Rook and Ronin Box Set: The Complete Alpha Billionaire Series (Books 1-5)
Page 1
Contents
Rook and Ronin Box Set: The Complete Alpha Billionaire Series (Books 1-5)
Tragic
DESCRIPTION
Chapter One - Rook
Chapter Two - Ronin
Chapter Three - Ronin
Chapter Four - Rook
Chapter Five - Ronin
Chapter Six - Rook
Chapter Seven - Ronin
Chapter Eight - Rook
Chapter Nine - Ronin
Chapter Ten - Rook
Chapter Eleven - Ronin
Chapter Twelve - Rook
Chapter Thirteen - Rook
Chapter Fourteen - Rook
Chapter Fifteen - Ronin
Chapter Sixteen - Rook
Chapter Seventeen - Ronin
Chapter Eighteen - Rook
Chapter Nineteen - Ronin
Chapter Twenty - Rook
Chapter Twenty-One - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Two - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Three - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Four - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Five - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Six - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Rook
Chapter Thirty - Rook
Chapter Thirty-One - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Two - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Three - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Four - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Five - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Six - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Ronin
Chapter Forty - Rook
END OF BOOK SHIT
Manic
DESCRIPTION
Chapter One - Rook
Chapter Two - Rook
Chapter Three - Rook
Chapter Four - Ronin
Chapter Five - Rook
Chapter Six - Rook
Chapter Seven - Ronin
Chapter Eight - Rook
Chapter Nine - Rook
Chapter Ten - Rook
Chapter Eleven - Rook
Chapter Twelve - Rook
Chapter Thirteen - Rook
Chapter Fourteen - Rook
Chapter Fifteen - Rook
Chapter Sixteen - Rook
Chapter Seventeen - Rook
Chapter Eighteen - Rook
Chapter Nineteen - Ronin
Chapter Twenty - Rook
Chapter Twenty-One - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Two - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Three - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Four - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Five - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Six - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Ronin
Chapter Thirty - Rook
Chapter Thirty-One - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Two - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Three - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Four - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Five - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Six - Rook
END OF BOOK SHIT
Panic
DESCRIPTION
Prologue - Rook
Chapter One - Rook
Chapter Two - Rook
Chapter Three - Ronin
Chapter Four - Rook
Chapter Five - Ronin
Chapter Six - Rook
Chapter Seven - Rook
Chapter Eight - Rook
Chapter Nine - Ronin
Chapter Ten - Rook
Chapter Eleven - Ronin
Chapter Twelve - Rook
Chapter Thirteen - Rook
Chapter Fourteen - Ronin
Chapter Fifteen - Rook
Chapter Sixteen - Rook
Chapter Seventeen - Ronin
Chapter Eighteen - Rook
Chapter Nineteen - Rook
Chapter Twenty - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-One - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Two - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Three - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Four - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Five - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Six - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Ronin
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Rook
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Ronin
Chapter Thirty - Rook
Chapter Thirty-One - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Two - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Three - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Four - Ronin
Chapter Thirty-Five - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Six - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Rook
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Rook
Chapter Forty - Ronin
Epilogue - Ford
END OF BOOK SHIT
Ford
Slack
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Taut
Description
Prologue - New Year's Eve
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
End of Book Shit
End of Book Shit
Spencer
Bomb
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Guns
Description
Chapter One - Spencer
Chapter Two- Veronica
Chapter Three - Veronica
Chapter Four - Spencer
Chapter Five - Veronica
Chapter Six - Veronica
Chapter Seven - Veronica
Chapter Eight - Veronica
Chapter Nine - Spencer
Chapter Ten - Veronica
Chapter Eleven - Spencer
Chapter Twelve - Veronica
Chapter Thirteen - Spencer
Chapter Fourteen - Veronica
Chapter Fifteen - Spencer
Chapter Sixteen - Veronica
Chapter Seventeen - Spencer
Chapter Eighteen - Spencer
Chapter Nineteen - Spencer
Chapter Twenty - Spencer
Chapter Twenty-One - Veronica
Chapter Twenty-Two - Spencer
Chapter Twenty-Three - Veronica
Chapter Twenty-Four - Veronica
Chapter Twenty-Five - Veronica
Chapter Twenty-Six - Spencer
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Veronica
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Spencer
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Veronica
Chapter Thirty - Spencer
Chapter Thirty-One - Veronica
Chapter Thirty-Two - Spencer
Chapter Thirty-Three - Veronica
Chapter Thirty-Four - Spencer
Chapter Thirty-Five - Spencer
Chapter Thirty-Six - Merc
Epilogue - Spencer
Epilogue 2 - Five
End of Book Shit - Bomb
End of Book Shit - Guns
About the Author
Rook and Ronin Box Set: The Complete Alpha Billionaire Series (Books 1-5)
Edited by RJ Locksley
Cover Design: JA Huss
Copyright © 2021 by J. A. Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN-978-1-950232-67-3
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.
