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

  "Billy! But—"

  "Hey, don't push it right now, Rook, you guys pissed him off last night pretty bad. He needs some slutty shots and he wants someone to take care of you in the shoot, so that's Billy for today."

  "Yeah, because that went so well last time," I mutter.

  "That was a misunderstanding, Billy is just fine. He's worked for us for almost two years so relax. Don't shower, just put some clothes on and come right to make-up."

  She turns on her heel and some of her papers flutter off the clipboard and float down at my feet. I reach down, still slightly dazed from sleep, and go to hand them back to her when I realize what I'm holding.

  It's a contact sheet filled with pictures. Pictures of Ronin and me from yesterday.

  The view in each one is from below, like whoever took this shot was on the ground looking up at us. Front and center is Ronin's hand inside my boxer shorts and there is no way to miss the fact that his fingers are definitely between my legs. The other hand gropes my breast with a force that appears to be bruising. My head is tilted back, my mouth open in what I can only imagine was a groan of pleasure, but it's Ronin's face that stops me cold.

  He's looking straight at the camera. His electric blue eyes blazing like a predator, his brows furrowed together, and his lips in a snarl. He looks like an animal ready to take down a kill. And I get it, it's theatrics for the sake of art. Or whatever. But he made such a big deal about not looking at the camera, and here he is, staring directly into it?

  It feels like a betrayal.

  "What the fuck is this?" I ask Elise.

  She draws in a deep breath and takes the photo back. "That is the winning image, Rook. They loved it. Congratulations, you're about to be famous."

  And then she turns around and walks off, leaving me standing in the doorway.

  Is this what I signed up for? Of all the images they got of us yesterday, that was the one they have to use? Where the hell did Ronin go? That's really not cool. And slutty shots? I don't even want to know what that means.

  "Hurry up!" Elise calls out as I stand there thinking.

  I slam the door and go put on some clothes, brush my teeth real fast, slip on my ratty old Converse, and head over to make-up.

  Why I am sent there I have no idea because when Josie turns me around to look at myself, I look like shit. Just like Elise wanted. I have raccoon eyes from the smeared eye shadow, my lipstick is splotchy, and she has applied some kind of make-up in just the right way to make my face look hollowed out.

  I am a crack whore.

  I am my mother.

  In that instant I see her. The same eyes, the same raven-black hair, the same look of impending death.

  I look over at Elise, who is impatient to get me in the dressing room, and shake my head.

  "Yes, we need this shoot and we need to get it done quick."

  "Why? Why is it such a rush?"

  She ignores me as we walk quickly into the dressing room. Everything about this day is wrong.

  My clothes aren't in a bag, they are splayed out on one of the benches in the middle of the dressing room. It's only then that I realize there are no other girls around. "Elise, what's going on? Where is everyone?"

  "We have meetings with the STURGIS people, the suits are here again, they're nailing down the specifics of the contract and Antoine is not happy, so please, just do what you're told and you'll be done fast and you can have the rest of the day off. Now put those clothes on and meet us down on the third floor."

  Again, she walks out.

  I look over the clothes and almost laugh. The shirt is dirty and torn, the jeans are the same, and the underwear—yes, I actually have underwear this time—is black. It comes with a demi bra, like the one I had on last night, and some boy shorts. I put the underwear on and then the clothes. The rip on the shirt goes right between my tits so the black bra is visible.

  When I turn to look at myself in the mirror, I am a homeless crack whore.

  I swallow down the bad feeling I'm getting about this day, slip my feet back into my sneakers, and walk down the stairs to the third floor.

  Billy is waiting for me, checking his phone for a text or something. He looks up after his fingers finish their swiping, and smiles. "You look great!"

  I'm not sure if he means I look great for this part I'm playing today or if that was a total joke, so I just say nothing.

  "Oh, calm down, Rook. It's a simple shoot, no nudity or nothing, Antoine said. Although I'm disappointed at that, to be honest. You are very hot. So I'm just supposed to tell you what to do. Antoine thinks it's weird if he tells you himself, so I'm playing moderator today, I guess. To keep Ronin at bay once he finds out we did this while he was busy with Clare."

