Copyright © [2023] by [Quirah Casey]

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  Chapter Foreword

  Epigraph

  1. CONTENT WARNINGS

  Contents

  2. CHAPTER ONE: TYMBER

  3. CHAPTER TWO: BRIO

  4. CHAPTER THREE: TYMBER

  5. CHAPTER FOUR: TYMBER

  6. CHAPTER FIVE: BRIO

  7. CHAPTER SIX: TYMBER

  8. CHAPTER SEVEN: BRIO

  9. CHAPTER EIGHT: TYMBER

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Foreword

  Hey guys, this is a quick read. Don't judge me or Tymber too harshly for her loose morals when it comes to love. And yes this will be extended eventually because Brio and Tymber definitely deserve more than eight thousand words.

  -Quirah

  Just a cute little something for the girls

  (and everyone else too)

  ;)

  If there's one thing I am sure of, I am sure that you have always belonged with me. -Akif Kichloo

  CONTENT WARNINGS

  If you don't like short stories or idiots who fall in love too quickly, this isn't for you.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: TYMBER

  “Dianna, would you say you’re for the streets?”

  “Absolutely. This pussy is public property.”

  Jesus christ.

  I smother a laugh as I look at my two best friends. I don’t know what started this current round of banter, but I’d speculate it has something to do with the skin tight, fire engine red dress that Dianna has on.

  Kristy is eyeing her, a finger under her chin and her lips twisted to the side in a smirk. She turns hazel eyes on me. “What do you think Tym?”

  “I think we both know exactly who Dianna is for,” I tell her, rolling my eyes and adjusting my much more modest black dress.

  “If you’re talking about my trash ass baby daddy, I already told y’all that I’m done with his ass,” Dianna says waving a hand at us. She turns from side to side as she looks at herself in the mirror, her blonde braids sweeping right above the curve of her butt.

  “Of course you are,” Kristy doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her tone or the small wink that she gives me.

  “Psh,” Dianna scowls at both of us, placing her hands on her hips. “I just barely got my mom to watch my kids for me tonight so I’m not wasting my time with Josh, especially if he’s going to continue to duck and dodge child support.”

  We’ve heard it all before.

  Dianna and Josh have been off and on ever since we were in high school and while the offs seems to last a bit longer with every new kid that Dianna pops out for him, they still end up back together, even if momentarily. For so long, my friend didn’t want to acknowledge how much of a piece of shit her baby daddy is, and now that she does acknowledge it, she’s still stuck on him.

  If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve heard her complain about how wack his stroke game is, I’d think his dick was made of magic.

  Kristy speculates she stays with him because she doesn’t know anything else after ten years and four kids. I’m starting to think she’s right.

  Because not even good dick would make me stay with such a shitty person, trash dick would have had me out of the door ages ago.

  But tonight Dianna is insisting that she’s going to find some random at the club to fuck Josh out of her system. And since it’s her twenty-eighth birthday, Kristy and I are going to allow her the delusion as a gift.

  “What about you, Tym? Is your pussy open tonight or is it on shutdown?” Dianna asks, turning an eye on me as she smooths her hands over her dress.

  Kristy lets out a chuckle. “You know Tym’s a saint. She’ll be sitting in one spot all night just watching instead of participating.”

  “I’m not a saint,” I protest.

  It's just that I see things differently than them.

  While they’re happy to have a one night stand any day of the week I’m the exact opposite. On occasion, I may have one, but in reality I know it’s not going to lead me to what I really want.

  Which is forever.

  I don’t want to just go home with some random man and let him fuck me just for us to never see each other again.

  No, I’m looking for my future husband.

  And I’m not going to find him in the places that my friends like to frequent.

  Hell, at this rate I wouldn’t have a great chance of meeting my husband, even at the fucking altar. It’s as if God is playing some cruel joke on me these last few years.

  No one’s been interested in me and for its worth, I haven’t been interested in anyone either.

  I’ve gone on a few blind dates but since a majority of them were set up by Diana it was just a few of Josh’s whack ass homeboys who wanted to talk about their mixtape instead of our common interests.

  After the last date, Josh had sent a message via Dianna that I shouldn’t be so snobby on a date.

  I hadn’t entertained him with a response, instead I’d just shut down anymore blind dates set up by Dianna.

  I’d gone on a date with one of the guys at my office, and quickly realized there was a reason why I’d never dated another lawyer before.

  Conceited, arrogant, and way too much of a narcissist, I hadn’t been able to get a word in the entire time. The sex had been mediocre and I don’t know what possessed me to agree to a second and third date when I already knew it wasn’t going to work.

  Actually, I do know.

  It was desperation.

  The vulnerability of chasing forever and dropping my standards just for a chance at a ring.

  A ring that I swear is never going to come.

  Sighing, I look at Kristy. “I’m not going to find my husband tonight and I’m not going to even try so tonight I’m taking public transportation because I want to ride.”

