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

by Huss, JA

Once everyone gets back to work I call Carson.

  “My man,” he says over a cacophony of girly voices. I’ve known this guy like one week and he’s changed so much I barely recognize him. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up with you?” I ask back. “How’s things going over there?”

  “We’re so busy,” he says in a whisper. “She’s got so many customers, she barely has room to breathe, let alone think.”

  “Is she pissed off at being so busy?”

  “Nah, she’s enjoying herself. I can hear her laughing back there right now. And she’s not using the plastic. Too distracted.”

  Now this is the best news all fucking day. I get that dealing with the blood is a serious thing. I understand that she’s at risk of getting a disease if she’s not careful. I want her to be safe. I want her to continue to provide exceptional care to her clients. But she’s overdone it. That plastic shit needs to be over. She needs to stop being paranoid and just enjoy herself. If she wants to quit inking people up, that’s fine. But she should not make that decision based on an irrational fear.

  “So she’s happy?” God, I just want her to be happy.

  “Hold on.”

  There’s some background noise and then I hear Veronica’s voice. She’s joking with her customer.

  “Can I help you, Carson?” she asks in her sweet voice.

  “Just wanted to let you know your next regular is here. That’s all.”

  “Oh, good. Tell him I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Will do, boss.” A few seconds later he comes back on the phone. “See? She’s having a good day, Spencer. This was a great idea. It’s been nothing but butterflies and flowers. Except for that horror show who showed up earlier. But it’s fine. This next guy probably wants something demonic too, but after him there’s two more butterflies waiting.”

  “Perfect, man. I owe you some chrome on that bike.”

  “And my own custom logo. And a t-shirt with my logo.”

  “You’re pushing it now.”

  “Nah,” he says back. “You love her. And I just told you she’s happy, so you love me now too.”

  “Well, keep the bromance on the lowdown, eh? Later.”

  I end the call before he can reply and lean back in my luxury chair, my hands behind my head. I sigh. He’s right. I love her and I love everything that makes her happy. I hope that when all this shit finally settles she realizes that I’ve always had her in mind. I hope she knows that I only pushed her away to protect her.

  I only have to look at Ford. He’s starting to realize how vulnerable Ash and Kate are, and this confirms that I did the right thing keeping Ronnie away from my fucked-up life. I only have to look at the fear in Rook’s eyes today. She knows she’s going to be ripped apart again next week. She knows that all her mistakes will be out in the open. And she knows that some of the things they’re saying about her are one hundred percent true and it could land her in prison.

  And she probably knows that there’s a part of her that deserves to be punished for standing by and letting women be sold on her property. Just like I know there’s a part of me that deserves to be sent to prison for murder. And that’s not even counting all the fucking money we stole.

  But Ronnie is clean. Ronnie is perfect. And that’s almost funny considering that most of the people in this town think she’s some feral girl from a trashy family. But she’s never been arrested. She’s never been in trouble. She’s never had to lie her way out of a tight spot. She doesn’t get drunk and dance on tables at the Sundance. She doesn’t cheat people. She might be loud, and devious, and she might plot to piss me off every chance she gets. But she’s never hurt anyone.

  And that’s sorta cute. Out of all of us, Veronica Vaughn—tattoo artist, deadly shot with a .45 at forty yards, and loud-mouth e-cig smoker with big hair and bigger tits—is the only one of us who’s squeaky clean.

  If I get arrested next week because Rook can’t handle the stress of testifying, I’ll ask Carson to take care of Bombshell for real. He’s gone above and beyond for me in the Bomb department. And she’s got her family. Her brother Vic will make sure she’s OK.

  I go back out to the garage and start getting my shit together for the bike we’re delivering to the first big client in two weeks.

  We might not make it that long.

  This dream of mine might be over before it even starts.