  "With Clare?" I ask, my heart beating fast.

  "Yeah, he's down in the first floor apartment with her, sleeping it off or whatever."

  Sleeping it off? What the fuck does that mean? "What first floor apartment?"

  Billy opens a door and ushers me in with a wave of his hand. "One of the extra ones Ronin uses for his girls."

  Holy shit. I feel like a total idiot.

  "Rook!" Antoine barks. "Over here." He points to a makeshift bedroom and I do as I'm told because all I want right now is to finish this shoot and get the hell out of this place. He talks to Billy in some amalgam of French and English and then Billy is telling me what to do. He touches me, has his hands all over me, kisses me a few times even, but nothing about this shoot is anything like the ones I did with Ronin. Billy is all business, and I suppose that's good. I mean, if a strange guy is getting paid to maul you, I guess you'd want to keep it professional. But nothing can stop the horror of him stripping my clothes off, fondling my breasts, and then sitting me down in his lap, only in the underwear now, and placing my own hand between my legs as Antoine's camera clicks away.

  And then it's over and I'm putting my clothes back on.

  I have no idea what just happened, but I have never felt so fucking dirty in all my life.

  Thankfully Billy takes my arm, chatting away pleasantly like this is just another day, and walks me out to the hallway. I stop at the stairs and come to my senses.

  "I'll see you later, huh?"

  He just continues to climb the stairs and calls out, "Sure thing!"

  I walk down the stairs slowly, talking myself into believing this is just a big misunderstanding. Ronin is not sleeping it off with Clare. He was with me last night. We didn't go to bed until three in the morning, at least. I woke up at seven thirty. When did he find the time to sleep with another girl?

  I've never explored the other floors before but Ronin freely admitted to taking his fuck buddies into these rooms. When I get to the first floor I walk down the hallway and try every door. They are all open, they are all shabby, and they are all empty. When I get to the last door, the one near the back of the building right next to the fire exit, I see a keypad.

  I punch in Ronin's code and the door clicks as it unlocks. I twist the handle and push it open quietly, listening for sounds of people. Nothing. I open it more and step inside, leaving the door open behind me.

  And I hear a faint moan.

  I force myself to walk into the living room. It's pretty clear someone is living here because this place is furnished, maybe not nicely, but adequately. And there are old food containers that have the Cookie's Diner logo on them.

  And there are clothes strewn about the floor. Underwear.

  I walk farther in, towards the sound that has since ceased, and stop at a bedroom door that is slightly ajar. I can see in and I can see a bed.

  And on that bed is Clare and Ronin.

  Sleeping it off.

  My heart beats wildly as I back out of the apartment, quietly close the door behind me, and push open the emergency exit door to get away as fast as I can. I push through a second door and then I'm in the parking lot out back near the freight elevators.

  There are a whole bunch of people loading motorcycles and I weave my wa
y through them, bumping into people, almost knocking down a bike, just doing anything I can to get away from this place. I push past a big guy and he grabs me by the arm as I flee. I turn to fight him off when I realize it's Spencer.

  "You OK, Rook?"

  I just stare up into his blue eyes and shake my head. "No, I don't think I am." I look back at the building and shake my head again. "I'm not OK. I need to get out of here. I need to go." I pull away from his grip and start running down the alley but he catches me and pulls me back, almost yanking me back, until I slam into his chest.

  "Hold on, what's going on? Did someone hurt you? Why are your clothes all ripped?"

  I look down at my outfit and laugh. "Oh, fuck." He lets go of my arm and waits as I take a deep breath. "Sorry, no, no one hurt me. This was from the photoshoot, that's all, but I can't stay here right now. I just need to go someplace, anyplace. I just need to go."

