Roughneck Complete Set

By Chelsea Camaron

Maverick

"He was the high school crush who never knew I existed. I'm still the shy girl hiding against the wall." Kenzy

Life for Kenzy Davis is far from easy right now. After ending a long-term relationship, she is back in Odessa, Texas, starting over.
Maverick "Tapper" Collins works hard and plays even harder.
His world is shaken at its very core. Everything he ever took for granted stares him in the face, including the shy girl from his past.
The ICU nurse caring for his dad is a woman from his past he never noticed, but now he can't seem to forget. Does Maverick find comfort in her embrace? Is he the calm to Kenzy's chaos in life?
One thing is certain, she's not invisible anymore!

Heath

"One day, I will be more than an item to be bought or sold, won or lost." LoraLeigh

At fifteen, she was helpless. At eighteen, she was ruined. LoraLeigh Riffel fights every day to hold on to herself as she is tossed from the loser to the next winner, time and again.
Heath "Hitman" Thomas works hard and plays even harder. From tripping pipes to winning fights, his world is in his hands.
When a battered and unstable woman is left at his doorstep for payment on a fight, everything changes in an instant.
She is the prize, but is he willing to accept the payment?

Lance

"Value, worth – these are things I don't have. College degree, great job – none of it matters if you look in the mirror and can't find anything to love." Candace Jones.

Structure, dedication, and determination are the traits Candace Jones has survived on. Life is a school of hard knocks.
Lance "Rush" Miller works hard and plays even harder. He lives his life from one adrenaline rush to the next. He has it made and he knows it.
What happens when firm resolve crashes into wild abandon? Two complete opposites are thrown together when Candace finds herself in need of a quick escape that Lance is all too willing to give her.

Wendol

"I am determined, driven, and damn sure I can tackle life." Jessika Phillips

Jessika Phillips is comfortable, confident, and charismatic. She loves where she is in life even if it's alone.
Wendol "Fly Guy" Branch works hard and plays harder. He knows the harsh realities of love and loss. Now, his sole focus is fighting to right all the wrongs.
When trouble lands at Jessika's feet, will she trust the man Wendol is to keep her safe? Her walls are up, but he's just the man to break them down.

Reese

"I'm a wicked girl, lost in my wild, wild ways." Chesney Jacobs

Chesney Jacobs is drowning. The skeletons in her closet rattle around day and night in her head.
Reese "DJ Drunken Monkey" Graves works hard and plays harder. He lives his life in the fast lane never looking back.
Shaken not stirred, Chesney is running from her past right into the only man strong enough to be her future.
The only question remaining, is she strong enough for the wild ride Reese plans to give her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chelsea Camaron
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463196588

Chelsea Camaron

USA Today and Wall Street Journal 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.

