Rook and Ronin Box Set: The Complete Alpha Billionaire Series (Books 1-5)

by Huss, JA

“I’ve always loved pets, Spencer,” he says with a grin. And then he laughs that diabolical laugh of his and growls, “Don’t be an idiot. They’re not really dogs, they’re employees. Security. I paid forty grand apiece for these fucking dogs. One wrong look at Ashleigh or Kate and they eat your face off.”

  “That does not sound safe, Ford.”

  “I’m half kidding. We had them trained and bonded specifically to us while we were in New Zealand. They are the best-behaved employees I’ve ever had.” He stops for a moment. “Aside from Pam, of course. I cannot allow Ash or Kate to be hurt because our past is rushing up to greet us. I wanted to send them away, but I’d go out of my mind with worry if I didn’t know where they were at all times. So I got dogs. They have service jackets, they can go anywhere a human can and they are trained to work as a team. One dog attacking you is frightening, two are formidable.”

  “I’d just give her a gun, Ford. Quicker and no shit to clean up.”

  “She has a gun, Spencer. But when you’ve got a baby in your arms, a gun is not practical.”

  “Security guard?”

  “I have those too, but they need to stay hidden. Ashleigh has no idea what we’re really into, Spencer, so keep your fucking mouth shut. I’ve got it all under control. We’ve moved into a normal house and I want them to have a normal life.”

  “Nice house, by the way. How the hell did you get all that shit organized from New Zealand? You’ve only been back for like three days.”

  “Pam.”

  “That personal assistant chick? Must be nice, eh? Have her to take care of things for you.”

  “It is, Spence. You know the Biker Channel wants you to get one, right? They’ve been hounding me about it for weeks. They say you hardly ever answer their calls and ignore the emails completely. You should just hire someone to take care of that shit.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe I should. I could use the help. How close do you need me to be, Ford?” I hang a right on Elizabeth and then cut up north to where Drake’s shop is.

  “Just about the same place we were before. I didn’t get the long-range option for this bot. That model was out of stock.” He pulls the case up from the floor, keys in his passcode to disengage the locks, and then pops it open. When I glance over he’s got a tablet in there and some smaller things tucked away in a bulging pocket on the inside of the lid. He fires up the tablet and then accesses some app on the home screen that controls the bot. A camera pops up in a new window, but the image is black.

  “Night vision is standard,” Ford says. Like I was actually wondering how much he pays for the fucking robot add-ons. “OK, here we go.” The bot screen flashes green, and then some details start to emerge. “We’re under a workbench, I think. Hold on, let me look around a little and see if this is acceptable. You might have to tell me where a good place will be, Spencer. A place that’s in plain view, but not near something he needs every day. I don’t mind losing the money I paid for this should things go bad. But I certainly don’t want this bot in the hands of that stupid fuck Drake. He will blab all over about it and even though I had Merc cover my tracks, Homeland will be called in and they will immediately know it was me. I’m already on a list for hacking.”

  I wince. We’re doing this job because I asked for it. “Maybe we should just pull it, then, Ford? Maybe I should just eat the money and drop it. He won’t last, I’m not really worried about him taking my business, I’m just excitable. I’m an artist. People buy my bikes because I made them. And he’s not me.”

  Ford just stares at me. “Who are you?”

  “I’m serious, Ford. Let’s just come back tomorrow and—” A knock on the glass stops me cold and Ford’s eyes dart to the window behind me. “Please tell me that’s not the pigs,” I say without turning my head to look.

  Ford laughs under his breath. “It’s Drake.”

  I turn in my seat so I can see and then slide the window down about an inch. “Can I help you?” I ask, peering out at him.

  He’s not as tall as me when I’m standing, so when I’m sitting in a big-ass truck, he looks minuscule. He’s such a skinny little fuck.

