The sun beat down on my back, muscles tensing, just waiting for the first blow. It was always the worst out of all of them. It was initial shock to the body.
The whip cracked behind me with a thwack and I jolted, but it didn’t touch me. This was another of Amos’ games. He liked to put fear and anticipation in me before he served his punishment. The leather cracked against the wind, tapping the dirt by my feet and throwing it up.
My hands shook, and no matter what I did they wouldn’t stop. That’s when the first lash cut across the flesh of my upper shoulder. I bit my lip, holding in the scream that wanted to filter out. When I didn’t give him the satisfaction of my wails, that’s when it happened.
He snapped. Most people wouldn’t want to provoke someone when they knew what was going to happen. Me, I found it easier to get it over with and not drag it out. If he was going to bloody my body, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing my cries.
It killed. Each snap of the whip coming faster and faster, hitting everywhere on my back that was exposed. The warm trickle down my skin let me know he’d broken my skin and I was about half way done with my punishment.
I was wrong. My back was on fire, and silent tears leaked from my eyes as he continued his brutal assault.
“The Devil will leave you!” he ordered, swinging and snapping the large leather strap against me repeatedly, never letting me catch my breath for a moment.
The pain made my head dizzy, and it wasn’t long until my knees gave out and I fell to the ground. That was when Amos spit on me and said, “You’re worthless.” He left me there until I was able to get up myself and make my way back to my room.
There would be no food for me tonight. Only the pain, blood, and anger that boiled under the surface.
One day, I’d show him exactly what it felt like to be whipped. One day, he’d wish it was the Devil himself standing in front of him with all the power and not me. One day, I would come for him, for them all.
Onyx
Pieces of the puzzle fall into place…
For years, we played this busted board game. Each of us using the same scribbled drawing for our game pieces. Keeping it hidden from everyone else in the orphanage, as well as the caretakers, was a challenge, but we managed. This was our escape, and we treasured it.
What began in fun turned to a life we never could have imagined.
Paxton worked his way through college to became an accountant. He had a small inheritance none of us knew of until we were all eighteen and trying to navigate life outside of the Amish community. Garrett needed a little more support as he went to college and then to law school. Dane and I put in the work to make that shit happen for both of them. We didn’t have the grades or the patience for college, but working hard to have more for ourselves was something Dane and I could do. They had loans and scholarships, but Dane and I paid for their food and essentials until they were on their feet again. We were a family of our own making.
It would all come full circle. I knew it. While I got my real estate license and amassed an early savings in buying, selling, and property management, Dane got his hands dirty. He made the right friends by doing the right jobs, discretely. People respected that about the Amish—the secrets they kept and the way they never involved outsiders ever. While growing up there was hell, it served us well for the future.
In time, we built our empire, together. In time, we had a chain of power linked between us.
As the saying went, A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, we were untouchable because of one thing—none of us were weak!
We held the power of life, death, money, property, and so much more in the palms of our hands. We feared no one, gave not a single fuck about anyone but the four of us. Together we rose to power, and together we controlled it all.
Welcome to our world, welcome to the power chain!
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About Chelsea Camaron
USA Today bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She’s a wife and mom, chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write about blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.
Chelsea can be found on social media at:
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About Ryan Michele
Ryan Michele found her passion in bringing fictional characters to life. She loves being in an imaginary world where anything is possible, and she has a knack for special twists readers don’t see coming.
She writes MC, Contemporary, Erotic, Paranormal, New Adult, Inspirational, and other romance-based genres. Whether it’s bikers, wolf-shifters, mafia, etc., Ryan spends her time making sure her heroes are strong and her heroines match them at every turn.
When she isn’t writing, Ryan is a mom and wife, living in rural Illinois and reading by her pond in the warm sun.
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The following excerpt is from:
PowerHouse
Power Chain Book One
Preorder Now for $0.99 – price goes up to $3.99 on release day! Releases 2.20.18
Written By
Chelsea Camaron
And
Ryan Michele
please note the following excerpt is not edited and subject to change in the final version
If this was the diary of a mad-man, my road to Hell would be a dark and twisted one.
I am Onyx Blake.
I lived my life by a code with no loyalties and no fucks to give about anyone but myself and my business.
Welcome to the depths of power…
Power Chain Series
Authors Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele team up to push beyond the boundaries, going darker than ever before and crossing a line into a deep, dangerous, forbidden world. One where no one escapes, even if they beg to.
This is the Power Chain Series – a four book series of interconnected stand-alone romances.
- Power House (Power Chain Book One) – Feb 20
No one denies me. Especially her.
She dismissed me.
That was her first mistake.