  He takes my arm again and guides me over to a big red Ford F-250 with the logo of his bike shop on it. "Here, take a seat, we'll go get some lunch. I wanted to talk to you about the contract anyway, before Antoine and Ronin exaggerate it all out of proportion. I want you to make up your own mind about whether or not it's a good fit, because frankly, I'm tired of hearing them tell me you're not interested when I think you might be. So sit tight, sister." He waits for me to settle in the passenger seat and then closes the door and heads over to his buddies who are unloading bikes from the back of a semi.

  I watch the back door nervously, afraid I'm going to get caught. Where is this feeling coming from? I didn't do anything wrong!

  But that's never stopped you from getting punished before, Rook.

  I shake my head. Ronin is not Jon. Antoine is not Jon.

  But they might not be the people I thought they were either.

  Spencer comes back a few minutes later, climbs in, and turns to me. "Where should we go?"

  "I don't care, I have no idea, just get me out of here. And not Cookie's, OK?"

  He laughs. "I'd never take you to Cookie's, Blackbird. I'll take you to my favorite restaurant, how's that?"

  I nod and chew on my nail as we drive away, my whole world spinning once again.

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Rook

  Spencer and I end up at a biker bar that is nowhere near Denver. And really, I asked for this, right? Get me out of here is code for get me the fuck out of here. I laugh at this as I eat my burger.

  "What's funny?" Spence asks.

  "Nothing, it's just… where the hell are we?"

  He leans back in the booth and stretches his arms out to either side, obviously proud of himself. "My bar." He grins like an idiot now.

  "This is your bar? Shit, dude, you're like loaded or what? You can't be any older than Ronin and you have all those bikes, some TV show people paying for a major deal with Antoine, and you own a bar?"

  "You forgot Shrike Bikes showroom next door. Which is really where I want to take you so I can show you what this contract is all about."

  "Why not just tell me? I mean, why's it such a secret?"

  "Well, it sounds bad on paper."

  I eye him suspiciously.

  "But it's not, Rook. I swear, just let me show you because if Ronin and Antoine get to you first they'll blow it all up and make it sound dirty." He stops to lean forward and raise his eyebrows at me, but not in a joking way, he's almost pleading for me to understand. "It's not dirty. It's art. And it's a hell of a lot less exploitative than what you're doing for TRAGIC, I'll tell you that right now."

  I pout at this, because today was just wrong. I had to wash my face in the bathroom when I got here and change into a spare biker shirt Spencer had in his truck because the whole crack-whore thing was not working for me. If this is what modeling for Antoine will be like most of the time, I'm not interested. "I'll keep an open mind, how's that?"

  "Perfect, that's all I ask."

  After we eat we walk over to his shop. It rained a little while we were inside, so water sloshes inside my worn-out Converse as we splash through some puddles. There are no sidewalks around here, just dirt. Spencer opens the door to the showroom for me and I'm a little taken aback by the beauty of it all. "Wow, you have some nice bikes, Spence. I had no idea."

  "You're into the bike scene, Rook?" he asks, a bit surprised by my genuine interest.

  I shrug and sigh at the same time because I was into the bike scene once, if only because of the person who got me interested in the first place.

  "Which one do you like the best?" he asks me as I walk between the aisles of bikes lined up, headlight to headlight, facing each other. There must be like thirty or forty bikes in here.

  "I like the retro ones, like this one right here," I say, tapping the glossy gas tank. "It looks like an old Triumph."

  "Ah, you are a biker chick!"

  The smile creeps out with the memories this time, I can't help it. "I had a boy once. He liked bikes."

  "Yeah? Where's he now?"

  I shrug and swing my leg over and cop a seat on the pretty turquoise one I was eyeballing.

  "Do you ride?"

  "Dirt bikes," I say under my breath.

  "This boy teach you that?"

  I look up at him and change the subject. "So spill the details on the contract, Spence. I'm dying to know if this will work for me or not."

  "OK," he says, taking a deep breath. "Come with me." I get up off the bike and follow him towards the back. There are a few lingering customers and one cashier helping people out, but the shop seems to be winding down for the day. He opens the door to an office that has his name on it. It says, Spencer Shrike, President. Which totally trips me out.