  “Amen!” Dianna says reaching over for a high five. I slap her hand.

  Kristy’s nose wrinkles but her lips twitch. “I think your word play needs some work, but I get it. You’re on the slut train with the rest of us.”

  “Absolutely.”

  If I get a couple of drinks in my system, I won’t care about whether the man I go home with is husband material or trash.

  CHAPTER TWO: BRIO

  Did you get it done?

  I look down at the bright green message on my phone and let out a snort, wrapping my fingers around my shot glass. Turning my screen off, I slap the phone down on the bar and toss my shot back.

  It’s the third one I’ve had in the last ten minutes and just like the others it goes down like water.

  Decades of drinking your sorrows away on a nightly basis will do that to you.

  I gesture to the bartender to bring me another round just as my phone starts to vibrate along the bar.

  I stare at it, debating answering but I already know that if I don’t, it will just ring again in another moment.

  I snatch it up.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Brio.” My cousin, Tiziano, sounds just like the spoiled brat he is.

  “What, Dizzy Tizzy?”

  “Don’t call me that,” he snaps.

  I only laugh at him.

  Tiziano scares most people but considering I was there when he and his twin were still playing in their own shit and sucking their mother’s teat, I have no fear of him. Even if he technically holds more power in the family than me.

  At the end of the day, he’ll always be my annoying little cousin whose parents should have whooped his ass a little more often as a kid.

  “What do you want Tiziano?” I already know but I want to hear the words come from him. Maybe then he’ll understand how ridiculous his request was.

  “Do you get the job done, Brio?”

  “No.”

  Plain and simple.

  The line goes silent.

  Tiziano’s ego is so ridiculous these days that I know the silence is from disbelief. Disbelief that I didn’t do what he wanted me to do. Because everyone does what Tizano Rossi wants, especially these days. These days when it's unclear who's going to be the next head of the family so everyone is kissing ass.

  It’s looking like life has caught up to Antonio Rossi, Tiziano’s father, his arrest the beginning of his downfall. And with a conviction damn near already signed, sealed, and delivered, the power vacuum has started.

  Tomasso, Tizianno, and Tullio all hold claims since Antonio never pointed out a clear heir for the reigns.

  My bets are on the oldest, Tomasso.

  Tullio likes the shadows too much, staying out of the public eye as plays in the dark with monsters,

  And Tizianno, he’s too fucking reckless, too bold. His head hasn’t been on a straight since the moment he was conceived.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you do it?”

  Case in point.

  My cousin wanted me to kill a man tonight.

  It’s my job after all, the family’s hit man.

  But the job Tizzy wanted done wasn’t business, it was personal.

  He wanted me to kill a man he’d fucked.

  Solely because he’s scared that the man is going to out him.

  “I’m not going to end someone because you couldn’t kee

p it in your fucking pants,” I tell him, tossing back another shot in annoyance.

  Again, he’s quiet.

  I’m not supposed to know that my cousin enjoys the company of other men. Which is why he hadn’t told me why he wanted me to kill my target tonight. But I hadn’t gone in blind, I’d done my research trying to figure out how the young black man was connected to the family.

  He wasn’t part of Seven Quad or any other gang.

  He wasn’t a mule, dealer, or anything else.

  He had no affiliations with any of the motorcycle clubs.

  So as I’d held my gun between his lips I’d asked how he’d known my cousin.

  I wasn’t shocked when he’d told me that they’d been fucking around for the last couple of months.

  It’s not that I’d had any suspicions about my cousin’s sexuality in the past, but it’d just made sense. The way he couldn’t shut his damn mouth in his teens about every piece of pussy he got. The way I’ve only actually seen him with a woman once or twice. And even then his lack of interest was unclear.

  “Brio.”

  “I don’t care,” I tell him shortly. “I understand why you don’t want it getting out but having me end him is not the way to go.” I tap my fingers along the bar. “He was a pleasant individual when I spoke with him. I’m sure if you wanted me to pay him off and send him away, he wouldn’t create a fuss.”

  Silence again.

  “Just think about it, Tizzy, now I’m trying to drink in peace, so leave me alone.” I end the call and set my phone to silent.

  The only people who ever call it are my family and I don’t have time for them or any of the jobs they want me to do tonight.

  After two decades I’m starting to grow tired of it.

  Body after body I’ve taken people out for my family, dedicating my life to it.

  And now at forty, what do I have to show for it?

  A nice house and car.

  I could do without both of those things easily.

  I’d replace them for a wife and kids without batting a mother fucking eye.

  Something nice and simple, something all mine.

  Sighing, I prop my elbow up on the bar, placing my chin in it. With my other hand, I gesture for the bartender. “Just bring me a bottle,” I tell her and she sends me sad eyes but nods.

  When she brings the bottle back, I don’t take long in chugging most of it down. Rubbing my temples, I try not to let my brain go wild but I can’t stop it.