Book preview

Roughneck Complete Series

ROUGHNECK COMPLETE SERIES

CHELSEA CAMARON

CONTENTS

Introduction

Content Warning

Production Acknowledgements

Stay up to date

Series Order

Maverick

1. MaKenzy

2. Maverick

3. MaKenzy

4. Maverick

5. MaKenzy

6. Maverick

7. MaKenzy

8. Maverick

9. MaKenzy

10. Maverick

11. MaKenzy

12. Maverick

13. MaKenzy

14. Maverick

15. MaKenzy

16. Maverick

MaKenzy

The End

Diabetes Information

Introduction

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2019, 2018, 2015

Content Warning

Production Acknowledgements

Stay up to date

Heath

LoraLeigh

Prologue

17. Heath

18. LoraLeigh

19. Heath

20. LoraLeigh

21. Heath

22. LoraLeigh

23. Heath

24. LoraLeigh

25. Heath

26. LoraLeigh

27. Heath

28. LoraLeigh

Epilogue

Note from the Author

Introduction

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2019, 2018, 2015

Content Warning

Production Acknowledgements

Stay up to date

Lance

Untitled

Welcome to my every secret …

Prologue

Candace

29. Lance

30. Candace

31. Lance

32. Candace

33. Lance

34. Candace

35. Lance

36. Candace

37. Lance

38. Candace

39. Lance

40. Candace

Epilogue

Note from the Author

Untitled

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2019, 2018

Content Warning

Production Acknowledgements

Stay up to date

Wendol

Jessika

Prologue

41. Wendol

42. Jessika

43. Wendol

44. Jessika

45. Wendol

46. Jessika

47. Wendol

48. Jessika

49. Wendol

50. Jessika

Introduction

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2019

Content Warning

Production Acknowledgements

Stay up to date

Reese

Chesney

Prologue

51. Chesney

52. Reese

53. Chesney

54. Reese

55. Chesney

56. Reese

57. Chesney

58. Reese

59. Chesney

60. Reese

The End

About the Author

Untitled

Maverick

Blue Collar Bad Boys 1

Written by

USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author

Chelsea Camaron

Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2019, 2018, 2015, 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

ISBN: 978-1099800412 (Paperback)

This is a work of fiction. All characters, 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.

Thank you for downloading/purchasing this eBook. This eBook and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download/purchase their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

First edition published May 2014

Carolina Dreams Publishing

PO Box 527

Hubert, NC 28539

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

CONTENT WARNING

This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are adults over the age of 18.

This series was originally published as the Roughneck series. Reading order and content have not changed just the series title.

PRODUCTION ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

1 st Edition Published: May 2014 as part of the Moments in Time Anthology

Published Independently by Chelsea Camaron 2015

Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli, Pam Berehulke, and C&D Editing

Formatting by: IndieVention Designs

Original Cover Design by: IndieVention Designs Cover picture: Shutterstock

2017 Updated Cover picture: Shutterstock

2017 Updated Version edits by: Emma Mack - Ultra Editing

2019 Updated Cover Photo Credits: Deposit Photos

Crusitu Robert-Lucian (crstrbrt)

Ysbrand Cosijn (ysbrand)

2019 Title Page Vector Credit: Deposit Photos

Tetiana Kovalenko (spline_x)

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SERIES ORDER

Maverick

Heath

Lance

Wendol

Reese

MAVERICK

INVISIBLE – UNSEEN

He was the high school crush who never knew I existed. I’m still the shy girl hiding against the wall. Kenzy

Life for Kenzy Davis is far from easy right now. After ending a long-term relationship, she is back in Odessa, Texas, starting over.

Maverick Tapper Collins works hard and plays even harder.

His world is shaken at its very core. Everything he ever took for granted stares him in the face, including the shy girl from his past.

The ICU nurse caring for his dad is a woman from his past he never noticed, but now he can’t seem to forget. Does Maverick find comfort in her embrace? Is he the calm to Kenzy’s chaos in life?

One thing is certain, she’s not invisible anymore!

DEDICATION

Daba

A man who lived his life as a true example of what a good man is.

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father-in-law. My daughter affectionately called him Daba. This story is very personal to me in going back to what our family faced as we watched helplessly while an invisible disease slowly and painfully took him from us. He lost his first leg in 2003 and his second in 2007. We laid him to rest in 2008 after a long battle with Type 2 diabetes.

This silent killer destroyed a twenty-year Air Force veteran. He was not morbidly obese. He was an active man who loved hunting, fishing, and more than that, he loved his family. I was blessed to have him in my life for the time I did. I continue to be blessed in the example he was for his son. My husband is the man he is today because he had an amazing dad to guide him and teach him.

Thank you, Daba, for the gift you have given me in your son. More than that, thank you for the memories we made in the years I had as your daughter-in-law. You are in our hearts, minds, and with us everywhere we go.

Loving and missing you with every breath we take.

ONE

MAKENZY

Come on, Macky.

