Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

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  EPILOGUE

  Her Trust

  A Dark Syndicate Romance

  H.R. Lloyd

  Copyright © 2024 H.r. Lloyd

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is dedicated to badass girl bosses who rule the world but occasionally need a good spanking and to be called a good girl.

  This is a standalone novel and can be enjoyed independently however, for the best experience, it is recommended that The New Generation Gangster Series is read in order:

  Their Starlight

  Her Trust

  This is a dark mafia romance with adult themes and lots of spice. Therefore, please note that this book is not suitable for people under 18.

  Before reading, please consider, the following content warnings:

  • BDSM

  • Spanking

  • Handcuffs

  • SA

  • Child abuse

  • SA on children (mostly off page but one memory is recalled in detail)

  • Blood play

  • Lite knife play

  PROLOGUE

  ANNIKA

  Children are taught through fairytales that monsters are giant beasts covered in fur with fangs and claws. They are kept up at night by worries of these creatures lurking in their closets or under their beds. But I learnt from a young age that monsters in this world wear expensive suits and kind smiles for the masses. They don’t sneak or hide; they stride and crowd. Villains from fiction don’t keep me up at night, but monsters of my past do.

  I lay in the highest thread count of Egyptian cotton anyone can buy. Luxurious feather pillows cradle my head, I’ve bathed with lavender oil infused water, drunk chamomile tea, there’s calming music playing, and the smell of fresh laundry surrounds me. Still, I can’t sleep.

  I check my phone again, it’s three in the morning. I think I slept for an hour or so when I first got into bed, but I’ve been awake for hours. I get out of bed and slip my bare feet into my Olivia Von Halle, velvet slippers, pulling my silk robe over the matching Agent Provocateur silk pyjamas.

  I unlock and open my bedroom door slowly to see if anyone is in the hallway, it’s empty. There’s the soft sound of a radio playing down the hall and I head in that direction to see the night guard sat in his chair in front of the monitors showing the CCTV footage from around the mansion.

  “Murray,” I greet him, snapping his attention to me and he stands in a panic.

  “Miss Wolfe! Is everything all right ma’am?” He speaks quickly and nervously. Murray has only recently been promoted to night guard and isn’t used to my insomnia.

  I don’t smile to ease his nerves, just nod in answer to his question and survey the screens on his desk. “All as expected?”

  “Yes, ma’am, nothing to report.”

  “Good. Have a good night, Murray.” I leave him before he can respond to that, heading down to the kitchen.

  The lights are all out—obviously, it’s three o’clock in the morning—and I stand in the centre of my kitchen in the dark for a moment, listening. Listening for any movements or anything unexpected. I have three night-guards: one in the house monitoring CCTV and two patrolling outside. I don’t have a lot of land as we’re too close to the city centre for sprawling grounds, but there’s a large enough garden to warrant the security.

  There’s silence beyond the sound of the radio upstairs and the constant electronic hum of the security system, so I turn on the lights and head to the freezer. Despite having a huge double fridge-freezer, the freezer section is starkly empty. My live-in housekeeper, Guinevere, has the bottom drawer all to herself and I know it’s filled with her favourite ice cream. The two shelves above are stacked neatly with large homemade dishes that she has stored for when she needs to feed the men, leaving two empty shelves. On the top shelf is a bag of ice and a bottle of high-end vodka. That’s my shelf.

  From the fridge, I pull out the small gold tin of caviar and the homemade blini that Guinevere makes fresh everyday just for my midnight snacking. I scoop a small amount of the black caviar onto the little pancake and pour a shot of ice-cold vodka. Sitting on one of the bar stools at my Italian marble topped island, I stare at the archway that leads to the hall. It’s like I’m waiting for someone to cross the opening and notice me sat here alone. But no one does. No one ever does.

  I shoot the vodka and immediately pop the blini in my mouth, letting the salty savouriness chase away the liquor burn. My mind starts scrolling through everything I have to do tomorrow—or perhaps I should say later today—and I suddenly remember that I was supposed to tell my assistant to arrange a lunch with the mayor. I wonder briefly if 3:15 a.m. is too early to call her but quickly push that thought aside. Just because I’m up doesn’t mean everyone else has to be.

  Another shot and bite and I take a deep breath. It’s so quiet. I don’t love the quiet because in the quiet, nothing distracts me from the swirling thoughts that tumble around my brain when left unattended. Maybe I should hire a team to work through the night, that way when I get up for late night caviar, I’d have the distraction. Although I’m not sure what they could do at three o’clock in the morning. I guess most of my associates would be in bed or at least in no fit state for business.