She thought I was a nice guy.
That was her second.
She had hope.
That was the final straw.
I am Onyx Blake.
I’m a powerhouse in an ugly underworld only found in her nightmares.
She’s going to learn quickly, I’m not the man to let anything go…
Including her.
1
Onyx
Absently, I flipped the Zippo lighter in my fingers, open and shut, open and shut… waiting, listening to the sound of the click each time. I fucking hated waiting.
I looked at my shiny silver watch seeing each second tick by. Eighteen-oh-three. Jacob was three minutes late. Three minutes of my time wasted.
Timeliness was a particular thing for me. An association being late was an agitation I didn’t need.
The quiet, dimly lit restaurant being closed for the night was the perfect meeting place, no interruptions and no prying eyes. The smells of tomato sauce and garlic filtered through the air like they were embedded in the walls from years of use. This family-owned place, not mine of course, knew the need for discretion in my business. As for family, mine didn’t exist, at least by any blood relation.
Standing, I slid the lighter into my pocket and made my way to the front door just as Jacob found his way inside, the door jingling from the small bell up above. With his face flushed and a look of fear, that he should have for being behind schedule, he waltzed in—trying to hide his emotions, which only pissed me off more. Late didn’t reg
ister to me—no matter who it was, ever. Everyone in my business knew I’m the one in power, in control, the king to my disciples. Don’t disappoint me, don’t make me wait, and damn sure don’t piss me the fuck off—
everyone knew, including Jacob Cole. It was the first thing we talked about when someone came to work for me, and they signed it in blood.
He stood in front of me, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I gazed just beyond him as if he doesn’t exist because, to me, he didn’t; not anymore. He had his chance to have my attention, to do his job. There were no second chances. There were no ‘get out of jail free’ cards. One time was all it took, and he decided today was his day. This shit was done. He was done.
“Bossman, I’m sorry. I was negotiating,” he muttered, and the words assaulted my ears like needles poking into center of the eardrums and making them bleed.
I had just started moving and halted immediately at his statement. Instead of giving him my full attention, I maintained my eyes locked beyond the man just to my left, rolling one word around in my head. One word that should never come from anyone’s mouth except for me.
Before I managed a reply, the man whined on, “The buyer wants to bail if they can’t see the merchandise now. Even 3-D imaging will do, they said.”
Turning my head, I stared at the trembling young man in front of me. Disgust, anger, and absolute disdain clouded my vision. We were far from evenly matched, nowhere near equal levels—both physically and metaphysically. I’m tall at six-feet-four-inches, and he’s a solid ten inches shorter. I was a ruthless businessman, and he was a peon in over his head. So I glared down on him in more ways than one. It’s how I preferred it, and very few could match me in height to look me dead in the eye. Even those people had a hard time keeping my gaze.
Jacob had a slightly receding hair line and kept the rest of it short, probably in preparation for losing it completely. Drops of sweat rolled down his face where his cheeks visibly quivered from his fear. I could smell the fresh menthol of his recently smoked cigarette. It drove me insane. What an absolute waste he was!
Three minutes late… three minutes he probably spent puffing away on his tobacco stick and trying to calm his shit down outside, when he should’ve been in here facing me. Three minutes of my time he wasted for a cigarette. Fuck that shit.
He could smoke on his time, not mine. My time was money. My time was power. My time was mine… not his or anyone else’s.
“Did you say? You were negotiating?” I asked him with my voice firm.
He nodded then shook his head back and forth right behind it. Indecisive motherfucker. Which was it, yes or no? None of it fucking mattered, he was a dead man walking, his time about to end.
“Did you say the word negotiating?” I questioned again, demanding more than a stupid fucking head bob. “Be clear, Jacob. This is a precise business. The answer is simply yes or no.”
“Yes, Sir,” he stammered, hands trembling as the sweat continued pouring down his face, soaking his white-collared shirt.
He should be scared.
Fucking terrified, actually.
My reputation in this town demanded it, and I owned it hard and fierce.
In a swift movement, I slid the blade from the hidden wrist cuff built into the sleeve of my shirt. Settling the metal in between my middle and ring fingers, I gripped the shaft knowing the blade was sharp and ready to pierce. From there, I swung my fist down in a forward motion, catching my intended spot as I curved up.
I never missed a target.
My intention was pain, slow torture, and to wake this motherfucker up. My business was mine. He didn’t have the authority to negotiate with a client. No one did, and Jacob would be a fine example to spread word around town to my people. Far and wide the word would expand, reaching the depths of the underworld. A simple reminder—they worked for me, not the other way around.
I had the power.
The power of life and of death.