  Chapter Twenty-One - Veronica

  When I’m finished with the last girl for the night, I walk her up front and plop down on the couch while Carson rings her up. Most of her housemates have left, but the ones who were tattooed today wait for her outside in front of the shop. One blonde girl notices her paying and then the group of them swarms inside, chattering away like girls do, lifting up the back of her shirt to see the bandage. One girl carefully pulls on the tape so they can check it out, and then they ooh and ahh at it.

  Yes. I feel quite pleased with myself. Today was fun. I did my three regular guys. That back piece on Chuck from Kansas, the final art for a chest piece on Stew—that one took a while because I had to take all sorts of pictures to put in my portfolio—and then my last regular was Dave from town.

  Dave’s been coming to me since before I actually worked here. When I look at him I see the last four years of my life inked up on his body. Most of my regulars have a theme—like Spencer’s blackbirds or Chuck’s horror movies. Stew has naked girls. He’s got naked strippers, naked acrobats, naked clowns, naked Playboy bunnies, and his chest piece is actually a stage full of saloon girls. There’s just tits everywhere on that guy.

  But Dave is different. Dave’s theme is all war scenes. Today was just some shading and fill-in stuff. He’s still got a few months before his work is done.

  Since most of my clients are men I don’t get a lot of butterflies and flowers. Each of these girls today wanted something a little different even though they all said butterfly with flowers. One wanted a bitchin’ death’s-head moth instead of a butterfly. I do those a lot, that’s a very popular tattoo. One girl wanted a fantasy butterfly. One wanted a regular butterfly but caught in a Venus fly-trap.

  And now that it’s eight forty-five, I’m dead-ass tired but one hundred percent content.

  But it’s got more to do with Carson calling me Bombshell than the ink I did today.

  “Well,” he says as all the girls pile through the door and the place becomes silent, “you pulled in almost four thousand dollars today so far. That’s a decent take, right?”

  “So far?”

  “Yeah, you’re open until eleven, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, four thousand dollars is a decent take. My dad takes half, so two grand for me. That’s incredible.” And it is. It’s weird too—a few weeks ago I was stressing about coming up with a down payment on my crappy apartment. And now it seems like money is just dropping out of the sky for me. “Well, I’m beat and my date’s gonna be here any minute to follow me home, so—”

  “Date? What date? You’re open until eleven.”

  “Yeah, usually. But my new landlord asked me to have dinner with him tonight and I said I’d close early. So…” I walk back to the break room and Carson follows. I wiggle out of my scrubs and Carson almost has a panic attack until he realizes I’m fully clothed underneath. I stuff my scrubs in the washer and pull out some clean clothes I left here a while back from my locker. They’re just old jeans and a sweater, but it’s better than the clothes I’ve been wearing for two days. When I look back at Carson he’s got his chin in his hand, like he’s thinking very hard about what to do next.

  I leave him standing there and go into the bathroom to change. When I come back out, still pulling on my boots, he’s still standing in the same position. “Something wrong, Carson?”

  “No,” he says too quickly. “Nothing. It’s just… how well do you know this landlord? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

  “Oh, I just met him yesterday.”

  “Oh, the apartment thing, right
.”

  I smile at him. “Yeah, how’d you know about my apartment?”

  “Uh…”

  I was gonna let him run back to Spencer, but he’s screwed up twice now, and that’s just sloppy. “Spencer knows him. Bobby Mansi? So when you go report back tonight or tomorrow or whenever it is that you check in with the bossman, you tell him that’s who I’m having dinner with.”

  Carson laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”

  “Carson? Just for future reference, only Spencer calls me Bombshell. So you know what? If you’re suddenly on the Team, along with Ashleigh and Rook, then you better get your shit straight. Because if he gets hurt because you fuck up in front of the wrong person, I’ll make you pay.”

  “Veronica, please. I have—”

  “Don’t act like I’m stupid, OK? I know he sent you here. I might not know the details, but one of those girls talked about a hundred-dollar limit and mentioned that someone was paying for their art. So save it. That was obviously Spencer.”

