Wiseguys: The Complete Collection

By Aaron Michaels

Two bad boys on the run from the killers in their past.

 

Two bad boys who found love with each other.

 

Two bad boys who'll steal a place in your heart and leave you lusting for more.

 

Collected here for the first time, the complete series of Wiseguys stories featuring former Jersey mobsters Tony and Carter written by acclaimed gay romance writer Aaron Michaels. Plus, as a special bonus, this collection includes a sneak peek at the upcoming Wiseguys novel, A Matter of Respect.

 

Come along for the ride as these two former bad boys discover the kind of love that would have gotten them killed in their former life.

 

Or if their former life catches up with them.

 

"I hated to see this story end." Top 2 Bottom Reviews

 

"These two are so hot they might melt your screen." Joyfully Reviewed

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thunder Valley Ink
• Release date: May 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393281924

Book preview

Two bad boys on the run from the killers in their past.

Two bad boys who found love with each other.

Two bad boys who’ll steal a place in your heart and leave you lusting for more.

Collected here for the first time, the complete series of Wiseguys stories featuring former Jersey mobsters Tony and Carter written by acclaimed gay romance writer Aaron Michaels. Plus, as a special bonus, this collection includes a sneak peek at the upcoming Wiseguys novel, A Matter of Respect.

Come along for the ride as these two former bad boys discover the kind of love that would have gotten them killed in their former life.

Or if their former life catches up with them.

I hated to see this story end.

Top 2 Bottom Reviews

These two are so hot they might melt your screen.

Joyfully Reviewed

Introduction

Wiseguys

Christmas in Idaho

Change in Plans

A New Kind of Family

To Have and To Hold

A Touch of Domestic

Blast from the Past

Copyright Information

About the Author

Introduction

Boy, has this been a long time coming.

I got a glimmer in my eye about putting all the Wiseguys stories together in one collection back when I started working on A Matter of Respect, the first full-length novel featuring my favorite two ex-Jersey mobsters Tony and Carter. Then, as they say in the biz, things happened.

I’ll spare you the details, but the project lost a home through no fault of its own. With no new home in sight (kind of like the situation Tony and Carter found themselves in when I first started writing about them) the project sat on the shelf.

And sat on the shelf.

And sat on the shelf.

Until this year, when I dusted the boys off, organized these stories, and found them a new home.

I might be a romantic at heart, but I’m also a big fan of bad boys who stick to their own moral code. That describes Tony and Carter to a T. They love each other unabashedly, they’re loyal to their friends, and they won’t hesitate to help someone in need when they see injustice being done to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Most of all, they won’t mess with you if you don’t mess with them.

But if you do? Well, they’re wiseguys for a reason.

I wouldn’t mind having guys like Tony and Carter in my life. If you’re reading this, I’m guessing you like having these guys—these two former wiseguys—in your life too.

—Aaron Michaels

April 28, 2020

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Wiseguys

Motel Beds

Double beds. Motel rooms always had double beds, and Carter always took the bed by the door.

Tony didn’t mind, not anymore. As long as Tony could remember, people assumed, given Carter’s bulk, he’d be the enforcer. Tony was a slighter build, shorter than Carter, with lean muscles that refused to bulk up no matter how many hours he spent pumping iron. When they’d both gone to work for Tony’s Uncle Sid, as they’d always known they would because that’s what people in Tony’s family did—worked for Uncle Sid—Carter became the brawn and Tony the brains.

Over the years Tony had gotten used to it, Carter taking the protector role. As a kid, it used to bug the shit out of him.

I want the outside this time, Tony had said, fourteen years old and full of the need to prove himself.

He’d marched into the motel room first and dropped his bag on the bed by the door. Uncle Sid had the room next door, his uncle’s enforcers the room after that. Every hunting trip out of town was the same. Just Uncle Sid and his boys, old and young, except they never really went hunting. Not the kind that netted trout or big mouth bass or a meaty young buck. Uncle Sid hunted money, and he brought Tony and Carter along to learn the family trade.

The room smelled of cheap alcohol and sweat and too many cigarettes. It wasn’t much different from the house where Tony lived with his uncle and his cousins, only there he had his own room and he didn’t have to fight over a bed with his best friend.

Carter had looked at him with those brown eyes of his, soft and liquid but hard underneath, like the rest of him. Hard underneath, even then. Hair buzzed short, shoulders bulking up, at fifteen already more of a man than most men would ever be. Carter recognized the challenge for what it was.

Flip for it, Carter had said.

Back then Carter’s voice was already a deep rumble. Tony’s was just starting to crack. Sometimes he wondered if his voice would ever truly change, or if he’d be stuck somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, forever trapped in the role of The Kid, never quite grown up enough to be a Real Man.

Tony took a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it in the air. Heads, he called, concentrating on the spinning coin.

Carter tackled Tony around his waist and dumped him on the bed right next to his bag. Carter landed on top of him, laughing.

