by Alta Hensley
Spiked Roses
Complete Top Shelf Series
Alta Hensley
Copyright © 2020 by Alta Hensley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Special Thank you to my editor: Maggie Ryan
And to my cover designer: Raven Designs
To Mr. Alta Hensley
I want to lick the whiskey from your breath.
Contents
Bastards & Whiskey
Chapter One
Kenneth
Chapter Two
Anita
Chapter Three
Anita
Chapter Four
Anita
Chapter Five
Kenneth
Chapter Six
Anita
Chapter Seven
Anita
Chapter Eight
Kenneth
Chapter Nine
Kenneth
Chapter Ten
Kenneth
Chapter Eleven
Anita
Chapter Twelve
Kenneth
Chapter Thirteen
Kenneth
Chapter Fourteen
Anita
Chapter Fifteen
Kenneth
Chapter Sixteen
Anita
Chapter Seventeen
Kenneth
Chapter Eighteen
Kenneth
Chapter Nineteen
Anita
Chapter Twenty
Kenneth
Chapter Twenty-one
Anita
Chapter Twenty-two
Anita
Villains & Vodka
Chapter One
Harley Crow
Chapter Two
Marlowe Masters
Chapter Three
Harley
Chapter Four
Marlowe
Chapter Five
Marlowe
Chapter Six
Marlowe
Chapter Seven
Harley
Chapter Eight
Marlowe
Chapter Nine
Marlowe
Chapter Ten
Marlowe
Chapter Eleven
Marlowe
Chapter Twelve
Marlowe
Chapter Thirteen
Harley
Chapter Fourteen
Harley
Chapter Fifteen
Marlowe
Chapter Sixteen
Marlowe
Chapter Seventeen
Harley
Chapter Eighteen
Marlowe
Chapter Nineteen
Harley
Chapter Twenty
Marlowe
Scoundrels & Scotch
Prologue
Chapter One
Ivy
Chapter Two
Ivy
Chapter Three
Victor
Chapter Four
Ivy
Chapter Five
Ivy
Chapter Six
Ivy
Chapter Seven
Ivy
Chapter Eight
Ivy
Chapter Nine
Victor
Chapter Ten
Ivy
Chapter Eleven
Ivy
Chapter Twelve
Victor
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy
Chapter Fourteen
Ivy
Chapter Fifteen
Victor
Chapter Sixteen
Ivy
Chapter Seventeen
Victor
Chapter Eighteen
Victor
Chapter Nineteen
Ivy
Chapter Twenty
Victor
Chapter Twenty-one
Ivy
Devils & Rye
Chapter One
Alec
Chapter Two
Makayla
Chapter Three
Alec
Chapter Four
Alec
Chapter Five
Makayla
Chapter Six
Makayla
Chapter Seven
Makayla
Chapter Eight
Alec
Chapter Nine
Alec
Chapter Ten
Makayla
Chapter Eleven
Alec
Chapter Twelve
Makayla
Chapter Thirteen
Makayla
Chapter Fourteen
Makayla
Chapter Fifteen
Alec
Chapter Sixteen
Makayla
Chapter Seventeen
Makayla
Chapter Eighteen
Makayla
Chapter Nineteen
Makayla
Chapter Twenty
Alec
Chapter Twenty-one
Makayla
Chapter Twenty-two
Alec
Chapter Twenty-three
Makayla
Beasts & Bourbon
Chapter One
Cheri
Chapter Two
Roman
Chapter Three
Cheri
Chapter Four
Roman
Chapter Five
Cheri
Chapter Six
Cheri
Chapter Seven
Roman
Chapter Eight
Roman
Chapter Nine
Roman
Chapter Ten
Cheri
Chapter Eleven
Cheri
Chapter Twelve
Cheri
Chapter Thirteen
Cheri
Chapter Fourteen
Cheri
Chapter Fifteen
Roman
Chapter Sixteen
Cheri
Chapter Seventeen
Cheri
Chapter Eighteen
Roman
Chapter Nineteen
Cheri
Sinners & Gin
Chapter One
Matthew
Chapter Two
Aria
Chapter Three
Matthew
Chapter Four
Aria
Chapter Five
Aria
Chapter Six
Aria
Chapter Seven
Matthew
Chapter Eight
Matthew
Chapter Nine
Aria
Chapter Ten
Matthew
Chapter Eleven
Aria
Chapter Twelve
Aria
Chapter Thirteen
Aria
Chapter Fourteen
Aria
Chapter Fifteen
Matthew
Chapter Sixteen
Aria
Chapter Seventeen
Aria
Chapter Eighteen
Matthew
Chapter Nineteen
Matthew
Chapter Twenty
Matthew
Chapter Twenty-one
Aria
About the Author
Also by Alta Hensley
Bastards & Whiskey
Chapter One
Kenneth
>
I stood before a table of assholes.
