to change my mind, maybe?

  But it’s too late for that.

  And when I swing my leg over the back end of the seat and settle up against his back, he reaches around, grabs my hands, and clasps them together over the tight muscles of his stomach.

  I grab fistfuls of his t-shirt as he eases the bike down the driveway and his shoulders relax in the knowledge that he finally has my full attention.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TONY

  Soshee Ameci drives a ten-year-old white Toyota Corolla. A true piece of shit. And I can’t explain it, but her car choice makes me kinda love her.

  Back home I drive a 1969 notchback Corvette Stingray in Le Mans blue. It’s a nice fucking car. My rental is nothing special, though. Just a standard sedan in gold.

  So when we’re standing in the parking lot in the back of the theatre and she asks me if I want to drive, I tell her no.

  She makes a face at her car, then looks back at me. “Are you sure? My car might break down. It’s been known to do that.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah. I’m sure. Your car looks like it’s up for an adventure.”

  “Hmm.” She smiles at me. “Are you up for an adventure, Tony Dumas?”

  I nod. “One hundred percent invested in this adventure. Nothing’s gonna go wrong. Trust me.”

  She giggles and waggles a warning finger at me. “You’re just tempting fate now, buddy.”

  “Bring it, Fate. I’m ready.”

  “You say that now, but my gas gauge doesn’t even work.”

  “Soshee, if we run out of gas and get stranded on the side of the road, my life will be complete.”

  “OK,” she says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the engine overheats and some random farmer has to give us a lift to a gas station in Berthoud on the back of his tractor so we can get a tow truck.”

  I get in the passenger side. “God, I really hope that happens.”

  She laughs and inserts her key. It takes three good tries before the car actually starts. And when she backs out of the parking space, it backfires.

  She shoots me a dubious look.

  I smile back at her and slide my sunglasses down my face. “Let’s do it.”

  When I told her I wanted to get our fortunes told for our third date, she guffawed. Loudly.

  “Why?” she exclaimed.

  “That’s my proof.”

  “Your proof of what, exactly?”

  “That this is real.”

  “Hold on,” she said. “You’re gonna rely on my sketchy fortune-telling mother to confirm that we’re over the exes and ready for something new?”

  “You got it in one.”

  “This is such a bad idea.”

  But she’s wrong. I can feel it. I don’t even care if her mother’s a fake. This is going to be the most mysterious, intriguing, and slightly dangerous date ever.

  Mostly because her mother really could ruin everything. But also because I promised to tell her my truth.

  And I fully intend on keeping that promise.

  We’re quiet as we make our way west towards the highway that leads down to Boulder from Fort Collins. But once we leave the city limits there’s a lot of empty space and the silence that was comfortable turns into an air of expectation.

  “OK, I’m ready,” she says once she gets her old car into the last gear and there are no more traffic lights in our way. “I want to hear all about what you saw on your way home this morning.” She points a red-tipped fingernail at me. “And don’t leave out the dirty secrets. I’m dying to see more of your dirty side.”

  I grin at her. And maybe… possibly… fall a little in love with her. I just dig this girl. There is absolutely nothing about her to hate. She’s the exact opposite of Rosalinda in every way possible.

  She makes me feel like everything is going to be OK.

  When I look at Rosalinda, I feel like the whole world has gone wrong. I get a heavy pain in my chest. The blue sky is suddenly filled with gray clouds. And there’s dread. So much dread when I think about Belinda. Rosalie. Whoever the fuck she is.

  But with Soshee I feel like the world has gone right. Like the sun is so bright, it forces the clouds to part. Like there’s hope.

  “Come on, come on. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “OK. But I have to start with the dirty parts. That’s the only way this story makes sense.”

  “Oh, my,” she says. “You really know how to get a girl excited. Spill.”

  I take a deep breath, consider how bad of an idea it is to say anything about my dirty secrets to a girl I just met yesterday, then let that feeling of hope take over and throw away the dread for good. I’m done with it. “OK. Let me talk and get out the first part. Then you can ask questions.”

  “You’re pretty confident I’ll have questions.”

  “Oh, you will. Trust me. So… first of all I would like to prelude this convo with the disclaimer that I’m a good dude.”

  She laughs. “Noted.”

  “And that sometimes doing the right thing involves breaking the law.”

  “Hmm. OK.”

  “My father started this little mission we’re on a long time ago. Decades ago. So it wasn’t our idea. It was just something my brother Alonzo and I grew up with.”

  “Like being in a Mob family.” She winks at me.

  “Kinda. Sure.”

  “Just tell me what you guys do, Tony. Trust me when I say that no matter what it is, I’ve seen worse.”

  I point at her. “You’re not going
to get out of explaining that.”

  “I don’t plan on it.”

  “OK. Fine. We smuggle people into the US. Kids, mostly. But sometimes younger women too. Especially pregnant ones. And we’re not sleazy sex-traffickers, either. We’re just trying to make a difference in the lives of less fortunate kids. Most of them are orphans from different Central American countries. But we do a lot of runs from Haiti and every now and then Cuba too. We pick them up in the ocean and take them to safe houses along the East Coast and get them fake papers.”

  “Wow. That’s… lofty. And impressive. And… wow, Tony.” She makes a pouty face. “You have a secret squishy side.”

  “I do,” I say. “But it’s not all sunshine and roses. See, for a long time we’ve had this deal with the FBI. They cover for us. They kinda had our backs. But this last mission, just a few months ago, it became very apparent that the FBI wasn’t really covering for us. They were up to something else and they were using us to hide that.”

  “Damn. Fuck. What were they up to?”

  “We’re not one hundred percent sure, but it’s also probably smuggling kids. Just… not for the same reasons.”

  “Shit.”

  “It’s hard to tell though, because we’ve done dozens of these missions over the years. And only two of them went sideways.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The FBI only cared about two of these missions. Two missions that were smuggling in little girls.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “No. It’s not what you think. They weren’t meant for sex trafficking either.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because these are very special little girls.”

  “Special how?”

  “They’re assassins.”

  “What?” She laughs. Loudly. “Say that again.”

  “They’re assassins, Soshee. I am not fucking around. I met one of these girls a few months ago. Her name is Wendy. And Wendy is the creepiest teenage girl you’ve ever seen in your life. Oh, she’s beautiful. Don’t get me wrong. She’s all blonde hair and blue eyes. Perfect, angelic face. But she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Are you fucking with me right now?”