  He scowls at me, squinting his eyes as he tries to make out if it’s really me behind the tinted glass window. “Shrike? I should’ve known. You’re out here like a loser, spying on me? What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say politely. “Do I know you?” Ford chuckles off to my right. “Do we know this rat, Ford?” I lower the window another half an inch. “Oh, wait,” I say sarcastically. “Yeah, we know this asshole. He’s the poser who moved into my town, pretending to be me. You’re not even worth my time, Fonzie.” I catch the sound of the little bot being maneuvered from the tablet.

  Drake squints his eyes and gives those thick black frames a push up his nose as he considers this. “Then would you care to explain why you’re sitting outside my shop in the middle of the night?”

  “We’re smoking a doobie, Drake. And you’re killing my fucking buzz, so shoo, little man. Just shoo.”

  Ford laughs again.

  Drake sniffs the air, trying to smell me out. “You’re not smoking in there.”

  “It’s that new odorless blend out of Boulder, you idiot. Now scram.”

  Ford bursts out laughing, “Scram,” he mutters. “What are you, a character in Scooby-Doo?”

  I look over at him and laugh. “Yeah, scram. That’s such a great word, isn’t it? So underused.” I turn back and Drake is still there. “Drake, if you have an opinion on the merits of the word ‘scram’, let’s hear it. Otherwise, get the fuck out of here.”

  He does that little two-finger to the eyeballs gesture, pointing at me, then his peepers, and I laugh like a girl.

  “I’m watching you, Shrike. I know you’re up to something and if I catch you around my shop, I’ll take care of business.”

  I roll the window back up as Drake walks away. “You get it parked, dude?”

  “We’re set,” Ford says. “He really is annoying. I’m pretty sure he’s not your guy though, Spencer. He’s so stupid. How the hell did he get past your security outside the showroom, let alone move seven bikes through the back fucking door? It makes no sense. This guy is backed, that’s for sure. But he’s not the one who stole your shit.”

  “Maybe not. But he’s part of it, whether he knows that or not. Whoever is behind Drake Cikes is my guy. And I’m not sure who that might be, but I’m gonna figure it out.”

  I pull the truck forward, do the double honk to Drake—who is still standing in the alleyway entrance to his shop—and turn right at the next street to go back towards town.

  Ford lets out a huff as he thinks in silence for a few seconds. “I might’ve been wrong earlier. This might be something after all. And I’m with you on figuring it out. Maybe it’s not connected to the trials coming up. Maybe Drake is just some guy who fell into some money and decided to give you a run for yours. And maybe those missing bikes are just bad luck on your part. Some past employee getting revenge or some shit like that.”

  I look over at him as I wait for the light at Mountain and College.

  “But somehow I doubt it. I think whoever is backing Drake is absolutely the one we should be looking at about the missing bikes. But I also think that somehow, some way, all of this is tied to Rook.”

  “Rook?”

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “They might be sending messages. And your bikes might’ve just been the initial greeting.”

  We sit in silence as I make my way back down Mountain to Ford’s house. I pull over at the corner of Frey, and he opens the truck door. “Just keep an eye out, Spencer. And for fuck’s sake, don’t do anything stupid without calling Ronin and me first.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, if we do something stupid, we should definitely do it together.”

  “That’s what teams are for, brother.”

  “Later, dude. Tell your little dudettes I said hey.”

  He flashes me a two-finger salute and slams the door closed. I watch him walk u
p to the house and when he gets to the porch, the light flicks on. Ashleigh appears and for a minute I expect them to fight. I really did figure he had to sneak out to do this shit tonight. But she leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his cheek. He smiles broadly, and then ushers her back inside and the porch light goes dark.

  I sigh.

  How ironic is it that Ford has a fucking family before the rest of us? And even Ronin has Rook. At least he has her.

  Me? I have no one.

  Chapter Nine

  I park the truck over by the shop and walk back down to Ronnie’s alley once again. I know this is probably the wrong thing to do, but I can’t help myself. When I reach the parking area below her apartment, I lean against the wall of the building next door and I dial her number.