Six filthy rich, smart as fuck, and complete pricks sat around a circular African blackwood table. They each seemed annoyed they were even called to this meeting.
And why African blackwood—one of the most expensive woods in the world—a wood used to make instruments and one that had become nearly extinct because of mankind, you might ask? Why did we need such a luxurious table made of this wood in our office to conduct our meetings at?
Because we could.
Why did each of these assholes place their tumblers of high-end liquor over ice, dripping with condensation and leaving water rings on the delicate table?
Because we could.
We could do whatever the fuck we wanted.
We knew we were able to buy another table with an ease that made us cavalier toward possessions.
We were insanely rich, totally careless bastards. Each one of us.
Somewhere along the line, however, I had decided to become business partners with these ruthless men. On most days I felt as if I had made one hell of a wise financial decision pairing up with this motley bunch, and other days, I wondered how drunk I must have been on Macallan sherry oak whiskey to be fool enough to go in on this business idea. Had I known it was going to be so much work, I would’ve at the very least held out until someone treated me to The Balvenie 50-year-old single malt before agreeing to this bullshit.
And that’s what this business had become.
Total and utter bullshit.
My ass didn’t have time for this.
We owned Spiked Roses—an exclusive, membership only establishment in New Orleans where money or lineage was the only way in. It was for the gentlemen who owned everything and never heard the word no. Sipping on top shelf booze, smoking exotic cigars, and conducting multi-million dollar deals in our own personal playground of indulgence, there wasn’t anything we couldn’t have… and that had now become an issue. A big fucking, colossal problem that could make each one of us lose our asses in litigation and settlements.
“Listen, I don’t want to be here either, fuckers,” I began as I made eye contact with each man in the room. They were the powerful, royalty, the captains of industry, and the wealthiest fucks in the world.
They were also my friends, my business partners, and definitely some brutal and merciless shitheads who wouldn’t be above doing whatever it took to protect what was theirs. Whatever it took.
“We just got hit with another lawsuit,” I continued, looking down at the thick document in front of me, “and this one is a doozy.” I looked back at the men who didn’t seem bothered in the least. “And after we just got done paying out our asses for the last lawsuit…” I cleared my throat. “Make that the last couple of lawsuits. Spiked Roses is going to be in Chapter 11 before we even hit our one year anniversary.”
One of the founding members—Prince Roman Cassian—looked around the table and said, “Last I checked, none of us were hurting for money. Since when are we afraid of some frivolous lawsuits and paying people off?” With his European accent, his charming smile, and his casual demeanor, I could see why women lined up for even a glimpse of the royal blood that surged through his cock. We’d even had to up security at the entrance because women were trying to sneak in with hopes of luring the sexy prince into their beds.
“We have paid people off. A lot! NOLA City Council is practically on our bi-weekly payroll right now. With two Councilmember-at-Large positions, and representatives in districts A through E, our payoffs are steep and plentiful. Plus, the mayor is breathing down our necks. He doesn’t give a fuck what we do behind closed doors, but when it starts showing up in the courtrooms, he is losing his patience fast. So, something has to be done. And I don’t know about any of you, but I didn’t decide to open this club so some greedy bitch or asshole, who sees a payday in their future, can bleed my pocketbook dry,” I said between clenched teeth.
I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only founding member who would feel that way. But I also knew that since I handled all the legal matters of the business, it was very likely they all didn’t truly grasp the severity and quantity in which the suits were being filed.
