by JA Huss
Contents
Bossy Brothers: Tony
DESCRIPTION
CHAPTER ONE - TONY
CHAPTER TWO - BELINDA
CHAPTER THREE - TONY
CHAPTER FOUR - BELINDA
CHAPTER FIVE - TONY
CHAPTER SIX - BELINDA
CHAPTER SEVEN - TONY
CHAPTER EIGHT - BELINDA
CHAPTER NINE - TONY
CHAPTER TEN - BELINDA
CHAPTER ELEVEN - TONY
CHAPTER TWLEVE - BELINDA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - TONY
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - BELINDA
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - TONY
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - BELINDA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TONY
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - BELINDA
CHAPTER NINETEEN - TONY
CHAPTER TWENTY - BELINDA
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - TONY
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - BELINDA
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - TONY
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - BELINDA
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - TONY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - BELINDA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - TONY
EPILOGUE 1 - TONY
EPILOGUE 2 - BELINDA
END OF BOOK SHIT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOSSY BROTHERS SERIES
BOOK SIX
Edited by RJ Locksley
Cover Design: JA Huss
Cover Photo Wander Auigar
Copyright © 2020 by JA Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN-978-1-950232-26-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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DESCRIPTION
Belinda Baker and I were not made for each other.
We are not soul mates, or lovers, or even frenemies.
She is the one who needed to get away.
What we had together wasn’t blind love, it was sick rage.
We were a match made in hell, it was hate at first sight, and when she walked away from me and never looked back—it was a relief.
It was bliss.
So why did I travel two thousand miles so I could be near her?
Why can’t I stop thinking about this girl I never want to see again?
Why. Am I. Here?
And what do I have to do to make her disappear for good?
Bossy Brothers: Tony features two girls falling for the wrong men and two men falling for the right girls. A family of tatted up brothers and a town filled with secrets and danger. A story of earned chances and first dates. Of coming to terms with the past and finding a way into the future. It is book six in the Bossy Brothers series and should be read after book five, Bossy Brothers: Alonzo.
CHAPTER ONE - TONY
She cried after we had sex.
Every single time.
It wasn’t a sobbing cry. It was mostly silent tears, but they were tears all the same. They would well up in her eyes for a few moments, gathering there like perfect little pools of sadness, and then they would run down her cheeks. And if she was wearing make-up, there would be little black streaks after the tears settled.
God, that was hot.
And I remember thinking to myself… Dude. There is something seriously wrong with you.
Because I liked her tears.
No. That’s not even close to accurate. I loved her tears.
I don’t want her to be sad. That’s not it. I don’t want to hurt her, it’s not about that. But both of those things needed to be there for those tears to… you know, get me off.
But here’s the weird thing about her—she likes it rough. She has always liked it rough. So I would get rough with her. At first it was a little bit of pressure on her throat as I fucked her from behind, my fingers just barely pressing on that heartbeat throbbing on her neck. And God, she would moan. That turned into slapping her ass. Grabbing her tits. Pinching her nipples. You know, normal rough shit.
But she didn’t cry during any of that. She didn’t look scared at all, to be honest. She liked it. And I’m not a scary fucker. Not really. So she wasn’t afraid of me.
No. It was something else. Because she only cried after she came.
And it got to a point where that’s all I wanted. Once I had figured out this little display of hers, I went after it. I would get her off as quick as I could. Do anything she wanted to make it happen.
And then I would wait for it. I would wait for those tears.
If she was face down, or I had her pressed against a wall or a door, I would spin her around and fuck her another way just so I could come as I watched the tears fall down her cheeks.
There really is something wrong with me.
I tried talking to my brother Alonzo about this once. But how does one even begin to explain this fucked-up darkness inside my head? I couldn’t find the words, and he looked at me like I was a freak, and then I waved him off and said forget it.
That was a long while back. Rosalie Thompson was put into the witness protection program eight years ago. She saw something she shouldn’t have seen and we had to get rid of her. She got a new name. Belinda Baker. She got a new job—tattoo apprentice, I guess? She got a new town. Fort Collins, Colorado.
God, that year was a mess.
But the point is—she was out of my life and that weird craving for sex tears went away.
No other woman I’ve been with has cried after sex. And I never had an urge to make them cry. That’s… sick. And I didn’t do any of that with anyone else.
So it’s not me.
It’s her.
In fact, it was so much her and not me that after she left town—well, after we had our FBI contact force her into the witness protection program—I kinda forgot all about my tear fetish. Literally have not thought about sex tears in eight years.
And then one day, just a couple months ago, she came back. Rosalinda—as I like to call her now because I can’t deal with just giving up on her old name and accepting the new one the witness protection program gave her—appeared down in Key West, on my fucking street, with my brother’s long-distance fling and some tattooed asshole called Vann and ruined everything for me.
