“...The story had some extraordinarily touching scenes, made even more poignant considering the lovers’ ruthless backgrounds. A breathtakingly intense, unpredictable story, which left me feeling several ways at once—happy, sad, thoughtful, angry, but mostly, in awe of the possibility of such a deep, passionate, abiding love. Bryl combines elements of tenderness and callousness with awesome results. Although it's a sensual, gritty, tell it like it is story which he is famous for, it's also delightfully romantic and I loved it. It's a trend I am hoping to see more of in the future. It's an extraordinary reading experience, one you don't want to miss.”--Lena Grey, Queer Magazine Online
“4 Nymphs!...Bryl R. Tyne has created an intriguing story illustrating the darker side of New Orleans, in addition to a glimpse of a gangster’s cold-blooded life. An impressive, as well as enjoyable, suspenseful tale.”--Chocolate Minx, Literary Nymphs Reviews
...Marty smiled behind his mask as he slipped the cabbie a twenty, but just as quickly frowned, snatching his robes high in his four-inch stiletto attempt to step up and into the carriage. “The JW Marriott,” he said, settling into the dark and, from the smell, dank interior.
He shuddered, thinking about the abundance of nastiness he could be sitting near…or on. The price he was willing to pay to get what he wanted seemed steep, but love beckoned. At least, he hoped Daniel Stroemeyer had some semblance of romance in him, even if only for the night. Maybe tonight he wouldn’t be turned away after the festivities ended.
Worth the price of finding out, he assured himself. For as long as Martin LaRocca could remember, he’d been a sucker for romance. And for the last year, he’d been a sucker for Maurice Marcello’s underboss Danny Stroemeyer. Lord help him, he had it bad for the man.
Of course, frivolous thinking like that was bound to get him killed one day. Or so his father would like to convince him. If only the man had any idea just how frivolous Marty’s imagination was. Marty jumped and reached for his cell phone vibrating inside the pouch of his briefs—yes, believe it or not, he’d proven his brothers wrong, by designing a spot inside the feathered frock of his costume to conceal his.22 as well. They had no clue, though, that he was in costume tonight, and they would never know. Who said a boy couldn’t have fun and do his job? He peeled off his mask, balancing it and the hat on one knee. “LaRocca here.”
“Baby brother! What’re you up to, tonight?”
“Umm…yeah, Vin. Actually”—on his toes, careful not to scuff the ridiculous silver heels, he shifted uneasily across the hard leather, quick to lift and protect his feathered robe, as the carriage took a sharp left. The damned bells on the mule’s harness jingled under the duress—“I’m on a date.” Wearing the stilettos from hell…
For an uncomfortable moment, silence reigned from the other end of the line. Only a matter of time before Vinny told Darren, and he, in turn, informed their father. “You have a date? I get seconds when you’re through with her.”
Marty cringed at the laughter in his ear.
“And you’re taking her on a carriage tour in the Quarter… How sweet, baby brother.”
Thank you, Vinny. The river—alligators—visions of the quickest way to dispose of his brother’s body danced through his head… He’d heard the bayou was one of the more convenient ways, but he didn’t know for sure. He hadn’t offed anyone. Not yet.
“Ha, ha…funny, Vinny. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“No. Listen, Mart. The man says his ship’s come in or will—you know, in about…thirty-six hours. Think you should utilize the opportunity to—”
“Hold the fuck on—” Marty grabbed the door handle to keep from toppling over as the cabbie turned another hard left.
“If you don’t think you—”
“Spit it out, Vinny.”
“Just keep tabs on the nosey nephew and let us know if he or any of his associates get too close. Oh, and he also wants me to tell you to make good use of your time. It’s never too soon for business.”
The night’s brief-lived joy hitched a ride on Marty’s exhalation. Keeping tabs on Danny Stroemeyer… The man never slept; Marty had firsthand experience. Dinner at Broussard’s and Bourbon Street barhopping seemed a nightly pattern. Marty knew each and every one of Stroemeyer’s habits, too. That’d been his assignment since he returned home: to tail the man closely enough to know.
Trouble was with the most recent directive from his father.
His latest order would take some doing, mainly because Marty’s heart wasn’t in it. Sometimes, he wondered if he hadn’t been adopted or some bastard son of his mother’s that his father had taken pity on.
Older and wiser, Danny Stroemeyer was never one caught unawares, either. Just how old is he, Marty wondered. Not important. Luring him away from his entourage of buffoons would be easy. What to do with him once he got him alone he’d avoided thinking about, purposely. He leaned back in the seat, closed his phone and his eyes.
“First one’s always the toughest,” his brothers had assured him.
Right.
Some initiation.
Kill the man I love...