PowerHouse: Anti-Hero Game
Power Chain Book One
Chelsea Camaron
Ryan Michele
Contents
Don’t Miss Out!
Books In This Series
Diary of a Mad Man
PowerHouse: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book 1)
1. Onyx
2. Torryn
3. Onyx
4. Torryn
5. Onyx
6. Torryn
7. Onyx
8. Torryn
9. Onyx
10. Torryn
11. Onyx
12. Torryn
13. Onyx
14. Torryn
15. Onyx
16. Torryn
17. Onyx
18. Torryn
19. Onyx
20. Torryn
21. Onyx
22. Torryn
23. Onyx
24. Torryn
25. Onyx
26. Torryn
27. Onyx
28. Torryn
29. Torryn
30. Onyx
Power Chain: Anti-Hero Game
About Chelsea Camaron
About Ryan Michele
Other Books by Chelsea Camaron
Other Books by Ryan Michele
Copyright © Chelsea Camaron & Ryan Michele 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
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This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
1st edition published: Feb 20, 2018
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Editing by:
Silla Webb and Asli Fratarcangeli
Cover Design by: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
Cover Picture: Jake Wilson taken by Golden Czermak of Furious Fotog
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Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
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This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language, violence, and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.
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This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of life in an underworld crime organization, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
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*** Warning: This book contains graphic situations that may be a trigger for some readers. Please understand this is a work of fiction and not meant to offend or misrepresent any situations. There is quite a bit of violence, so if that’s not what you’re looking for, then please don’t read. ***
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Join Chelsea’s Newsletter: HERE
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Ryan:
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Books In This Series
Power Chain: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Prequel)
Get your copy: HERE for FREE
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PowerHouse: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book One) — Released Feb 20th
Get your copy: HERE
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Power Player: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book Two) – Releases May 15
PreOrder: HERE
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Powerless: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book Three) – Release Aug 7
PreOrder: HERE
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Overpowered: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book Four) – Release Oct 30
PreOrder: Here
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…
PowerHouse: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book 1)
Authors Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele team up to push beyond the boundaries, crossing a line into a deep, dangerous, and forbidden world. One where no one escapes, even if they beg to.
This is the Power Chain Series—a series of interconnected stand-alone romances.
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Power House: Anti-Hero Game (Power Chain Book One)
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. One hundred and eighty seconds passed without my employee here.
Timeliness was a particular thing for me. An associate being late was an agitation I didn’t need. It showed their lack of respect for me, and that wouldn’t be tolerated under any circumstances. I ran the show. They were on my schedule, not the other way around.
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, 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 that I claimed.
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, a feeling that he should have for being behind schedule, as he waltzed in, trying to hide his emotions, only pissing me off more. Late didn’t register to me—no matter who it was—ever. Everyone around me understood and accepted—I was 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’s the first matter we discussed when someone came to work for me and they signed it in blood—their blood.
Jacob stood in front of me, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I gazed just beyond him as if he didn’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 in the game of life we lived. 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 the ce
nter of my eardrums, 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 mine.
Before I managed a reply, the man whined on, “The buyer wants to bail if they can’t see the merchandise now. Even a 3-D imaging will do they said. It’s an empty threat, but they want reassurances of the item. It’s their first transaction, they’re just a little nervous and needed a little more.”
Turning my head, I stared at the trembling young man in front of me. Disgust, anger, and absolute disdain clouded my vision. To me, he was red. We were far from evenly matched, nowhere near equal levels—both physically or metaphysically. At six-feet-four-inches tall, Jacob stood a solid ten inches shorter than me. I was a ruthless businessman. He was a peon in over his head. So I glared down on him in more ways than one, proudly. 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 hairline 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, 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.
“What did you say? You were negotiating?” I asked him, my voice firm.
He nodded then, thinking better of it, 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.
His fear, I fed off it.
His terror, I relished in it.
My reputation in this town demanded respect. 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 finger, 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, a slow torture, and to wake this motherfucker up so he knew without a doubt what was going on. 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 to the world, expanding and reaching the depths of the underworld. Everyone would remember not to fuck with me. It was a simple reminder—they worked for me, not the other way around.
I held the power of life or death.
My hand settled only when the blade could go no further inside his flesh. 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. Red trailed from his cock and balls, all the way down his legs as he crashed down to his knees harshly on the tile flooring.
He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, but unable to speak. I was certain the pain was unbearable and excruciating, which 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 absently 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 down on her knees wanting my cock.
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 up this deal, I should deliver the death blow myself. He knew what he was getting into when he came into the depths, just like every other individual in my association. The man assigned to Jacob’s exit understood his job, his role, and wouldn’t listen to a single word the man before me pleaded 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 in the process. 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 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. Sure, I would get a bill for the clean up, but nothing that just occurred inside these walls would ever be spoken outside of them. The consequences for crossing me were severe and unwavering. Everyone knew it and followed accordingly.
Slipping the knife back in its holder inside my shirt cuff, I made my way to exit the restaurant. Jacob reached out grabbing at my legs like a damn toddler, 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 was all completely under my thumb.
2
Torryn
What the ever loving hell!
“Kennedy, answer the damn phone!” I yelled out to the air around me, before tossing the device to the passenger seat 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, I decided to drive to my sister’s house since she wouldn’t answer my calls. 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, and I considered myself lucky to have her at my side.
Nothing was going right though, and I needed her. As silly as it may sound, I needed someone to tell me everything would be okay. That reminder I was strong enough not to let life get me down.
One step forward, twelve steps back on a continuous cycle of hell; that seemed to be the story of my life, and she was the only one I had.
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. There was no money to pay for them. 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 wasn’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?
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