  One last shot, one last snack, and I clear the evidence away. The hallways always seem longer on the journey back to my room. I open a couple of doors on my way and peer into stark, empty rooms. This place is so big, I rattle around like a ball-bearing in a bucket, and it probably doesn’t help that I burned all the furniture when my father died. Everything he ever touched. It’s been twelve years; I should probably fill some of these rooms. I just don’t have any use for them.

  I keep the downstairs furnished and presentable to ensure any visitors to the house have nothing to say about the emptiness, but the second floor is bare. My room, Guinevere’s room, and the spare room that’s set up in case one of my men needs to crash are the only ones with anything in them. Three other bedrooms sit empty. My home office and the CCTV rooms are functional and impersonal.

  I get back to my room and lock myself in, not turning on the lights so I’m plunged into darkness. I take a moment; the slow strum of harp strings sounds as my phone continues to play the spa like music. No other sounds, I’m alone. I get into bed, being able to get there without stubbing my toe by muscle memory alone.

  Sinking back into the sheets and lying on my back, eyes closed, and breathing steady, I allow the vodka to do its job. My head swims slightly and the vortex of thoughts that occupy my mind is washed away by calming waves lapping at the shore of consciousness. I finally succumb to sleep ninety minutes before my alarm goes off.

  1

  HARVEY

  "I’m fired!?” Rage bubbles up through my entire body and I have to clench my fists, tightening Captain Gary Marks, my boss and mentor, looks at me from across his desk, a pained look on his face. His standard checked shirt strains at the buttons over his rounded belly and his meaty fingers are clasped, resting on his stomach. “That’s the official line, yes.”

  “Official line? What does that mean?” I try and keep the anger out of my voice. Gary has been my biggest advocate since I started my career eighteen years ago, I doubt very much this was his decision.

  He sighs and runs his fingers through this thinning white hair. “Harvey, you fucked up, son.” I go to argue but he puts his hand up to stop me. “John Tanner is a scumbag and a menace, and no one can deny he deserved it, but you were on thin ice as it was. We’re by the book, Harv, and you went so far off script that even I couldn’t save you…officially.”

  I scrub my hands over my face, my stubble rough against my palm and my leg starts to bounce with irritation and anxiety. I’m a cop, I’ve only ever been a cop, without that I don’t know who I am. “What do you mean officially?”

  He leans over the desk, moving aside the burger wrappers still there from his lunch and resting his elbows on the scratched-up wood. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth, he deliberates what to say next. “The department has been talking about an undercover assignment for a while now, but it would be deep, off record, and dangerous.”

  I narrow my brows at him and lift my chin, stilling my jittering leg. “What’s the job?”

  He nods as though he knew I would be interested. “You know The Talons?”

  I give him a sarcastic glare. “I’ve been a cop in the city for more than five minutes Gary, of course I know The Talons.” I’ve studied up on all of them; Talons, Daos, Tantos, and Kukris. The criminal underworld that supposedly runs this city. If I had my way, I’d wipe them all out. How dare the scum of the city sit on thrones carved from fear and greed, allowing—demanding that the world burn in an inferno of violence, drugs, and destruction to feed their own fortunes.

  He raises his brow at my snark and for the first time since I stepped into his office, a small smile tugs at his mouth. “All of the major players have moles in the force on their payroll. We’ve been wanting to start an operation to find all the moles and draw them out, make an example of them. Intel has said that Annika Wolfe is looking for security, so we have an in.”

  “She’s hiring externally?” That doesn’t seem right. Personal security for the head of The Talons would surely be an internal promotion.

  Gary shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know much more than that. Stuart Worth has been making enquiries and a few people have even met with her but so far, no one has stuck. If you’re able to get in, we can start to build a case.”

  I roll my tongue over my teeth as I think it through. “And if I do this and get the information, I come back to my job as normal?”

  He looks at me seriously. “This is need to know Harv, very few people are aware of this. So as far as everyone is concerned, you’re fired. You receive no paycheque, you’re not on the books, you’re disgraced, and anyone here who might be interrogated would confirm that fact without lying.”

  I huff out a breath, my knee jumping once again as I consider the alternatives.

  “Annika Wolfe is an enigma; we haven’t ever been able to bring her in for questioning on anything. She’s careful, so she’ll conduct all sorts of checks before she’d be willing to bring you onto her team. That’s why everything has to go through officially. The Chief of Police is aware of the operation and if you deliver, we can talk about reinstating your badge.”

  “All this just for a discussion?” I seethe, standing quickly and pacing in the small office. “I want a guarantee, Gary.”

  “I can’t give that to you, Harv. I’ve fought to get you this. You can’t go beating unarmed perps to the point of hospitalisation without ramifications, son.”

  John Tanner. Fucking bane of my life right now. “One slip of my fist and I’m punished for eternity.” I sigh over dramatically.