  Is it time to retire?

  The question has been bouncing in my head for the last month, but you don’t just retire from the family.

  Blood in. Blood out.

  Exceptions have been made, but that’s usually due to age and respect.

  I’m technically still young and while I definitely have the respect of my family, it’s not clear who I’d even be asking for early retirement.

  Antonio?

  While he’s behind bars?

  Yeah fucking right.

  None of my cousins have the power to make such a bold decision yet, not that any of them would release me anyway.

  Not even Tomasso, who I’m the closest with. Because he’s smart, more calculating than his brother and he understands how important it is to have someone like me on speed dial. Someone efficient and loyal who you can trust to come through no matter what.

  Fuck.

  Slamming my bottle down on the bar, I whirl around on my stool, deciding to watch the other people at the club tonight.

  The lights are dim but not so much that you can’t make out individuals and I let my eyes flit over the crowd.

  I pause when a flash of black and brown curls flash in my vision. Followed by an ass that only god could bless so well.

  Well damn.

  I freeze, looking past the nicely rounded ass and wild curls as I try to look at the woman’s face. Her back is to me, a tight black dress pulled over her curvy figure. The top of the dress has a cut off that reveals her brown skin covered in black ink.

  I think the tattoo is of flowers but from this distance it's hard to tell.

  Not for much longer.

  Because as of two seconds ago, I plan on getting close and personal with that skin before the night is over. She’s dancing with another woman with a bright red dress on and long blonde braids. The woman with the red on is a couple shades lighter. She says something to the girl with the black dress on, causing her to throw her head back as she laughs.

  I sit up straighter, squinting as I catch a glimpse of the side of her face and then all of it as she turns around.

  Dark eyes under long lashes, a blunt nose softened by high cheeks. Her plump lips are dark brown and they spread wide into a smile that threatens to rob me of my breath.

  She’s absolutely gorgeous.

  And she’s going to be mine.

  CHAPTER THREE: TYMBER

  “Tym, go get us some drinks!” Dianna shouts as she tosses her hands over head. As she does her best impression of a squid as she wiggles, I consider telling her she’s already had too many drinks.

  But I need to catch my breath for a few seconds and rest, so instead I shoot her a thumbs up and head to the bar.

  Pin pricks dance along my skin and I swipe at my neck before turning around, frowning. I don’t find anyone watching me. I’m probably just being paranoid from the little buzz I have.

  Not thinking anything else of it, I finish my trek to the bar, plopping down into the first seat I find available.

  “Fuck,” I groan, rubbing at my back and the slight twinge pain in it.

  “Surely you’re not old enough for back pain,” a low, husky voice says.

  A stroke of heat moves down my spine and I swallow before slowly lifting my head.

  Jesus.

  Fucking.

  Christ.

  He’s beautiful.

  Whiskey brown eyes so bright they shine in this dim light. Soft pink lips that beg to be licked. His nose is narrow, accentuating a perfectly symmetrical face. The faintest smattering of freckles sit on the bridge of his olive skin and something about it is so damn endearing that I have to stop myself from running my fingers across them.

  His hair is inky black white a few silver strands at the temples.

  An up and coming silver fox?

  Yes, fucking please.

  His eyes are soft as he smiles at me and suddenly its so fucking hot in the club.

  I fan myself and when his eyes follow the gesture, I quickly stop. “I’m sorry,” my cheeks heat. He’s asked me a question, right? “What did you say?”

  His laugh could end motherfucking wars. It's just as beautiful as the rest of him, soft and easy.

  “I asked if you’re old enough to be having back pain.”

  “Oh,” I rub my cheek. “It’s from years of competitive gymnastics.”

  His brows lift and I can sense the surprise. Most people have the same reaction.

  Too many times I’ve heard the question of aren’t gymnasts supposed to be skinny? People looking at my curvier shape and coming to their own conclusions.

  It initially bothered me the first year after I was done with gymnastics and my body started changing. But I’d learned to embrace my grown woman weight and the freedom of the lifestyle I now lead.

  But it still strikes a little chord when people react negatively to it.

  Except there’s nothing negative in this man’s eyes as he slowly rakes his gaze over my body, letting off a little soft hum. “How long were you a gymnast?” he asks.

  “From two to twenty-two.”

  “Two?”

  I let out a soft laugh at the shock on his face. “Yeah, it’s called a jump-a-roo class and they start at 18 months. My dad says it was a money grab, mom says it's the reason I had a great foundation.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  “That my kids are definitely going to do it,” I chuckle.

  He smiles. “Yah? You got kids?”

  I shake my head, sighing. “No, not yet, what about you?”

  “Same boat.” He shifts his body slightly, tapping his finger against an empty shot glass. A bottle sits next to it and most of it is already gone.

  I frown, looking at him. “You drink all that by yourself?”

 

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