I cringe at his pet name. Honestly, I can’t stand his voice, either. It’s funny how quickly love can turn to disgust. You will not become the crazy cat lady, or bad lady, or whatever! You will pick up the pieces and make life work! I mentally tell myself that being alone is better than being disrespected.

Ignoring the man in front of me, I tape the last box shut then lift it to make my way out of the front door.

The door that taunts me.

This door that once was so important to me now is nothing more than a piece of art that should be thrown out with the trash.

The custom door with our initials cut into stained glass that we spent hours, days actually mulling over is a beautiful reminder of what might have been, what could have been, and what I believed would one day be. It was the piece to symbolize our beginning, our becoming one. The house doesn’t mean anything anymore. The promises made, the life that was supposed to be created here—it was all built on lies. The door is simply another thing to walk away from like this life I was building.

Today, I leave it all behind. The dreams of what could have been are gone and the realities of what will never be are ahead of me.

You don’t have to do this, Macky. The whine in his tone only grates on my nerves more. I’m in counseling now. My therapist says there’s hope for me to live a normal life.

Normal. What is normal, really? Is anyone actually normal? What constitutes a normal life? I would ask him to define this further for me, but why waste my breath, my voice, or anymore of my time? He’s had enough of all of me, he doesn’t get anymore.

Five years.

Five years, I have lived in a bubble of ignorance with this man.

My college sweetheart, Robert. Oh, the pedestal I had him on. Five years together, loving, trusting, and building a life, a future for us. Five years—it just plays over and over in my mind. I spent all of this time living in the clouds of having a happily-ever-after with him, all while he was busy spreading his seed far and wide around the Houston area.

Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that we were in a monogamous relationship.

When not one but two of my coworkers popped up pregnant within six weeks of each other—both of them by my boyfriend—I had to face some facts.

The first: there wasn’t something in the water. Nope, there was something going in them, but it wasn’t the water, it was my boyfriend. I tried to joke my way around the realities. In the end, it was simply him not keeping his dick in his pants. It wasn’t the moon, or some other shift in the tides, it was him.

The second: Robert and his mistresses are the blame. While he swore they were temptresses with the pull of their voodoo and pheromones, in the end, he played his part in it. As much as I wanted to hate my so-called friends, it wasn’t completely their fault. It does take two after all. Add them my list of things to face. Yes, plural, both of them. These women are, in fact not my friends, since they knew the man they were sleeping with was living with me. How they could even look me in the eye and consider us friends while having copious amounts of sex with my man … well, it’s beyond me.

Also add, I was hopelessly in love with the douchebag. I feel stupid. I feel broken. The pity-party is done. I am ready to move on. I want to blame them, put a Band-Aid on this, and find a way to move on like it never happened.

Only, it isn’t about them in the grand scheme of things.

No, this is about my realities. This is about my failing relationship. They were just a small part of my cold dose of reality. The little things I had seen over the years and pushed aside, then made excuses for, were indeed signs I should have read more clearly. Now, after spending months trying to sort out the mess of my relationship before determining it was time to let go, I am numb.

In the five years we were together, he was only faithful approximately one year. Honestly, I am possibly being generous in giving him that much time. My stomach churns thinking of how many others there were.

Sex addiction, he calls it.

Stupidity, irresponsibility, selfishness, immaturity, greediness, and any other way I can describe his inability to own up to his mistakes is what I call it.

The box grows heavy in my arms. It’s a physical reminder of the weight of this relationship that is slowing me down. I hear him whining my name as I continue down the steps of what was once our front porch and walkway to the front drive, all while ignoring him. There is nothing left to say.

Making my way to the overly full moving truck waiting for me, I move the box to my left hip, so I can inspect my packing. Sighing, I set the box on the ground to free my hands to move a few things to make the space I need. One more box. Once I get this last box inside the truck, I will pull down the door, latch it, climb in the driver seat, and drive away from this life.

Far away.

Okay not like another country far, but there’s going to be enough distance between me and him that I can hit the reset button on my life.