  She’s awake, I know that for sure, even though it’s almost one AM and all the lights are off save for the flickering bluish tint that comes from a TV. It rings. One… if she doesn’t pick up I’ll leave. Two… if she doesn’t pick up, I’ll go knock on the door. Three… her shadow walks across in front of the apartment window.

  “What do you want, Spencer?” she answers curtly.

  I swallow down the feelings her words evoke. Because it’s crystal clear that she’s really done with me.

  “Hey, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’ve been thinking, ya know. How you work so hard and everything.” I pause to see if she’ll say anything. But all I hear is her soft breath. “And I was just talking to Ford. You know how he has that assistant who’s been working for him in LA?”

  “Spencer, get to the point, OK? I’m tired.”

  “Pam, right? You remember me talking about Pam? She works for Ford long-distance. You know, she does everything virtually. They almost never see each other.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Bombshell, please.” I hear a smile on the other end, I know it. “Just calm the fuck down for a minute, OK? I’m trying to tell you something.”

  She walks past the window again, then pulls the sheer curtains aside and peeks out. The moonlight hits her face and illuminates her blue eyes for a second before she drops the curtain and walks away. “Just tell me then, Spencer. I’m tired.”

  “Pam works as Ford’s personal assistant. She runs his email and shit. Schedules things and, well, shit like that. You get it?”

  She huffs. “Spencer, I know what a PA does, just fucking spit it out. What’s Pam got to do with this conversation?”

  “Ford and Pam go way back. Since college. But the Biker Channel has a budget for a PA, so she got a raise when he started working for them. They have a small budget for each of us. Rook included. And they’ve been on me for a while to hire someone since I ignore them most of the time. And I was wondering if you’d like the job?”

  She laughs. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “It’s not a huge deal, my budget is only forty grand a year—”

  “No, thank you.”

  “—and benefits—”

  “No.”

  “—and paid holidays.”

  “I said no, Spencer. I’m not interested.”

  “It starts next Monday. Hours are variable—”

  “What fucking part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

  “I’d need you on call almost all the time, but I wouldn’t be unreasonable, ya know?”

  “I’m really hanging up now.”

  “I’d let you do your thing. Work the tattoo shop. Or—” I stop to wait and see if she’s gonna hang up. But I hear her breathing. “Or whatever else you’d like to do. You could quit the shop, Ronnie.”

  Silence.

  “You could do something else. Date someone else. Start a new life, if that’s what you want. I won’t interfere.”

  I get the three quick beeps that says the call is dead and I look up at her window. She paces back and forth a few times, and then her shadow disappears. There’s no more movement, but the TV stays on.

  I sit out there for more than an hour, leaning back against the wall. Watching her get up and occasionally grace me with a shadow. And at two thirty the place finally goes dark and I walk back to my shop. I open the side door, go inside, and flip on the lights.

  This place is my dream realized. Everything in this shop is all I’ve ever wanted in a bike business. There’s six bays with bike lifts, custom tool kits with more than a hundred thousand dollars in equipment. The cinder block walls are painted red and black and there are reproductions of my tattoos covering every inch. Blackbirds, rooks, crows, and ravens. Everywhere.

  Ronnie says she traces line drawings on skin. Fuck, she could not be more wrong. To me, the art on my body is just as beautiful as any classical piece hanging in a museum. Veronica Vaughn is the Renoir of the tattoo world.

  I walk past Rook’s reception area. She’s gonna run the showroom and the desk this season and she won’t be answering calls. The showroom is open to the public, but bike appointments won’t be made over the phone. In fact, we’ve got the entire year scheduled. Everyone had to put up a fifty grand deposit to get a Shrike bike this year and Season Two will tape on and off for almost six months instead of the three months we’ve been doing. We’ll deliver a new bike to one high-profile customer each episode, and we’ll do that twelve times.

  This is it. This is what it looks like.

  Success.