“Story of my life,” Alec Sheldon said. Alec had made his fortune in oil and tobacco and was about as far away from a southern gentleman as you could get. He liked his sexual play dark and dirty, and he alone was one of the reasons we had to do something to protect Spiked Roses from future litigation. It was just a matter of time until his bedroom antics would land us in a multimillion-dollar sexual assault case. “Some little darlin’ sues me if I even look at her wrong, let alone touch her.” He took a long drink before adding, “It comes with the territory. We make money, and someone else wants to take it away. A hard lesson my pappy taught me was even if we don’t hire a whore, we’ll still pay for the sex one way or the other.”
Some of the men nodded and snickered in agreement.
The dangerous Harley Crow was the next to chime in. “And that’s what we have you for, Mr. Kenneth Saxon. You’re the vicious lawyer who destroys people in the courtroom. Am I correct? So go ahead and destroy.” His snarky tone was not lost on me, but I wasn’t going to say a thing. This son of a bitch was an assassin. No way to sugarcoat that fact. He killed people and made a shitload of money doing it. He was known as “The Crow”, because if he showed up without warning, you knew bad things were about to happen. I was glad he was a friend and not an enemy, and I planned on keeping it that way. “Unless you want me to handle things my way,” he added with an evil grin.
The other men all laughed and playfully told him to go for it. The Harley Crow way was the only way.
I fucking wished.
I released a sigh, feeling my frustration grow. “You fuckers won’t be able to afford me for long.” I reached down, lifted the thick document, and waved it for effect. “This one is for ten million dollars. And the one we just settled on was for nearly three million. The one before that was for five million. Shall I go on?”
I had finally gotten their attention. I saw grimaces, locked jaws, and stiffened spines.
I gave a smug nod. “That’s right. And the fact of the matter is, that we are losing—or would lose if we didn’t settle—because the women suing are within the law and have the right to have our heads on a stake. Our dirty ass members are doing the deeds these women claim, and all of you damn well know it.”
“There are no rules at Spiked Roses. No one says no to a member,” Victor Drayton pointed out as he sipped from his crystal tumbler. “Isn’t that why we created this place? We were sick of all the stuffy rules and regulations of all those other membership clubs? Are you asking us to become just like them?” He shrugged. “We might as well close our doors then. I have no interest in being part of those blue blood men’s clubs, and certainly don’t want to own one.”
Victor Drayton was the reason for the first lawsuit of 2.5 million dollars. He was a world-renowned gallery owner and art collector, but he also was known in the dark shadows of Spiked Roses for Drayton’s Dolls. He collected “dolls” which involved naked women being painted and then hung on display. Sounded normal and consensual enough, but based on the claim made by one of the “dolls” who sued us, it didn’t stop with just being painted as art for one of his galleries. The kinky descriptions of the art room in the deposition even had my filthy ass doing a double take.
I dipped my index finger between the knot of my silk tie and the cotton of my shirt to loosen the restriction a bit. I prepared myself for what I was about to propose. All eyes were on me; I had gotten their attention when I mentioned the loss of millions, but now they were looking for a solution.
“I’m not asking that we change the expectations of the members. You are right, Victor. We opened Spiked Roses because conventional isn’t a word to describe any of us. I’m not saying we change the men, but we need to change the women and how we go about things.”
I paused so my words could sink in. I took hold of my gl
ass of whiskey and sipped it before continuing, taking the time to inhale the aroma of the aged-to-perfection liquid.
“The first thing we are going to do is clean house. All new staff,” I began. “We aren’t running a whore house, a drug den, or a strip club. And if you look around and really take stock, that’s what’s been happening. We have enough cocaine, heroin, and even meth being passed around in dark corners to have all our asses sent to prison for a very long time.”
“Ah come on, man. Cleaning house? That’s harsh,” Prince Roman interjected. “They aren’t all bad or on drugs.”
“Agreed. They aren’t all bad. But those who aren’t fully fucked up end up getting chosen to become arm candy by one of our members. They become the flavor of the month—or week—which means that our fucking staffing needs are a disaster. Those women don’t show up for work because they are fucking some count on his yacht,” I said as I finally took the seat at the head of the table.