Tragic
Edited by RJ Locksley
Cover Design: JA Huss
Copyright © 2020 by J. A. Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN-978-1-936413-71-3
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.
DESCRIPTION
She’s on the run from a horrible past.
He’s got an offer of a lifetime.
RONIN
Rook Walsh appeared out of nowhere like a dark angel sent to steal my soul. And I could just tell that she was broken, and beaten, and scared.
So I made her an offer of a lifetime. She needed a job and I needed a certain ‘type’ of girl for a modeling contract worth millions of dollars called Tragic.
I was warned to keep my hands to myself.
I was warned not to get involved.
I was warned not to ruin her.
(The way I ruined the last one)
But I don’t take orders—I give them.
ROOK
Ronin Flynn appeared out of nowhere like a bright light in my heavy darkness. And when he offered me a job, and money, and a fantasy roof-top apartment I wanted to believe that he was good, and fair, and honest.
But I’d been tricked by a pretty face before.
I’d fallen for the knight once—and lost everything.
This was my chance to start over.
This was my chance to escape and be free.
And this was my chance to do it all by myself.
I don’t need a knight.
I don’t want to be saved.
But sometimes you find yourself trapped inside the fairy tale and no matter how hard you try, nothing you do can stop the train wreck coming.
Tragic is book one of the Rook & Ronin Series and features a runaway girl who falls into a million-dollar dream of cherry trees and roof-top swings. A bad boy with a sketchy history of breaking pretty girls. And a job called Tragic that might ruin everything.
Chapter One - Rook
Life. Sucks.
I step off the curb, dodge a few cars, and head straight for the Starbucks. I can't even remember the last time I had Starbucks, but today, with only ten dollars to my name, I'm getting a ten-freaking-dollar coffee. Quality Cleaning can kiss my ass—I might be poor and I might not have a whole lot going for me right now, but I've never been a thief and I've never been a liar. If they want to try and charge me for stealing a ring I never took, they'll get a fight.
I know it was that stupid Delores who stole that ring. I know it. She blamed it on me and now I'm fired, still living out of a homeless shelter, and on the completely wrong side of town.
I take a deep breath and smell the coffee.
Coffee.
I haven't had a decent coffee in like… well, maybe ever. Even in my other life I wasn't the kind of girl who hung out on the trendy side of town. And this place is definitely trendy, lots of bars—and not the kind that have strippers or that look like they only serve old men at eight in the morning. The kind that serve young people who are out looking to get laid on Friday nights. And men who like sports. The baseball stadium is very close, so there are lots of sports bars.
All the people who are going in and out of this Starbucks look like they work around here, like they belong. I look down at my clothes and wonder if I fit in. My jeans are not designer, shit, they're not even Levis. And my hoodie is from the thrift store near the shelter.
Who gives a crap?
I let a young hipster couple exit and then push my way into the crowded shop. The line is long, but I've got time, so I stand there with more patience than pretty much everyone else in that place, and wait my turn. The barista is patient as I ask questions and I order the biggest latte size they have, ask for real cream and hazelnut syrup, and top it off with whip cream instead of foam.