  “OK.” Carson puts his hands up. “OK, yeah, it was Spencer. And he sent me over here to help you out while your family is out of town. But please, don’t mention it to him. He was very clear that you should not know he was behind all this stuff.”

  All this stuff, I repeat back to myself. All what stuff? But I don’t get a chance to ask, because just then the front door jingles and Bobby calls out, “Veronica? You here?”

  “Be right there!” I point to the back door. “Out, Carson. I won’t say anything if you come back tomorrow and help me again.”

  “Deal,” Carson says as he heads to the door. “Oh, and one more thing. While you were busy some girl came in, not from Spencer’s offer, and wanted you to paint her body for her boyfriend. Not tattoo it, but paint it. She said you’re like famous for that or something.”

  “Body painting? Me?”

  “Yeah, and she said she wants it done in edible paint. Like frosting or something. She and I looked it up online, they actually sell that stuff. So she placed an order for you and I made her an appointment in two weeks. She left a hundred-dollar deposit that I put in the drawer.” And then he gives me a little salute. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  Edible body paint. Why have I never thought of that before?

  “Veronica?”

  I turn around and Bobby is standing in the doorway, his arms on either side of the door jamb, just like he was this morning. “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I was just saying goodbye to my new receptionist.” I have a private laugh at that characterization of Carson. He probably pulls in a hundred grand a year with his bank job and he spent the day with me, checking in sorority girls for tattoo appointments.

  “You look happy,” he says with a suspicious tilt of his head.

  “I’m not allowed to be happy?”

  “Sorry,” he grins. “I’ve only known you two days, but you’ve been pretty upset each time we talked. What’s changed? Your employer treating you better?”

  Hmmmm… suspicious guy number two. I bet Spencer has paid this guy off as well. I bet Spencer is behind the whole apartment being condemned and my awesome new digs.

  He’s gonna pay so bad for doing this to me.

  “Well…” I sigh deeply and lower my eyes. “No, he’s not been very nice to me today at all. But I’ve been looking forward to this dinner. It’s been so long…” I let my words trail off to see if Bobby catches my drift.

  “Long?”

  “Yeah,” I say in my best pouty bombshell voice. “Long. Since anyone paid much attention to me.”

  “Spencer Shrike ignores his girlfriends? I find that hard to believe. He comes off as a player to me. Kinda like the rest of his gang.”

  Gang? Ronin and Ford? That’s above my pay grade so I ignore that remark. “I’ve heard he treats his girlfriends nice too. He dates the cashier over at Big City burrito every week. You should ask her if he’s a good boyfriend. Because when I was dating him, he wanted to fuck me and paint and that’s about it.”

  Bobby’s eyebrows hit the ceiling and I do a little mental cheer.

  “Yeah, I know,” I add. “He dates the bartender over at the Cat Call Club too. She’s totally his type. He used to make me pole dance for him all the fucking time. Like every night.”

  “Really?” Bobby unconsciously leans forward.

  “Yup. Fucking, nude body painting and pole dancing. That was the extent of my relationship with Spencer Shrike.” I smile sweetly. “But that was a long time ago.”

  Bobby nods slowly and I wonder if he’ll be a total copout like Carson, or…

  He walks slowly towards me, his eyelids half closed as he takes me in. He stops a few feet away, and I look up into his eyes, then swallow hard at his heated stare. “Veronica Vaughn,” his deep voice rumbles, betraying a building desire. “Are you trying to play me?”

  I clear my throat as he steps closer. Well, I guess he’s not the type of guy who runs away from a little femme fatale action. “Should I be offense or defense?” I snap back.

  “Offense, Veronica. Always, always be offense.” He takes another step closer and then wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling me towards him.

  Oh, shit.

  “Hmmm,” he growls in my ear. “You better be careful, Bombshell,” he whispers. “I’m not what you think.” He dips his head down, and my gaze drops to his mouth as my tongue sweeps over my lips. “Do you still want to have dinner with me?”

  I drag my eyes away from his mouth, even though he still hovers close and when my chin tips up, there is a fraction of a moment when he rests his forehead against mine.