What the fuck was that for? Tony asked.

Never said we were gonna flip a quarter.

Tony felt Carter shift his weight, going for a wrestler’s pin. Tony squirmed, trying to counterbalance and keep from getting trapped. He was a decent enough wrestler, strong and wiry even without Carter’s bulk, but the soft surface of the bed was more hindrance than help.

Flip me off, Carter said. If you can flip me off, you get the bed.

The quarter forgotten, Tony fought back. This was about pride. About being more than The Kid, and he didn’t plan on losing.

Tony grunted with the effort, legs and arms and hips all working to dislodge Carter’s bulk. He managed to roll Carter onto his back, but Carter kept them rolling until he had Tony pinned again. The cheap double bed sagged under their weight and the headboard banged against the wall. Tony’s bag fell on the floor, kicked off by thrashing legs and squirming bodies.

In the adjoining room, Tony’s uncle thumped on the wall. Hey, knock it off in there! Lights out!

Tony and Carter froze for an instant, then burst into quiet giggles. Through the thin motel wall they could hear a questioning female voice and Uncle Sid’s response, low and reassuring. It hadn’t taken Uncle Sid long to find companionship. It never did.

You give? Carter asked.

Hell, no.

Carter grunted. Didn’t think so. He levered himself up on one arm and reached over to turn off the bedside light. The room plunged into semi-darkness, lit sporadically by the motel’s garnish red neon light flickering on and off through the room’s flimsy curtains.

Tony felt as much as saw Carter lower himself back down. His bulk should have made Tony nervous. It didn’t.

Still gotta flip me off, Carter said, his voice low. Just do it quiet-like.

And as simple as that, that’s how it started. The wanting each other. They rolled around in the dark on a cheap motel bed in some no-name Jersey town listening to Uncle Sid and the whore in the room next door, and knew they both wanted something they shouldn’t have.

They didn’t do anything about it back then. They were both too shit-scared that Uncle Sid would find out and beat them just for the idea. Men didn’t do that with each other, not the men in Uncle Sid’s family. Tony’s cousins all had girlfriends from the time they got their first hard-on. His oldest cousin married some girl down the block while Tony was still too young to go with his uncle to the country. The marriage had been a quick, quiet affair, and there’d been an even quicker baby seven months later.

At fourteen, Tony thought Uncle Sid was the toughest man alive. Men did what Uncle Sid told them to even if they hated him for the mean old bastard he was. They paid tribute and they paid respect, and they never, ever, slept with other men because Uncle Sid hated fags. No one in his right mind ever crossed Uncle Sid.

Until now.

The battle had been brief and brutal, full of gunfire and curses and blood. Faretto’s crew had hit them at dinner, the upper echelon of Sid’s family relaxing over fine Italian food in the back room of a restaurant owned by a man from the old country. Sid had done favors for the guy, and free meals were part of the tribute. To his credit, the restaurant owner always seemed happy to see Tony’s uncle. He never acted like he begrudged Sid’s family the food, and Sid’s lieutenants were big guys with big appetites.

When the shooting was over, Uncle Sid and his two lieutenants were dead along with Sid’s bodyguards.

No more fishing trips to the wilds of New Jersey.

No more late night motel room whores.

No more anything.

Carter had taken a bullet in the shoulder meant for Tony, and Tony had killed the man who tried to kill him. Then Carter had pulled them both out of the smoking remains of the restaurant even as the wail of the first sirens could be heard over the sporadic gunfire from men long indoctrinated to fight to the death.

Carter was always the protector. Even now, with his arm in a sling to take weight off his damaged shoulder, Carter still took the bed by the door.

Tony had his own aches and pains and the uncompromising knowledge that he’d killed a man he’d never met. Even with all that, his mood was lighter than it had been in years. He’d never wanted his uncle’s life but didn’t think he had a choice. Tony’s father had died before Tony got to know him. A gentle man, his mother said, who’d died when his car was forced off the road. Tony’s mother had killed herself less than a year later. Uncle Sid was all he had left, and now Uncle Sid was gone too. The closest thing to family he had left was Carter.

The rest of Tony’s life was his to make or break, all on his own. The last tie to his former life was the cash squirreled away in Carter’s van and the fake I.D. in Tony’s wallet. As soon as he and Carter got to California, he’d get that fake name changed to a legitimate new identity.

You think I’ll look good as a blonde? Tony asked, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’d always been so dark, so serious. He wanted to leave that behind, too.

Different, you’ll look different, Carter said. The television stations changed as Carter thumbed the remote. You’re really getting into this whole new life thing.

Yeah. Tony snapped off the bathroom light, padded back into the room on bare feet, and sat down on the edge of his bed. How’s the Nets’ game? he asked, nodding at the television where Carter had stopped at ESPN Sportscenter.

