Power Chain Prequel Read online

  Contents

  Power Chain Prequel

  Diary of Broken Boys

  Onyx

  Onyx

  Onyx

  Onyx

  About Chelsea Camaron

  About Ryan Michele

  PowerHouse Excerpt

  Diary of a mad-man

  Power Chain Series

  1. Onyx

  2. Torryn

  Power Chain Series

  Other Books by Chelsea Camaron

  Other books by Ryan Michele

  Copyright © 2018 Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele

  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.

  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.

  Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli and Silla Webb

  Cover Design by: Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  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.

  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 situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

  This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of life as an outlaw in an underground world, but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.

  *** 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. ***

  Created with Vellum

  Power Chain Prequel

  Four boys.

  One game that changed everything.

  A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

  None of these boys were weak. Go back to where it all began.

  Welcome to the Power Chain, the underworld built on an unbreakable bond.

  Authors Chelsea Camaron and Ryan Michele have teamed up once again to bring an explosive new dark romance series.

  If this was the diary of broken boys, their road to Hell would take you on a dark and twisted one.

  We lived our lives by a code with no loyalties and no fucks to give about anyone but ourselves and our business.

  Welcome to the depths of power…

  Onyx

  Sometimes you just had to get lost…

  It was unreasonably hot. Unfortunately for me, Rebecca was not. Reality was, none of the girls here were and I really couldn’t blame them or their genetics. Every girl here wore a calf-length solid color dress with an apron and a cape on the back. Never were they to be seen with their hair down; but rather, always pinned back and hidden under a kapp, which was a heart-shaped head covering worn under a bonnet. It was some tradition derived from the old testament of the Bible where a woman with her head uncovered was shameful.

  Everything about life here felt wrong to me. All this covering up, speak only when spoken to, never question an adult, and so much more had me so curious as to what life was like away from the community.

  As a fifteen-year-old rebellious boy, my mind constantly wondered what was under those ridiculous clothes. Try as he might, Amos couldn’t keep us sheltered but so much. Which was why I was in the hay loft of the barn with Rebecca, fully clothed beside me, with my hand covering her tit and her tongue down my throat. I had to be careful not to mess up her bonnet or touch her hair or skin. Clothing was a constant barrier between us as each day, for weeks now, she would find a way to sneak from her chores to the barn with me.

  She moaned as she let me lay back on the hay, and I pulled her over me. Shifting her dress, I allowed her to line that liquid hot pussy of hers over my rock hard dick. Grinding on me, she worked us both up as her kisses become frantic.

  Jerking my head away, I caught my breath as she kept working herself over me. Harshly, I stopped her so I could undo my brown cotton pants that she had already coated with her juices. As I untied the hidden drawstring to my broadfall trousers, I flipped the front flap back allowing for better contact. My dick jutted out as I reached out and swiped my hand over her cotton panties.

  “No!” she said in a panic. “You can’t put anything in me. This is bad enough.”

  “Baby, God made sex to feel good. These people tell us it’s bad so they can keep us chained to their work,” I explained as my dick was painfully waiting for release.

  Knowing all girls loved to kiss, I leaned over and kissed her. Sucking on her bottom lip until I knew it would sting, I released it with a pop. “Something that feels this good can’t be that bad. Hell is bad; this shit is not bad.”

  “Don’t take off my panties,” she whimpered before I shut her up with another kiss.

  In a moment, she was back over my dick, grinding us both into a sticky mess. While I would gladly stick it in, I wasn’t the kind of guy to force it or push myself on her. All in due time she would give it up. After all, she was the one showing up every day for these little sessions in the barn.

  This was the only reprieve we had, any of us kids here. Stolen moments in a barn, shed, or carriage where we could steal away little bits of time to get lost.

  Minutes to forget we were unwanted.

  Seconds to pretend we weren’t the unloved.

  Memories made that weren’t clouded in misery.

  Yes, Rebecca was part of the times I could let go and forget the damage already marking my soul.

  Onyx

  It all began with a game…

  “Guess what I found today?” Garrett asked, rushing into our room, excitement bubbling off him. He was always the easier going one of us. Which, considering we were all assholes in our own right, that was saying something.

  Paxton stood up, lifting his arms above his head and stretched. “Ummm, a needle in a hay stack,” he replied dryly. Sarcastic prick, that’s what we liked best about Pax.

  Garrett shut the door behind him with a soft click before twisting his backpack around his body to the front and removing a worn and tattered old box. “Monopoly!”