  “Are you trying to scare me off?” I ask in a hushed tone.

  “Yes,” he says, his grip on the back of my neck growing tighter.

  “It’s working.” My chest is heaving now and he can’t stop the downward migration of his stare. Curse my big tits.

  “Good,” he says as he releases me and backs off. “Good. Because I’m not a player, Veronica. I’m just a practical guy who gets the job done.”

  What job? I think it, but I don’t say it.

  “So I’ll ask you one more time, Bombshell. Would you like to come over for dinner?”

  I pause, breathe, then pause again. “Just dinner?”

  He laughs and the smile I found alluring this morning is back, the scary dark side I just witnessed gone. “Veronica, if I ask you to come for dinner, then I’m only asking you to come for dinner. I don’t deal in pretenses. I deal in truth. And I expect truth in return. So let’s try this again. Are you in a relationship with Mr. Shrike?”

  “Why are you so interested?” He’s fishing, I realize. He thinks I know what they do in their little Team business.

  “Yes. Or. No.”

  “No,” I say honestly. “I told you, I was, but now I’m not. Not for a very long time now. He broke it off with me more than a year ago.”

  “Why?”

  I huff out a laugh. “I don’t think so, buddy. If you want someone to feed you information, use the internet like everyone else.”

  “What if I give you something in return?” He steps forward again.

  “Like what?” I know it’s all kinds of wrong, but I can’t help myself. I am getting all sorts of weird feelings about this guy, and none of them are the fun and flirty kind. I need to know what the fuck is going on. “You’ve got the hot and dangerous vibe going for you, but I’m not interested in a pity fuck.”

  He laughs again. “No, Bombshell. I—”

  “And why are you calling me that? That’s a real nickname I have and you should not—”

  “Shhh,” he says as his fingers silence my lips. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

  I smack his hand away. “It’s rude to shush someone too. Especially if you touch them.”

  “I thought you said you were scared of me?” he smiles.

  “I’m over it. I might be a girl, and I might look stupid and helpless because I have big tits and blonde hair. But I don’t go down wit
hout a fight.”

  “I bet you don’t, Bomb.”

  “Mmmhhmm. They always think my feistiness is cute at first. And if you call me that name one more time without explaining how you know about it, I’m gonna walk away.”

  “What makes you think I care if you walk away?”

  “Because I’m a bottom feeder, Bobby Mansi. I know desperation when I see it. You need me for something. It’s not dinner, and apparently it’s not a fuck either. So that means you want info on my ex.” I pause for a moment to see if he denies it, but he stays silent. “Or maybe it’s got something to do with Rook, or Ronin, or Ford.”

  His face is impassive.

  “Or”—I play my last card—“Ashleigh and Kate.”

  He cracks a grin. Not a seductive one, or a scary one, or a challenging one.

  No. His grin says bingo. I called it.

  “I know a lot about you, Bombshell. I know a lot about your friends. And to be quite honest, most of those details bore me. All except one.”

  “Ash.”

  “Ashleigh Li Aston.”

  I wait for more information but none comes forth. He holds his cards. “Come to dinner,” he commands.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then goodbye.”

  “Are you going to hurt her?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters! She’s my friend!”

  “I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here about something else.”

  “The baby?”

  “She’s part of it too, but no. That’s not the main reason I’m in town.”

  Damn. I’m so fucking curious. “Why should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t. I’m not a very good guy.”

  I scoff and turn away now. I’m done. I grab my leather jacket from the locker and slide into the smooth lined sleeves, then grab my helmet and my backpack. “OK, well. I’m just gonna take your advice then. If you don’t mind, I need to lock up.” I wave him forward.

  “After you,” he insists.

  I swear to God, I expect him to gag me with chloroform as we walk back up front, but he doesn’t. I flip the lights off as we exit, then turn the key in the door lock and check to make sure it’s engaged. When I turn to walk to my bike, he walks with me.