They’re losing. Carter pointed the remote with his good hand and the channels flipped by. Discovery Channel, HBO, USA showing an old Clint Eastwood movie.

I have to keep reminding myself I’m not betting on the games anymore, Tony said. Not collecting on ’em either.

No more breaking legs when some jerk doesn’t pay up, Carter said, then he laughed. Listen to us, going on about used-to-be’s like a couple of old ladies at St. Luke’s.

Uncle Sid had always gone to Sunday mass at St. Luke’s, and he made sure all his boys went too. Tony had never been able to wrap his mind around the hypocrisy. Pray to God to save your soul on Sunday; order a hit on a business rival on Monday.

Carter flipped the channel a few more times, then dropped the remote on the night stand. The TV was back on Sportscenter.

Another constant about motel rooms: the television stations sucked.

You gonna miss it? Tony asked.

Carter licked his lips before he answered. For a while, maybe. I worked hard to be the biggest badass on the block.

Tony rested his elbows on his legs, his clasped hands dangling between his knees. He studied the ugly brown print in the motel carpet before he looked at Carter.

You could go back, Tony said. Somebody like you, another family’d taken you on.

Carter met his gaze. Those hard, soft, liquid brown eyes had seen more pain than Tony could imagine. Tony’s heart beat hard in his chest, but he made himself look calm. He’d gotten good at that, looking calm while inside he was dying.

I’m where I want to be, Carter said.

This time Tony dropped his gaze to the floor because he was afraid Carter would see the relief in his eyes and read it wrong.

Carter turned off the bedside lamp. The remaining light from the television cast a shadowy nightlight over the double beds.

Wanna wrestle for the bed? Carter asked. His tone made it clear he was teasing, but the low rumble of his voice stirred something in Tony, the same thing they’d found out about themselves all those years ago but had always been too scared to act on.

Tony moved over to Carter’s bed and sat down next to him, careful not to jostle his shoulder. Nope, Tony said, and he leaned in and kissed Carter on the lips.

After a moment Carter pulled away. His eyes were deep pools of shadow now, but Tony could read his confusion in the line between his brows.

You never did that before, Carter said.

He hadn’t said no, and he hadn’t pushed Tony away.

Tony stroked Carter’s face, fingers brushing the rough buzz cut on Carter’s skull. Whole new me, Tony said. The new me wants us to kiss and fuck and spend all night in the same bed. He kissed Carter again, lips pressing harder, and this time Carter kissed back.

Whole new us, Carter said, and he brought his good hand up to cup the side of Tony’s head.

They moved together on the narrow motel bed, mindful of Carter’s shoulder but still doing all the things with each other they’d wanted to since they’d been kids.

The television droned on, like the rest of the world—forgotten.

The Van

Tony was bound and determined to make a new life in California. The new life part was fine with Carter. It was the California part he wasn’t sure about.

The only time he’d been west of the Mississippi was to collect for the old man.

Carter had gotten into a fist fight in a cowboy bar, shitkicker music on the jukebox, shitkicker boots on the guy who’d thought he stood a chance against a guy like Carter.

Carter had won—he always won—and he’d brought back the money he’d been sent to get. But Carter had to fuck up the mark bad while the guy’s wife sat crying at their table, mascara running in black ribbons down her pasty face.

He didn’t mind delivering a message to guys who didn’t pay the old man on time, especially guys who used the old man’s money on junker pickup trucks and cheap beer. He just hated doing it in front of their families.

The whole experience had soured Carter on anything that smacked of the West. But the way things at the restaurant had played out, Tony was now the one surviving member of his family. If he stayed, he’d be forced to take over and retaliate, and that wasn’t in Tony’s blood.

Carter had always known that about Tony—he just wasn’t the bruiser type. Tony had learned that about himself too after a while, and so Carter had made it his own personal business to protect the both of them whenever he could.

They couldn’t stay in Jersey or New York, and Tony hated the South, which was fine with Carter. They both figured the Midwest with its flat land and rural mentality would drive them crazy, and the old man’s rivals were too fully entrenched in Nevada to make Vegas a possibility.

That left the west coast. California. Glitz and glitter and Hollywood stars. Tony figured he could get a job working in entertainment. Been acting all my life, he’d said. So they headed for Los Angeles in Carter’s van.

Carter was used to spending most of his days in the van, driving here and there to collect for the old man and occasionally busting heads when people got stupid and didn’t pay. This cross-country driving was different. Hours upon hours of flat-ass land with nothing to break up the monotony. He’d never take a plane ride for granted again. The only thing that made the whole trip worthwhile was Tony.

Tony.

He was dozing in the passenger seat, his head resting on his balled up coat. Just the sight of him raised all sorts of emotions Carter wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with.

It was still a shock to see Tony with blonde hair. He’d bleached it in a motel room on the outskirts of St. Louis while Carter watched the Lakers’ game. When his hair was done, Tony’d climbed into Carter’s bed and made him forget about