  I walk in and Spence directs me to take a seat at a round table surrounded by cheap vinyl chairs that look like they belong in a VFW and not the Shrike Bikes president's office. I do, and then wait patiently as he gathers up some binders on the filing cabinet behind his desk. I look around the office as I wait. It's a typical biker office. Eagles and American flags, and of course, black velvet girls with tits hanging out, adorn the walls. I have to chuckle behind my fist because seriously…

  I take my attention away from the artwork and study the furniture. The desk is a monstrosity of dark wood, mostly scratched and filled with paperwork. His office chair says a lot about him as well. It's leather, but not pretentious, and it looks well-worn, not new.

  Spencer is a clash of contradictions. But this is a good thing. It says he's a down-to-Earth guy, not some asshole who gets off having the word president stenciled on his door.

  He brings the binders over to the table and then takes a seat and looks over at me with a grin.

  "What? You look nervous," I say.

  He opens the book and there's an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a naked girl. Except it's very hard to tell that she's naked on first glance because her entire body has been painted to look like she's wearing the sexy female version of an Elvis jumpsuit, complete with rhinestones and a nice sparkly belt.

  I grin. "What's this?"

  He turns the page and it's the same girl, only now she's wearing a roller derby outfit. He flips the page again and she's a cowgirl, complete with Wrangler jeans—it's an ass-shot—and a red checkered shirt.

  The next page makes me gasp. Because it's a picture of Spencer, painting the girl.

  "You!" I say, jumping up and grabbing the book from him.

  "Me," he says proudly. "I paint on girls." We both laugh at that, hysterically almost. "I paint on girls," he says again. "And I want to paint a girl to match the custom bike I'm making for the Sturgis Rally this summer."

  "Wow, you have blown me away, Spencer. Holy shit! Never in a million years did I think this was your secret. You're an artist!"

  "Yeah, and I want to paint you, Rook. For the contract. I want to paint you to match all my bikes for the portfolio and advertising, but mostly, I want to paint you to match the custom bike I'm making special for Sturgis, because it's called the Shrike Raven. When I heard your name was Rook, we
ll, that was it, girl. I just need it to be you."

  "Wow," I say again. I nod at him. "I think I'm in, Spencer Shrike. This looks like the most fun I might ever have in my life."

  "You'll be completely naked, Rook, just so you understand. When we do public performances, your nipples will be covered with those pasties, and you'll wear a thong, but that's only for the public appearances. In the photoshoots and in the private show at Sturgis, you'll be painted everywhere. And even with the pasties and thong, you have to be painted up nude, first. So it matches up perfect."

  I flip through more pictures. Each one is perfection. You cannot tell these girls are naked. Not one bit. "I'm OK with that, Spencer. I'm in."

  "Ronin is not going to approve."

  "Who cares?" I reply, still flipping through the book.

  "Well, I got the impression he liked you yesterday, so I figured you liked him too."

  I can't hold it in anymore so I spill it. "I think he's seeing that Clare girl, Spencer. I saw them together today, in a bed. And we slept together last night. I thought we were, I don't know, together or something? But he obviously doesn't see it the same way. Maybe he will hate it, but I can't be bothered with that right now. I have to make my own decisions."

  "Fair enough. I'm not gonna stop you, so you wanna see the bike you'll be painted up to match?"

  "Yeah!"

  We go back out to the showroom and it's empty now. He takes me to a book on the front desk and opens it. "This here is the showroom, but I build the bikes in a shop just north of Fort Collins, about a half hour from here. I'm almost finished with it, so we'll shoot you on the other bikes first, all painted up to match each one, and then we'll take the new bike to Sturgis and do a presentation to kick off the Biker Channel show we're gonna film for next year's spring TV season."

  "Wow. I realize I've said that like three times already, but Spencer, you're amazing. This bike is the shit." Most of it is still in pieces, but the rendering is beautiful. It's got curves, and chrome, and the gas tank has been molded and painted to look like a raven's head.

  "Which bike out here, Rook? Which is your favorite? You can pick one to be in the show too, then keep it for yourself."