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Johnny (Bossy Brothers #3)
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She wasn’t supposed to be the princess I wasn’t looking for.
When my father ‘died’ five years ago I took over the ‘family business’. But when I say business, I really mean secret society. Or cult. Or militia. Hell, let’s keep it simple and call it the mob.
It’s just not that mob.
It’s much darker, much dirtier, and much more dangerous than any old everyday mob.
And I was perfectly fine with my role in life for a long time. But now my brothers are involved and I need to get them out.
Enter Megan Machette.
When I found her helpless, nearly-naked, and chained to a wall on an island prison I had no intention of being her Prince Charming. But then I found out she had a dirty, dark, dangerous secret that could solve all my family problems.
I was just going to use her. Play her. Tell her everything she wanted to hear.
I never planned on baring my secrets to her in a midnight confession and I certainly never expected her to see past the dark filth inside my soul and find the man underneath.
But she did.
She wasn’t supposed to be the princess I wasn’t looking for.
But she is.
And now I will do anything—even use her evil secret to take down thousands of people—to save my brothers and get what I want.
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CHAPTER ONE – JOHNNY
Secrets are seductive.
Learning them, knowing them, keeping them. Every bit of it is about seduction.
It’s all lies. We know it’s all lies, they know it’s all lies but no one cares because everyone gets paid. Everyone gets rich. Everyone gets power.
And power is the only thing that matters.
I learned this about power a long time ago.
It’s not about manipulating people, or buying things, or controlling political outcomes.
Power is all about the ability to live the life you choose.
When you have enough money to tell people no and walk away for the simple reason that you just don’t want to do something? That’s power.
But here’s the really fucked-up thing about power—you never have enough. Because saying no to other powerful people? Yeah, it’s not that easy. It comes with consequences.
I’d call it ironic but irony almost implies there’s a joke in there somewhere. And there’s no joke hiding behind the seductive secrets I’m keeping.
Anyway, it’s not irony. It’s cynicism. It’s a dose of truth. It’s finally coming to terms with experience and swallowing that bitter pill of realism. Accepting that you’re nothing but a tool they use to make the machine’s wheels turn.
I should write that down. It’s kinda good.
Right now I’m on a sixty-six-foot Neptunus yacht speeding through the Caribbean towards a private island owned by the Way, hoping that Charlotte Kane is there, or was there, or there’s some less-powerful dumbfuck on that island who can point me in the right direction. Because I need her. This feeling that she’s the key, that she holds some truth inside her that can illuminate my way through this darkness I find myself in—it’s strong.
And it’s all I’ve got.
The Way does a lot of business in the Caribbean. Most of what I know about it happens in the Cayman Islands and the Bahamas and revolves around the money. But I’ve heard rumors about the private islands they own and I have GPS coordinates for one of them, so that’s where I’m heading first.
They do things on these islands. I’ve heard those rumors too. And most of what I’ve heard revolves around exclusive brothels, invite-only private auctions, and, of course, drugs. When there’s this kind of money being made drugs are almost always involved.
But I’ve been to this one before a long time ago. I came here with my father and uncle when I was about to turn eighteen and I stayed in one of the bungalows while they went off to some other island for an auction.
I wasn’t told what was being sold at the auction, and they didn’t come back with anything, so it’s possible they were just lookers, not buyers. But Charlotte was there with a few other Way teens too. I guess, maybe, it could’ve been considered some kind of vacation. Some kind of special Way summer camp. Because for three days we did shit like that. Scuba diving, and boating, and bonfires at night.
I’d met Charlotte before, but not any of the other kids. Two boys my age, two other girls as well. It’s almost like we were paired off.
But here’s the thing about Way kids. We know what’s up. We might not know specifics, but we feel it. And there was no way any of us were getting involved with each other while we spent time on that island. Not a chance in hell that we’d pair off and shack up. We barely talked to each other. Everyone was quiet, and introspective, and suspicious of each other. Like we were all spies. I was spying on them, and they were spying on me, and at the end, if anyone said something inappropriate or did something crazy, we’d be punished.
That was fine with me because I’m a loner anyway. And thinking back on it now, I think they were all loners too. Even Charlotte, who, in just a few short years, would make a name for herself as an out-of-control socialite.
Charlotte could be here. If not on this specific island I have coordinates for, then possibly one of the others owned by the Way. I don’t know where any of the others are and even though the Caribbean is mostly ocean, there’s more than seven thousand individual islands that make up more than a million square miles of land mass.
Needle meet haystack.
But I have to start somewhere. If I didn’t have this one island as a starting point, it would be an impossible search. But I do have this one clue and she did go missing in the Straits of Florida so… here I am.
Charlotte Kane is the key. I know it. It’s more of a sick feeling in my gut than anything specific, but I have learned over the years that a gut feeling is always worth listening to.
I have kept tabs on her over the years. It’s part of my job. Her family is one of my Contributors. It’s my duty to keep them in line and Charlotte turned into a wild card once she turned twenty-one. Always partying and being seen. Always in the tabloids for her outrageous exploits—kind of like Jesse, now that I think about it.