Gold Roger Novels & Stories

blue is really his colour. “I've shared the file with you. Look through it and find your partner.” I watch as he turns to the white board, raises his hand and starts writing something down. The fabric at his wrist slips away, revealing the small gold watch he wears there and more expanse of delicious skin. I really have to get myself together. I open my phone, d******d the file and skim through. Jackson, there it is. Paired with a McShaw. Who's McShaw?

If his penis hadn't raised its head to remind him, Roger would not have regained consciousness. Roger is famous as the rich billionaire of AL. He has made love to many women, but no one can make Roger feel as nostalgic as Aretha. Aretha was the first woman to make love to Roger and make him miss the feeling for three years. During those three short years, Roger made love to countless women, but none could give him as much satisfaction as Aretha. And now, Aretha once again appeared in front of Roger. He swore he wouldn't let Aretha run away again.

The goon said to Roger. I don’t understand. What is going on? Why is Roger here and why is he dressed like that? What the hell is going on? "You’re right, I have nothing left to lose." Roger furrowed his eyebrow and punched the face of the goon and turned to the bodyguards behind him, with a nod, they understood what he meant. They walked toward the goon and were about to punch him but he raced them to that. I pinned my body against the wall to prevent them from hitting me while fighting.

His expression was flat and cold. “Who are you?” I asked, breathless. They didn’t answer. Before I could press further, the low growl of a powerful engine cut through the air. A sleek black car pulled up, its headlights casting long shadows across the scene. The back window lowered with a soft hum. Rodger. He sat there like a king on his throne, cigarette between his fingers, dressed in a midnight black suit, and that same familiar smirk playing on his lips. It was the smirk that had once made my skin crawl—and still did.

Kaleb is standing on the top of the ring. He is lifting his arms in the air once again and jumps off, landing with his leg squarely across Roger's neck. Roger grabs at his neck in pain and is struggling to breathe. Kaleb lifts Roger off the floor and opens his jaws revealing his large canines and prepares to dig his teeth into Roger's throat, Rogers uses all his strength to push him back and starts swiping his claws at Kaleb, this time his claws scratches his chest causing deep gashes and sending blood spilling onto the white floor. Kaleb starts to swipe back at Roger, drawing more blood. His hits are more powerful than Roger's and he feels every painful strike, sending him to his knees. Rog

I turned, my face hot. His palm cracked against my backside hard enough to make me gasp. Laughter erupted from the crowd. "Five gold pieces," Scarface announced, grinning at me with yellow teeth. The trader's eyes lit up. "Five gold from Alpha Garrett. Do I hear—" "Ten." The voice came from the back. Deep. Cold. It cut through the noise like a blade through flesh. Everyone went silent. I turned and saw him pushing through the crowd. He wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled low, hiding his face completely. But the way people moved aside for him, the way even the other alphas stepped back, told me everything I needed to know.

I scrambled forward, reaching the end of the tunnel where a heavy iron wheel sat. I grabbed it. I pulled. My muscles screamed. This was the every inch the wheel turned felt like a year. I could hear the Hunters' boots on the metal floor outside. They were close. One more turn. The wheel clicked. Fresh air flooded the shaft, clearing the smoke. I slumped against the wall, gasping, as the door at the end of the tunnel was kicked open. It was not Sloane. It was a Hunter. His face was a white mask, his eyes hidden behind dark goggles. He held a silver net, ready to catch the last Silver-Bane.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be stuck in the forest when the sun went down. My gelding’s name was Roger. It wasn’t a name that I would have given him, but it was the name that he came with and that he responded to, so I didn’t change it. Roger was jet black with a white star on his forehead. He stood sixteen and a half hands high with powerful, well-defined flanks. Had he been human, he would have easily been taken for a body builder.

As he screams out, I drive the dagger into his chest and he falls to the ground. In general, rogues are weaker than wolves that belong to a pack. They don't have the strength that comes from the unity of being in a pack. Wolves are social creatures, and their wolves weaken significantly without that bond to an Alpha. Many rogues are on their own for years before they join other rogues, so they weaken a great deal. However, just because these rogues are weaker, they have the upper hand right now. With just four more to go, I can feel my body becoming sluggish. All my energy sources have been depleted in the last five weeks and I'm just running on pure adrenaline at this point.

I smiled, "I can't imagine you as a kid stealing sweets." "I wasn't always the Rogue King." He took a bite of bread, I was just a boy who liked honey cakes. "What else did you like?" He thought about it, "Books. I loved reading adventure stories mostly, tales of heroes, battles and honor." "That surprises me." "Why?" "I don't know, you just seem so..." I gestured vaguely. "Brutal? Ruthless?" "Practical," I finished. "Like you don't believe in heroes or honor anymore."