  My eyes sweep to my office door and I walk past the reception area towards it. My name is on the door, done up in the fancy Shrike Bikes font. Yeah, I have my own font. People will be able to download it for free from the website. I open the heavy maple door and wave my hand in front of the light sensor so I can take a good long look at my future. I turn back to my bay, which is even more tricked out with a custom-airbrushed tool chest that has the Shrike Raven painted on the front.

  I turn back to the office and walk around the massive stainless steel table that’s been custom-fabricated and welded into my throne. This is where I’m going. This is where I’ve been headed since I turned eighteen and decided I would take this business over. This is the pinnacle of my dream.

  And for some reason, it’s just not that sweet.

  I drop down into the soft black leather chair. It’s so fucking luxurious I actually feel myself relax.

  But none of this means anything to me right now. Because the only reason I was working so hard towards this future was so I could share it with Ronnie.

  And she wants out. She’s done. I see it. I’m not delusional. I’m not one of those guys who wants to force himself on a woman and make her submit to his advances. Trick her into telling him how she feels, how she can’t live without him.

  I’m not like that. I want my Ronnie, but I only want her if she wants me.

  And right now, she hates my fucking guts.

  I lean back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling. Thinking about how this might go.

  I snap back to the present after a while and reach into my pocket for Carson Reed’s ID. He lives up north, not that far from me actually, but in a new neighborhood filled with those up-and-coming professional types.

  Carson Reed is the key, I figure. I get up and walk back into the reception area, then scribble a note on the work order board telling the guys I won’t be in tomorrow. Today. When I look up at the new Shrike Bikes clock with my face staring back at me, it’s just about four in the morning.

  They can live without me for one day, because I’ve got business to take care of.

  Chapter Ten

  I sit inside the backseat and just bide my time, tired as fuck, but amped up at the same time. It’s almost six AM now. Pretty soon. After I’m done here I’ll just go home and crash, because I am dog-assed tired. Then I’ll have my date with Carla tonight and life will move forward.

  Whether I want it to or not.

  And I do want it to move forward. I really do. This in-between shit is wearing me down. I need this trial to be over. I need this bullshit to be put behind me. I need to be able to look myself in the face again.
>
  The door to the garage opens and I sigh.

  Finally. The guy takes his goddamned time getting ready. He fumbles with his remote key and doesn’t even notice when the alarm doesn’t chirp. He’s got his arms full of folders and crap and he sets all that down on the roof as he pulls the door open. The dome light stays off, but he’s too preoccupied with his phone to notice that either.

  Man, this guy is dumb.

  He shoves his shit over on the seat next to him, then closes the door and starts the car. It’s not until he presses the button on the garage door opener that he finally figures out something is wrong.

  I point the gun at his head and say, “Bang, motherfucker. You’re dead.”

  He stiffens and takes in a sharp breath, but he keeps his mouth shut, and that’s the first smart thing he’s done since I saw him yesterday.

  “You know why I’m here, Carson Reed?”

  He eyes me in the rear-view and nods.

  “Why?”

  “Uh…” He clears his throat and tries again. “You’re Veronica’s… friend. You own that bike shop.”

  “Well, you got the who down, but I asked you if you know the why.”

  He swallows hard. “You love her?”

  “I do love her. That’s exactly why I’m here. What time were you gonna call her and tell her no?”

  He squints his eyes at me. “What?”

  “Time, motherfucker. What time were you gonna call her today and tell her no?”

  “How do you know I was going to call her?”

  “Carson, do not fuck with me, OK? What time?”

  He stares at me, and maybe it’s possible he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but somehow I doubt it. “Four.”

  “Right before closing? That’s a dick move.”

  “Mr. Shrike, I’m not sure what you think is going on with her and I—”

  “She wants a loan, right? To start a business? I’m not sure what, but something that is not tattoos.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He shakes his head. “Then why are you here? I thought you wanted to kill me for finding us together at dinner.”