  I raised my eyebrows curiously, but didn’t dare speak. I had never heard of this Monopoly thing. Paxton rushed over to yank the busted ass box from Garrett just as Dane sat up in his bed.

  “I haven’t seen a board game since I was six and still playing Shoots and Ladders with Lacie,” Paxton muttered as he dropped to the floor, his back pressed to his side of the bed.

  Our room wasn’t large, but we made shit work. The door to enter had a wooden four-drawer dresser on each side. We each claimed two drawers and shared the small closet in the front corner of the room. On the far wall from the door, we had two small bookshelves filled with Bibles and acceptable Amish reads. Having two sets of twin-size bunk beds, we lined them on each side of the wall and made a path through them to the back area. It’s where we spent our free time, when we had it.

  “Grams loved to play Monopoly because she said it took so long to finish, it was promised time together,” Garrett shared openly with a hint of longing in his voice.

  It’s something that happened with him every time he thought of life before coming here. If I could remember the life I had before land
ing my ass in this Amish orphanage, then I might have found myself feeling and acting like him. Dane and I, though, we weren’t like Pax and Garrett; they knew life off the farm—could remember it, hold onto the memories. We could not.

  Garrett had been here for two years. He had just turned twelve when he arrived. That’s twelve years of family, memories, and love to get him through the next four years until they set us out into the world. Not that Garrett had a spectacular life, but he had one outside of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

  Paxton went about setting up the board game as Dane made his way over to sit down and study it.

  “How do we play this?” he asked, never one to be afraid to ask questions. Dane was all about the details in everything we had to do. He always said that details were knowledge and knowledge was power.

  “Well, we’re missing some pieces, but we can make this work,” Paxton explained while organizing the paper bills as Garrett and I joined them on the floor, each of us taking a side of the board.

  “I didn’t find any game pieces, so here is some paper and we can draw our icons,” Garrett proposed, handing out the white scratch paper and pencils.

  As each of my friends worked on setting up parts of the game or drawing their icons, I wondered what other teenage boys were doing that weren’t living like us. Would they be playing a game like this? Would they be outside riding bikes? Those were all questions that wouldn’t get answered.

  What I did know was if we got caught playing this game, there would be hell to pay. The people running the orphanage had little tolerance for rule breakers.

  We were the defiant four, as Amos called us.

  If there was a rule to break, we broke it. If there was a punishment to take, we took that shit too. It was all part of being here with nowhere else to go, but we didn’t care. Living to work wasn’t really living to any of us. The only excitement we had came with bending situations the way we wanted them.

  “So the goal of the game is to have the most money at the end. You buy property so you can charge rent and build up your properties with houses and hotels for more rent,” Garrett explained while we all listened avidly. “If you land on a fee, you gotta pay it. If you land on chance or community chest, you pick up a card and do what it says. We’re missing some cards, but we’ll make it work.”

  Dane, Paxton, and I replied in unison, “We always do.”

  It was our group motto, We’ll make it work, we always do. Relying on each other was all we had. These three were my brothers, and we made due with what little we had.

  “These are the usual game pieces,” Garrett lifts the box, showing Dane and me the pictures of a dog, a horse, a cannon, and a ship. “I think we can just make whatever we want.”

  I began sketching my choice of pieces as did my friends. Dane was the first to proudly place his paper on Go.

  “A gun because I’ll always protect what’s mine,” he explained when we all looked down at the sketch of a handgun.

  Dane loved to shoot when Amos would let him go hunting with him. While eating squirrel and rabbit was far from my favorite, the pride on Dane’s face in providing something for our fucked up make-shift family made me choke it down with a smile.

  Paxton was next to lay down his paper. “A money bag because money is everything in this world.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Even at a young age I knew money was the key to having anything and everything in this life. It was the root of all evil, yet the maker of living life easy. It all came down to money, something none of us had.

  Garrett dropped his down. “My briefcase. Owning property means paperwork, and this boss man will be keeping my shit straight.”

  Smirking because that sounded just like him, I added the last detail to my drawing before I placed it with pride in the square.

  “Is that a self portrait of you on the Monopoly Man’s body?” Dane asked, studying the sketch, his brows squinting as he took in the drawing.

  “Yup, I’m the man in charge of it all!”

  The funny thing about that day was how it set us up for the future. Four misfits thrown together in a bad situation who rose above it all. We came from different blood, different backgrounds, and different mindsets, but together we would conquer everything in our path.