One look at her. That’s all it took. Just one fucking glimpse of that girl and all those freak thoughts about fucking her as she cried were back.
The only thing that saved me was the whole secret mission Alonzo and I were in the middle of. I didn’t really have time to think about her. The days were flying by, and shit needed to get done, and people from the past were popping up all over the place.
So I didn’t have time for a tear fuck.
And then our little secret mission was over and she was gone.
Just… gone. Doing her thing.
But I was OK with that. I was. Because I knew she’d come back. And then all the stress from the secret mission would be over, and we’d… I don’t know. Meet each other’s gaze from across a crowded room or something. And we’d both let that urge to be tear-fuck buddies take over again and… I’d get my fix.
It was a bad fantasy from the beginning because, as any addict would tell you, that fix is what fucks it all up.
Rosalinda is my drug.
I imagined we’d d
o that for a while. Maybe a long while. Until we got sick of each other and one of us tried to walk away. But then we’d be miserable, but unable to admit it. And spend, oh, three or four years being ‘that couple’. The ones who hate each other but can’t stop fucking.
And then…I don’t know. We’d move on, I guess. Get the therapy we so obviously needed and pull our shit together. Find new partners who didn’t come with tears, and fights, and hate sex.
Be happy for once.
But here’s the ironic part about all this—she didn’t come back.
She went home to Colorado. She went back to her new name, and her new job, and her new town, and didn’t even send me a text to say goodbye.
So… I guess I have to face the facts.
It’s not her, it’s me.
Because I just came two thousand miles, under the pretense of ‘family business,’ to stalk her. I left my boat tour business in the hands of my ridiculous brother-in-law, Jesse Boston, to be here. And ever since I arrived I’ve been sneaking around, hiding in the shadows, watching her in secret.
I’m obsessed with Rosalinda.
She has crept back into my brain and turned me inside out since she showed back up in Key West.
I need to figure out how to get rid of her. At any cost.
Because if I don’t, she is going to ruin me.
CHAPTER TWO - BELINDA
The bookstore girl has potential. She’s aloof, sketchy, suspicious, and never looks anyone in the eyes. I like all these things about her. I also like the plaid skirts and dark tights with the rips in the knees that she wore all winter. She dyes her hair blue, wears black eye makeup, and her name is Midnight. I was pretending to browse the used books when I heard a man call her that during a whisper fight. Her look is Twilight meets Reality Bites.
Midnight. The bookstore girl.
She is my last chance.
For a new best friend, that is.
My real best friend, Tara, moved down to Key West to be with her new soulmate. And now listen, I would not admit this to anyone and I will deny it to my dying breath if asked, but I was secretly hoping that whole soulmate thing with Alonzo Dumas wasn’t going to work out. I was secretly praying that Tara would be back in Fort Collins working in the library like nothing happened after she realized that Alonzo wasn’t her man.
But I’ve given up hope. Alonzo is her man. He is her soulmate and she’s not coming back. So unless I move down there, I need a new BFF.
I’m not knocking Key West. It’s a very nice place filled with very nice people, but it’s also where my ex lives. And he… just… no. We’re not doing that again. Ever. I am done with him. Because here’s the thing—he’s the reason I’m here in the first place. He was the one who got me mixed up in this stupid FBI witness protection program. That was eight years ago and let me tell you, running away from gangster-type people and leaving everything you knew behind—including your mother!—and then starting over in a strange place that is cold and snowy for half the year, that wasn’t fun.
It was torture. I was lonely, and miserable, and the only reason I didn’t fall into a serious depression was because I stumbled into the downtown tattoo shop called Sick Boyz Ink and met the men who run that place.
Actually, of the four brothers who work there, only one really mattered. Vann Vaughn. He’s the youngest. His brothers are fine—the twins Vonn and Vinn and the oldest, Vic. But it was Vann who changed my life and got me a job there working the cash register and checking people in. I worked my way up to apprentice after a while and now that place is like my second home.
Literally. Because my first home is the little apartment above the Vaughn family garage just down the street.
The Vaughn brothers are my life. And I love them. I do. They’re great. Especially Vann. He’s always on my side.
But a girl needs a real best friend. Being sorta friendly with your co-workers doesn’t count.
I’ve tried buddying up with the Vaughn sister, Veronica. But she’s already got a crew of girls and they are tight. Plus, they’re all in the motherhood stage of life. Settled with their men and houses. So they were a no go.
Then I tried to entice a few of the waitresses at the Fort Collins Theatre coffee shop into being friends, but they’re all students at the university a couple blocks down the street. Too young, too giggly, and it only took one two-minute conversation with a couple of them to realize I wouldn’t fit in. Most of the people in this part of Fort Collins are students. All they think about are tests, and Jell-O shots, and school spirit.