Like a dog seeking a bone, Robert is on my heels, still digging for a crumb. The more he talks, the more he sounds like a little yappy mutt nipping at my calves, looking for any sign of attention.

It’s over. Deuces. Peace out. I fold. I tap out. My white flag is waving. Moving on. Hello, giant moving truck in the driveway! Buy a clue, mister! God, I want to scream at him.

Turning to face him, I roll my eyes at the sight of tears pooling in his. Enough, I bark out harshly.

Macky, you can’t be serious.

I put both my hands up Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune style. See this? This is a moving truck. When you cheat, the prize for this puzzle is your freedom. And more importantly, MY freedom!

The doc says, with a twelve step program, I’ll be okay.

I laugh in his face. What doctor is this? The one online? It’s over, Robert.

Macky, come on, baby. I can’t afford the house and shit without you, he pleads, the truth finally washes over me.

Wow, I should be surprised. I should be livid. A piece of me is, but something inside of me simply needs to have this over. The reality is, I’m nothing but a paycheck to him. Not a partner, not a lover, and probably not even a friend. Nope, I am merely a meal ticket. Staying won’t change anything, but it will degrade me further.

Thankfully, I have come to terms with our situation. The tears have all been shed. The anger has simmered. All the mixed emotions have twisted like a bad tornado on a path of destruction leaving my shattered heart and life in the rearview. Now it’s time to rebuild, reform, and regain my dignity amongst my pride, my confidence, and every other aspect of my life.

Reality bites sometimes. Too bad I didn’t know all of this five years ago. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say. Well, it sure rings true right now.

I feel like a sad love song. He’s had the best of me, and now he doesn’t want the rest of me.

Robbie, you’ll figure it out. Find a new conquest, and maybe she’ll support you. Or I don’t know, man up, sort your life out. Hell, get a second job. Honestly, with all that child support, you’re gonna need it, pal.

I slide the two boxes over, making just the space I need. Bending down, I heft the box up and shove it in place. I sigh in frustration as I climb on the bumper and pull the door down on the truck.

In all of this packing and loading, Robert has done nothing to help me. No, all he has done is whine and beg. If he would shut up and go away, I would have been long gone and on my way home by now.

Marry me, Macky. He doesn’t ask, he states, which only makes me laugh sardonically as I jump down.

Do you really think that would change anything? You’re delusional. I don’t look at him. I just shake my head at the audacity this man has. I turn my back to him, climb in the box truck and slam the door on his crying, cheating face. I don’t look in the mirror to see him watch me leave.

Life is in front of me and it is time I tackle it on my own.

The eight-hour drive from Houston to Gardendale is quiet and uneventful. I’m good with this. I could use some calm right now. This wasn’t an easy decision to make.

I tried to stay in Houston. I tried to stay with him. I guess you could call it fear of the unknown. Weakness is how I tag it. I also own that too, another mistake in a long list of them I have made. I was drowning in all the bad for a while. Now, I’m focused on moving on.

In the end, the decision was made easier by my coworkers constantly having catfights over him—fights they didn’t quietly keep to themselves. No, they shouted them far and wide as they bickered over everything: who he would end up with, who would get more child support, who would get more emotional support. Everywhere I turned, his infidelity slapped me in the face. He isn’t all that in the bedroom, so why they were hell-bent on being the one he chose is beyond me. He has given me a handful of orgasms over the years, but nothing Earth shattering.

I love you dearly, but you come with a lot of stuff, Kenzy, Jessika, my childhood best friend, states as she pulls open the flaps of yet another box of books sitting in my living room.

When I pulled in last night, she helped me tirelessly unload every single box until late into the evening, all so I could return the truck keys to the night drop box and avoid another full day charge. Now she has returned to help me unpack the load and settle into my new life.

Not all of it will stay. I promise, some of it will go back in storage. I haven’t seen most of this in so long that I want an opportunity to sort through it.