It takes another ten minutes for them to make my frothy drink and then finally, I take a look around for a place to sit. I have to stand for a few minutes but eventually a man leaves a table and I swoop in, sit with my back to the wall, facing the door, and try to pretend I'm just another girl on a break, getting her usual drink before going back to her trendy job.
That I have a job, period. That I'm not out on the streets, that I'm not a victim, that I'm not scared shitless that Jon will somehow find me.
I take a deep breath and let it out like the counselors at the shelter taught me. This fear of Jon is not rational. I realize this. I mean, I've been gone two months now and no one has even come looking. I gave them a fake name at the shelter, but the maid service needed a real name, and I've worked there for six weeks and no one came looking.
And that sorta bugs me because I pretty much disappeared off the face of the Earth and no one even noticed.
It makes me feel small and inconsequential.
I sip my drink as I look around, the hot liquid soothing me and making my day special. I wonder what Charles is doing these days? He's been gone from the shelter for a few weeks now. Had to go back to jail for a week to serve out some sentence for… something. I never asked. Never wanted to know to be honest. And then he just never came back.
It's that way with pretty much everyone at the shelter. They come and they go. Everything is transient. Just like Starbucks. The people come in, get what they need to get through their day, and then they leave.
A four-seater table opens up next to me and a swarm of tall, thin girls sneak in and claim it, sighing in relief that they found a place to sit and chat, tossing their well-conditioned hair, and clasping their well-manicured hands around tall expensive cardboard cups of coffee.
My hair is a dull dark brown. If I take really good care of it, it's shiny and near-black. But it's barely getting minimal care right now, let alone good.
And I just spent my last ten dollars on a coffee so this hair has no hope. I laugh a little under my breath. As if hair was my biggest problem. You have no money for food, Rook.
Man, I am so stupid.
The beautiful girls, I learn though eavesdropping, are all models. It figures, right? The select few in the world get everything, while the rest of us poor jerks get to scrub toilets for a living just to make enough to buy food and sleep in a homeless shelter at night.
One girl, a red-head with skin as fair and smooth as ivory, complains loudly about the last photographer who refused to let her even do a test shoot, whatever that means. Another girl passes around a business card, all the others talking about how he's an asshole and they've all been turned away. The red-head who was complaining, thinking she is someone special, realizes to my satisfaction that she's as plain and unwanted as the rest.
The blonde with glossy pink lips grabs the card from the other girl's hand and flicks it in the air. I watch as it sails across the table and plunks me in the head. All the girls start laughing in a fit, grab their coffees, and make a quick escape.
I pick up the card and study it. It's thick and white and says:
Antoine Chaput—Photographer of Artful Beings
That's all. No number, no contact information at all. I flip it over and there's some very messy handwriting in blue ink. An address and the words—Test shoot, 1 PM, May 17.
Under the address are the words that make my mouth drop open. $100 per hour if booked. The if booked is underlined, like whoever wrote it was trying to make a point.
I fish out my phone to check the time. Just short of twelve thirty.
Even though the data plan I purchased months ago for emergencies is almost maxed out, I plug the address into the GPS app on my phone and bite my lip as it pulls up the map. It's only a few blocks over and suddenly my sucky day is getting a little brighter. I shrug on my pack and rush out the door, half running with excitement, half with desperation, towards a job I have no chance of ever getting, especially dressed like this.
But for the first time in a long time, I feel something besides anger and hopelessness and shame.
I feel a spark and I don't get many of those, so no matter what happens, I'm gonna see where it takes me.
It's windy for mid-May and by the time I make the old warehouse building containing the photographer's studio my hair is a freaking mess. I try to smooth it down a little after the heavy lobby door swishes closed behind me, but it's pretty useless.
I climb the stairs to the fourth floor and arrive at Antoine Chaput's translucent glass door very winded and in complete disarray. There are two names on the door. Antoine Chaput, Photographer, of course. But underneath it says Elise Flynn, Stylist.