  With every roll of the dice, we made decisions, bought properties, lost properties, managed costs and upgrades, as well as avoided the dreaded Go To Jail square. Just like in life, the get out of jail free cards didn’t exist in our game either.

  Onyx

  Working hard was the only way…

  My hands burned with each stroke of the hoe into the soil. The blisters only got worse with each day that passed, unable to heal. Gloves? What were those? Only the owners received the covering to protect their flesh. It was ironic considering we, us kids, did the work.

  With each bite of pain, my will grew stronger. I read in a book somewhere that hard work would mean great things. Where I was, nothing was great except for Dane, Garrett, and Paxton. I damn well have worked hard here.

  “This fuckin’ sucks.” Paxton came up to me, pretending to hoe the ground.

  “Yep, but you want to eat, right?” Not stopping, we continued to work side by side. Dane and Garrett were on the other end of the large farm. I overheard one of the owners talking about this being ten and a half acres.

  After working and walking the land, I didn’t doubt that figure. It didn’t matter, though, this was what was expected from us. No complaining. No talking back. No arguing. Not that the four of us gave two shits about those expectations. It depended on the day, whether we followed or not.

  Today had been one of those days, one where we did as we were told. The sun beat down on my flesh through the long shirts and trousers. Hot? Try stifling. Sweat poured down my face and rolled down my back.

  “I’m starving,” Paxton said, moving away from me and keeping his eye on Amos who watched us like hawks. We’d been out for hours with no food and no water. How my body pushed through, I’d never know.

  “Maybe it’s an early day.” I swiped my brown with the sleeve of my shirt.

  Paxton began to chuckle, “Just like every other day, right?”

  I heard horse hooves in the distance and turned to them. Amos was coming our way. My radar skyrocketed as he approached, the stern look on his face wasn’t good.

  “Talking instead of working?” He had some kind of accent, but it didn’t seem to come from another nationality, more like he was born with it. A lot of the men here did. It really came from what I heard referenced as Pennsylvania Dutch. Being a boy, I wasn’t sure how you could describe a Pennsylvania Dutch accent or why we lived in America and anyone would have a Dutch accent. I also wasn’t allowed to ask those questions either, so it didn’t matter.

  “No, Sir,” I responded, looking over at Paxton to shut his mouth. He listened.

  “Smarting off, huh, Onyx?”

  This was going to be a bad day. One where Amos was itching to find something one of us did wrong because he had a need to feed his beast. And he had it—a beast. No one wanted to meet it. Ever.

  “No, Sir.” The hoe in my grasp was the only thing blocking me from Amos. If I were to use it and crack it over his head, I’d be dead. That’s what happened to those children who weren’t wanted or tossed away. We grew up in places like this, starving; trying to get by until we reached eighteen.

  “Then it was you,” Amos accused Paxton.

  “No, Sir.” Paxton’s monotone was laced with the knowledge that he, too, knew what was going to happen.

  “I think it was. Paxton, you come with me,” he growled, but I stepped in front of Paxton.

  I had to do something. Thinking fast, I allowed the words to tumble out of my mouth. “It was me. Not him. I asked him a question about the seed going in.”

  “Onyx…” I sliced my eyes to Paxton, and he shut up immediately. He hadn’t been here as long. He hadn’t been nearly as tainted and mind fucked as me or Dane. I would do anything I could to keep i
t that way.

  Amos’s eyes squinted. “Move!” he ordered. Me and my hoe followed him, but not too close; those horses kicked hard. “I knew it was you,” he growled. “You’re a liar, and I will get the Devil out of you.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. I could do this. I’d done it many times. Another one wouldn’t be bad. And when he was done, the Devil would still be inside me; Amos just didn’t need to know that.

  We made our way up to the barn, where Amos got off his horse and tied it up. He reached inside the door of the barn, and I knew what he was getting. I knew what would be in his hand. I knew it hurt like a mother, and Amos showed absolutely no mercy saying we had to learn.

  It was always about us learning his way.

  The long leather whip came into view, and I had to hold back a tremble. Amos’ hand was wicked because he could flick it at just the right time to increase the pain. Pain kept us in line.

  “Shirt off, hands on the barn.”

  Slowly, I removed my shirt, button by button, and set it nicely on the door handle. Sharp shards of wood entered my palms with my weight, but they would feel better than what Amos had planned. With having little food, my body wasn’t muscle like one would expect. Even with all the hours spent in the fields, I couldn’t gain because of the lack of nutrients. Just the way he wanted me. Just the way he wanted all of us because that would give us a disadvantage against him. That would never happen.