Living with Robert, I had stored most of my personal things for the last few years in his garage. When we bought the house, he did it saying he would cover the mortgage, and I would have free rein along with the expense of the design. Believing and daydreaming, I made what was technically his house into our home. The individuality of each of us was washed away, and it truly became a home that screamed a couple lived there. He was a part of a ‘we,’ yet it didn’t stop anything from happening in my own bed, on my beautiful, Egyptian cotton, mint green sheets. Every hour I spent designing each room is just another section of time wasted, like the years I spent with him.

Being back in Gardendale, Texas again after being away the last ten years is nice. Moving and unpacking, not so much. I have spent my time away from my hometown going to nursing school on a scholarship in Houston and then working at a hospital there. I have a new job as an intensive care nurse at a hospital in Odessa, which is a thirty-minute drive away, but in a much larger facility than what we have locally. Gardendale is home and it’s good to be back here with my childhood best friend Jessika. We have always had an easy friendship.

Jessika recently ended things with her fiancé and moved into a new apartment. I signed my lease for the one bedroom, one-bathroom apartment across the breezeway from her. The space is tiny yet will work perfectly.

My shifts rotate at the hospital. When I break it down, I most likely will spend more hours there than here. When I am at home, it will be to sleep and do laundry. This leaves me no need to have something overly elaborate.

Walking through my front door, there is a small kitchen directly to the right. The space is basic—a sink, stove, refrigerator, countertop microwave, and cabinets. No dishwasher, which is going to suck, but the place is cheap enough. The bar area is for eating as there is no real dining space.

To the left of the entry door is my bedroom. The four plain white walls house my queen-sized bed and one dresser. Off the bedroom is the bathroom. It reminds me of a small hotel restroom: a toilet, a bathtub/shower combo, and a small counter with a sink. Nothing is fancy or overdone.

Just beyond the kitchen is the living room. There is enough room for a couch and a chair, though not a full living room set. I lined the right half of the main wall with one of my two bookshelves, putting the other on the wall to the right of that in the corner. Rather than have the space crowded, I bought a loveseat and a chaise lounge. After some debate, Jessika wins, and we place the chaise by the bookshelves, diagonal to the corner, making a reading nook. The other half of the room houses my loveseat, a small coffee table, and a television, one we are hoping we can figure out how to mount to the wall.

It doesn’t take long for us to unpack all my Houston items. Then, Jessika and I go to my storage unit. When my single mom moved to live with my aging and ailing grandparents four years ago, she put all of my childhood belongings here. We bring all the boxes over, trying to get my life going.

This one is yours to unpack. You’ve really saved everything, she states as she moves on, opening the next box.

Sitting down beside her, I look into the box of memorabilia, finding my high school yearbook. I giggle as I pull out the annual. Opening the cover, I smile as I see my teenage doodles.

You know he’s still here in Gardendale, right? Jessika asks, looking over at me.

Who? I ask.

Maverick.

Looking at the focus of my scribbles, I see the many ways I signed his name and mine together in overly girly, bubbly handwriting in my book of memories.

Maverick Slade Collins and MaKenzy Norelle Davis, together forever

Mrs. MaKenzy Collins

Maverick and MaKenzy

Hearts used to dot the I’s and clouds around our names only added to the fluff of my high school scribbles. I was definitely living in the clouds.

Maverick was the popular guy. As a football player, hot, and every teenage girl’s fantasy, he never knew I existed. I was the nerdy girl with braces, a little curvy, frizzy hair, glasses, and no sense of style. Jessika and I have been each other’s only friend since around sixth or seventh grade when suddenly what you looked like mattered.

We both went to college and blossomed. She is a gorgeous brunette with a thin face and strong jawline to pull off the pixie haircut she wears. Once pudgy, she is now trim and fit. Given her profession as a fitness instructor and nutritionist, she works hard to keep her size-four figure. Her washboard stomach does make me jealous, and I am sure many others.