  “One?” Gary smirks. “More like the last in a line of misdemeanours that can no longer be swept under the rug.”

  Okay. I have a temper. Nobody’s perfect.

  “You’ve lost your job today either way. Taking this on is your only way of possibly winning it back.” Gary leans back in his chair and looks at me with an apologetic downturn of his lips.

  “Okay, what do I have to do?”

  I’ve been stripped of my honours within the force, they took my badge, my gun, and my fucking dignity. They’d even taken my personal phone to wipe it of any and all traces of police information and interactions. I’m given a week. The captain has an informant who was able to secure me a meeting with Stuart Worth, Annika Wolfe’s head of security. I’ve given up my flat as I don’t have an income anymore and have to be out in less than a week. If I don’t get this Talons gig, I will be penniless within a couple of months with the rent there. I’ve spent the last few days visiting with my grandmother, to hopefully make up for the foreseeable future when I won’t be able to see her. Captain Marks has assured me that she’ll be safe while I’m gone.

  Tonight is for me. One last night to myself before I join the fucking Talons. Gary gave me a file on the syndicate and its enigma leader before I’d left his office and he was right, they have very little on Annika Wolfe besides speculation. There were surveillance photos and I’ve noticed two things. She is beautiful, and she never fucking smiles. I guess money earnt through debauchery doesn’t buy happiness. I already hate her. I’ve been policing the city streets for long enough to know that the four groups running their illicit business across the capital are responsible for most of the bad that goes on. Greed and power get men in high places, and they resort to murder and torture to stay there. Dealers and runners recruit kids into their world, ruining lives before they’ve properly begun. And tomorrow I meet with the Ice Queen herself.

  I head to one of my regular watering holes, Brasilia. The club is busy for a Thursday with loud music thumping against my ear drums and distracting me from my rising frustration and anxiety. Blue strobe lighting flashes and swoops over the dance floor where writhing bodies bump and grind against each other.

  At the bar, I order my Caipirinha, only place in the city that makes a good one, and I lean back against the wooden counter to survey the crowd. I like the beat of the music and the way everyone here seems free of inhibitions. I people watch, enjoying it because I’m good at it, it’s what makes me a good cop. Made me a good cop. Fuck, I need a distraction.

  Luckily, I don’t have to wait to long for one to come along. A short and curvaceous brunette sidles up next to me at the bar, her hair falling to her bottom, her dress barely covering anything. With the way her tits sit under the thin fabric, I’d say they are fake, and her lips are unnaturally plump. Dark brown eyes are lined in thick black liner, and her heels are like needle points.

  “Hey,” she purrs, leaning on the bar facing the opposite direction to me.

  I spare her a sideways glance. “Hi.”

  “Buy me a drink?” Her pouty mouth stretches into a flirty smile, revealing brilliant white teeth.

  I sip my own cocktail, keeping my gaze on the crowd on the dance floor, their hips swaying and hands roaming, it’s an intoxicating sight. “And why would I do that?”

  “For company,” she says with a chirpy bounce, completely undeterred by my surliness.

  I finally turn to face her; she’s pretty and as interested as I am. “What makes you think I want company?”

  “You look lonely,” she says with an exaggerated pout, batting false eyelashes at me.

  I bark a laugh at that and down my drink.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  “Javier,” I answer, playing up my accent. Most people would listen to me and assume I was born and bred in the city. As it is, I was brought here when I was a toddler, and an attentive ear would probably note the lilt to my accent courtesy of my grandmother who raised me. I find women like the intonation, so I try to use it to my advantage.

  She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, but it doesn’t hide her smile or the way her eyes land on my lips. “Aren’t you going to ask me my name?”

  “Nope.” I lean in closer so we are only inches apart. “I don’t need your name or your number. I’m not interested in your hopes or dreams, your career, or your family. But I would very much like to know what’s under your dress.”

  Honesty is always the best policy. Here’s the point where I either get slapped or blown, there’s not usually an in between. Judging by the twinkle of mischief in her eye, it would be the latter. “Let’s start with that drink and then I’ll show you whatever you want.”

  The cubicle door slams in my haste to close us in and I fumble for the lock while my lips are sealed over Nameless’ neck. I might not be interested in seeing her after tonight, but I want my mark on her for days. She moans beneath my touch as I palm her breast through her dress. Yep, definitely fake. She grabs at my t-shirt, pulling at the fabric, but I’m not interested in stripping for her.

  “On your knees, take it out,” I rasp into her ear.

  Without hesitation, she drops to the grubby floor and swiftly unbuckles my belt and lowers my zipper. Taking me in her cold fingers, she makes a show of appreciating my dick. She bites her lip and groans in apparent delight.

  “Enough theatrics,” I growl at her. “Suck my cock and if you please me, I’ll let you come.”

 

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