Then a new coffee shop opened up right next to Sick Boyz called the Great Cup. And the baristas in that place were all older. A few men in their early thirties, two women in their late twenties, and one… matron, I guess, maybe in her fifties. Vann and I went in there on their opening day—which was packed—and we each got a coffee and some free pastry they were giving away. But… wow. The coffee sucked so bad I decided right there and then I could not be friends with these people.
Vann still goes over there though. Maybe once a week for lunch. He’s probably the only regular customer they have left after the word got around that the coffee sucked. But he doesn’t get coffee, he gets one of those cheap pre-packaged sandwiches and a fruit smoothie. I don’t know why, because that sandwich looks even worse than the coffee tastes and he usually throws it out anyway. But he says he’s down with supporting all the local businesses in Old Town.
So whatever. His business.
My point is—my best friend options are severely limited because all the other regulars in the downtown neighborhood where I live and work are old. Middle-aged ladies running candle shops, consignment stores, or real estate offices.
The only other exception is the Anna Ameci’s Italian Restaurant girl. Soshee. And she has declared herself my mortal enemy because she’s in love with Vann Vaughn and she figures we have a little side action going.
Which we don’t. Vann might have big dreams of getting in my pants, but it’s not going to happen. I’ve known him for eight years and I’ve never even flirted with the idea of kissing him, let alone a full-on friends-with-benefits arrangement.
I tell him he’s too young for me. There’s a four-year age difference. And it did kinda start out that way because when we first met he was only seventeen and I was twenty-one. But that’s not the real reason. I count on him for certain things. Things like the job and the apartment above his family garage. If things go south between us over some stupid casual sex, all the stability I’ve built over the past eight years will disappear.
And I can’t do that again. I cannot lose everything and start over. It was hard enough the first time but a second time might kill me.
So… bookstore girl really is my last chance.
I’ve come in here to browse books every day for a week now. I’m just trying to get her used to me first. If I’ve pegged her correctly, she’s one of those unfriendly people who trusts no one, hates the world, and has mastered the act of glaring at people while looking completely unaffected.
Like me.
I shake my head and chuckle into a stack of old smelly paperbacks as I think that. But it’s true. We’re just… unapproachable. And suspicious of new people. And never looking for something. We let things fall into place. We take it as it comes. We deal.
So I can’t exactly waltz right up to her and say, Hey, would you like to be my new BFF? Because if I did that, she’d say, Who the fuck are you? and then snarl, Get the fuck out of my store, you creepy stalker.
So I stand there in the back of the bookstore, absently flipping through a tired old paperback with Fabio on the cover, trying to think up the perfect opening line.
“Hey,” a cheery voice says behind me. “You’re the tattoo girl, right?”
I turn and then back up and hit the stacks of books in surprise. Because this question came from Bookstore Midnight. “What?” I say, caught off guard and kinda confused by her upbeat tone.
“You work next door, ri
ght? With those hot tattoo brothers. I’ve been thinking about getting some ink. But I don’t know. It’s so permanent.” She chuckles. “I’m more of a temporary tattoo kind of girl. I can’t take the pain.”
I squint my eyes at her. “Temporary tattoos?”
“I know. I’m a wimp. But I’ve noticed you in here a lot over the past week. Is there anything specific you’re looking for? Something I can help you with?”
I look at the paperback in my hand, briefly consider playing it off and buying it, then set it back on the shelf. “No. I was just…” She’s still smiling. And it’s creeping me out. “Sorry. I’m… this… I gotta go.”
I head for the door and don’t look back. But I still hear her super-happy, “Bye! Come back soon!” before the door closes behind me.
I walk around the side of Sick Boyz and lean against the brick wall in the alley, frowning.
Wow. Did I ever peg her wrong.
‘Can I help you?’ ‘Come back soon?’ What the fuck is that? And temporary tattoos?
I shake my head and make a face. A blue-haired girl with the name Midnight doesn’t say or do those things.
“Fuck,” I mutter, turning around so I can kick the wall. “Fuck!”
Bookstore girl was my last chance. There’s literally no one left in Old Town Fort Collins to be friends with.
Maybe I could try again? Make it work?
No. No, no. ‘Tattoos are so permanent?’ ‘Can’t take the pain?’
I shudder.
Nope. That girl is all kinds of wrong.
“Hey! There you are. What the hell are you doing, Belinda? We have people who need checking in.”
I glance to my right and see Vann coming around the corner of the alley. It’s nice out today. Nice enough for him to be wearing a t-shirt that shows off all the tats running down his arms. His long legs cross the distance between us in just a few strides and then he stops to peer down at me with a smile. “What’s up?” Vann is perpetually good-natured.