My body is shaped more like that of a pear, and my black hair that wants to puff into a wild bush on top of my head is tamed only by anti-frizz serum and an hour every day with my hair straightener. My B-cup breasts are obviously nothing to brag about. My flat stomach isn’t fat, though definitely not defined, and starts the path to my hips and ass that puts me in a size twelve.

Jessika and I look nothing like we once did. She has learned to embrace her small frame, and rocks skinny jeans with the best of them. I have learned that a pushup bra can do wonders, and to slim my hips, I wear straight-leg, dark-wash jeans, no flare, and certainly nothing of the painted-on skinny variety.

That’s us: two laid-back, Texas girls getting established in life. We both graduated from college and recently have had our hearts broken. Her fiancé of two years couldn’t hold down a job and had no motivation in life to do anything for himself or her. She paid for her own damn engagement ring. Feeling used got old, and she is now moving on.

I see where she signed our senior year. Best Friends Forever, even when we’re old and gray haired. Twix and Cookie, you and me.

Old and gray-haired, huh? She should have signed it alone together. I’ll be the bag lady, and she can be the cat lady.

Snap out of it, Jessika’s voice rings out, taking me away from my thoughts.

Sorry, I was thinking of how far we’ve come since high school.

And Maverick. She smiles at me.

He’s probably bald, overweight, and an asshole.

He’s still here. I see him almost daily at the gym. Sweetheart, he may be bald, but it’s by choice with a razor, not because he’s lost his hair. He’s far from overweight, unless you want to talk about muscle weighing more than fat. That man is ripped. He works for Titan on one of the oil rigs.

She is gushing so much I can’t stop the laugh I let escape. How do you know all this?

I may have taken a peek at his client file. Her smile is filled with devious intent.

You’re telling me all of this … why, exactly?

Just conversation. She winks.

Conversation, my ass. He was a high school crush who never knew I existed, moving on.

I didn’t move home to fall into some fantasy of my youth. Reality bites and Maverick Collins is not part of my future.

TWO

MAVERICK

Where ya going, Tapper? The short-haired beauty in the bed beside me calls out as I stand to slide my pants on.

It’s been real, Aimee. Got shit to do, though. I’ll be seein’ you around.

She reaches out, her manicured nails scraping down my back, running over the waterfall of scratches she left on me less than an hour ago. I like to be marked if it truly is out of passion. What I don’t like is a clingy chick trying to stake claim to something that certainly isn’t hers.

In order for a man to have consensual sex with a female, she has to open her legs or get on her knees to tip her ass in the air. Bottom line, for a man to have sex with a woman, she has to expose herself. She has to open the entry to the hole, a rabbit hole that I am not one bit hesitant to fall right into, or slam into as the case may be. Willing women are always waiting for me to tap that, but somewhere between the build-up and their orgasm, some of them lose sight of what we really share.

Case in point, Aimee here. She made sure she marked me damn good. Honestly, balls deep, I love the pinch of pain as a woman’s nails draw down my back. To take a chick to such an edge she is grasping at anything she can dig into and even then she can’t hold on—pawing, clawing, and so lost in the explosion building she can’t get a grip literally—makes those marks earned. Scratching me just so tomorrow night someone else will know you were there—yeah, that shit just doesn’t fly with me.

Come on, Tapper. One more time, baby, she drawls out as I grab my shirt off her floor, pushing it over my head.

You know the drill.

Do you ever think about settlin’ down? We’re not getting any younger.

Looking over my shoulder, I take in the disheveled mess of a woman in the bed behind me. Her hair is short in one of those bob style haircuts. She is a curvy woman with hips and ass. While her tits aren’t voluptuous her ass is all the cushion for the pushing. I’m an ass man, always have been. The sheet she is holding up covers her small breasts while her shoulders and neck are exposed, showing a nice shade of pink as she blushes, trying to hold my attention. Her face is a