My hand settled only when the blade could go no further. His thighs shook around my fist like he might not be standing much longer. “Your cock lays to the left so you feel the pain straight to your balls right now,” I told him calmly while he cried out in agony. “Jacob, this business takes balls. Ones you clearly don’t possess.”
I yanked the blade out and stepped away from my victim, leaving him standing in a puddle of his own piss and blood. It trailed from his cock and balls all the way down his legs as he crashed down to his knees harshly.
He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, but unable to speak. I was certain the pain was unbearable, excruciating. It was intended to be. He blinked rapidly, no doubt fighting to sort himself out, wanting to plead for mercy, yet fearing to in the same thought.
“Consider your services rendered. Your exit package will be delivered shortly, Jacob.”
He opened and closed his mouth before he could finally form words. “Please, Onyx. Please, give me another chance.”
Fucking pathetic.
Begging, not something I wanted to hear, ever. The only time I would listen to someone beg was a woman with luscious curves wanting my cock. I was always in charge.
Always.
A grown ass man begging with my name off his lips, that shit only pissed me off more by the second. When did men become such pussies?
“Onyx, please, I’ll do anything.”
Immediately, I shook my head. “No. Let me be clear, since you have issues understanding. Your exit package will be delivered shortly—get your affairs in order, Jacob. Quick.”
The way he’s fucked this deal up, I should deliver the death blow myself. He knew what he was getting into when he came into the depths, just like I did and every other individual in my association. The man assigned to Jacob’s exit understands his job, his role, and won’t listen to a single word the man pleads with to save his sorry ass. This was how my association worked—we each had a job to do, and we did it. And we all made a fuck load of money doing it. We knew the fucking score and took that shit like grown men do. Jacob, he had gone soft. It’s a shame because when he started he had balls of steel. Alas, he’s made his bed, now he would lay in it.
Grabbing a cloth napkin from the nearby table, I swiped the blade clean before tossing the fabric back to the table.
Slipping the knife back in its holder inside my shirt cuff, I made my way to exit the restaurant. Jacob reached out and grabbed at my legs to which I shrugged off, turned around, and nailed him in the face so hard he fell to the ground completely.
“Be a man, Jacob Cole.” Those were my parting words as I stepped out into the cool night air.
On to the next. This was my life, my world, and it’s all completely under my thumb.
2
Torryn
What the ever loving hell!
“Kennedy, answer the damn phone!” I yelled out at my phone before tossing it to the passenger seat and seeing it bounce once on the cushion. Could this day possibly get any worse? As soon as the thought entered my mind, I pushed it away. Everyone knew thinking things like that was just a recipe for everything going down the shitter further than it currently was. And I didn’t need any more bad luck—for a lifetime.
Knowing I didn’t want to go home and face my apartment where the bills would certainly be piling up soon enough, I decided to drive to my sister’s house since she wouldn’t answer. I needed her support right now, the kind only a big sister could give. The comfort of her arms around me telling me everything was going to work out was what I needed. We had always been close. I considered myself lucky to have her at my side.
Nothing was going right.
One step forward, twelve steps back on a continuous cycle of hell, that seemed to be the story of my life.
Eight months ago, our mother died with no life insurance, leaving us to handle the costs. Never having to deal with a funeral before, when the bills came all breath left me. Kennedy married a wealthy man, thank goodness, and he covered the expenses. I may not have liked
Malcom, but he had taken care of my sister and, at times, me. While it was a blow to my pride to have to depend on them, I couldn’t help that life kept kicking me down every time I seemed to stand back up.
The drive passed in a blur as I fought with my emotions. My mom always said Money don’t solve money problems. I still wasn’t sure that was correct, at least it didn’t feel like it. Kennedy would be the voice of reason. She would make all this seem not so bad. She would hug me, and we’d eat ice cream. She’d help me come up with a plan to move forward. Kennedy had always been my go-to rock in life.
I mean, graduating from college and losing your job while your student loan bills and life bills continued to pile up isn’t the end of the world, right? It’s just money, after all. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anyone else to fall back on but my sister. She got to be the lucky winner of my woes, but what the hell were sisters for if it wasn’t to be the reminder that life could always be worse?
It wasn’t like I got fired because I sucked and was a lazyass who didn’t do my job. It was some ‘last one hired is first one fired’ policy on layoffs, and I was at the top of that list.
Graphic design—my passion. Kennedy told me to go for it and the work would come. That I could build myself up in the company and be able to take on my own clients. Maybe if I had a freelance business already built up like I originally intended before taking this job, I’d have a cushion. But right now, all I had was a whole lot of talent and nothing to eat—literally.
Power Chain Prequel Page 2
