His Betrayal: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Omerta Series Book 5) Read online

  His Betrayal

  A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

  Roxy Sinclaire

  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

  Illustrated by

  Resplendent Media

  Copyright © 2017 by Roxy Sinclaire

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design © 2017 by Resplendent Media

  Edited by Teresa Banschbach

  Email: [email protected]

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Contents

  Mailing List

  1. Target On My Back

  2. Blood On My Hands

  3. Jumped

  4. Stunning Cop

  5. Saving Me

  6. Bandaid

  7. Intercepted

  8. Flirting With The Force

  9. Dirty Cop

  10. Gaining Her Trust

  11. Evidence

  12. Doing It On The Hood

  13. Hostage

  14. Getting Through

  15. Betrayal

  16. Having Her

  17. Strip Club Hit

  18. Shoot Off

  19. Love = Freedom

  Faking Death And Beyond

  About Roxy Sinclaire

  Also by Roxy Sinclaire

  Excerpt From Dirty Indiscretions

  Excerpt From Touchdown

  Excerpt From Lethal Seduction

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  Visit her on the web: www.roxysinclaire.com

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  Target On My Back

  Lara

  I jogged up the steps into the precinct building, being careful of the coffee cup in my hand, my purse slung over my opposite shoulder. I checked the time on my wristwatch and rushed a little faster. I flashed my ID to the guard just inside the door, making a beeline for the locker rooms.

  I could have just gone around the back, but I was running late, and the staff door tended to get stuck since they added the electronic system that let you enter with a scan of your staff ID. It was especially bad for the newbies, who were entirely forgotten when the system went faulty.

  I got a few looks, a few head nods. One guy even waved, and I waved back, hitching my slipping purse higher up my shoulder. I didn’t stop to talk to anyone, though, and none of them expected it really. Instead, I moved faster.

  It was still weird, how I was suddenly getting acknowledgment when I was a no-name rookie not too long ago.

  "Officer Foley."

  I gave an awkward smile to the detective that said my name. I hadn't memorized names yet, and he was one of the few that I didn’t know. The ones I did know were the guys that had talked to me from the beginning, and I got used to them. I'd always been good with faces, but crap with names.

  Thankfully, he didn’t wait for a response from me, walking onto his desk.

  It was still early, but the station was awake and starting to pick up the bustle. I entered the locker rooms, shared between male and female officers, thankfully empty.

  Even though it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

  I didn’t need to get naked; I had a T-shirt and shorts under my clothes, but it was still weird sharing a coed locker room.

  I would get used to it, eventually, or so I was told by the officers who'd been around a lot longer than me.

  I took a few sips of my black coffee, not quite hot, not quite warm, and set it down so I could strip. With all the new tech flying around, the locker room hadn't been spared the upgrades.

  In place of a traditional lock was a small circle lit in red where I fit my thumb. After a second, it turned green, and the door unlocked, opening automatically.

  I pulled out my uniform, quickly changing into it and stuffing my things inside. I did up my belt, added all the stuff that went on it—radio, gun, a baton stick. To lock it back up, I held it closed and pressed my thumb to the green circle, and it turned back to red.

  Instead of going out immediately, I stopped to take a breath.

  Part of me didn’t want to go back out there, because of the mixed reactions I knew I was in for. Plenty of people were impressed with my track record so far; but quite a few were not.

  The reason for it all, was because I, a rookie, and only months out of the academy, managed to make a big arrest, one the precinct had been after long before I arrived. I'd even heard a few people grouch because I was a woman.

  I got to be the lucky idiot that arrested Jimmy Randolph, son of the notorious mafia don, Eric Randolph; a man that many senior officers had been after to send to prison, only no one could quite get enough evidence to put him away.

  It was quite a feat. And it shot my reputation up—down to the people who decided I was being too much of a show off with the spit shine on my boots not even dry from the academy.

  I rolled my eyes upwards, hoping for a more normal day, took a deep breath, and left the locker room.

  If I needed proof they still thought of me as a greenhorn, though, I got it. I was swamped with paperwork as soon as I sat down at my desk. And throughout the day, as I slowly worked through the files left for me, I was asked to run various petty errands—for coffee, for donuts, for lunch, even running files between officers—for the detectives and other senior officers for most of the day. I practically watched the clock in desperation as time moved on, waiting for it to be my time to clock out already.

  It was evening by the time I felt like I was getting to relax. Paperwork was done, no one else needing errands, I sat back in my seat with a weary sigh. Then I frowned at the empty desk beside mine.

  It was weird how I hadn't noticed he wasn’t there before…

  "Hey there, Lara."

  Gabe practically came out of nowhere, grabbing an empty seat from a desk across from mine, dragging it over and turning it around, so he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back of it.

  I was surprised we'd managed to go a whole day without meeting. Technically, as my partner, he could have at least been around to help me with some of the work. So, where had he been? I looked at him bitterly and asked him just that.

  He laughed at me. "I was corralled by some of the guys in the gun range. I've been in and out, helping the other rookies with their aim, perfecting my own." He shrugged, looking relaxed.

  "I'm still a rookie. Why didn’t I get to join you guys?"

  It was too undignified to whine, but I came close. I didn’t even care.

  He just laughed at me again.

  "Oh, but see, you're a hot shot now. Not just in this precinct, a few guys in the next couple of precincts over have heard of your heroic deed."

  I snorted, but it was weak. "Heroic, my ass," I muttered under my breath.

  He heard me anyway and smirked.

  Gabe Jackson was something of a seasoned veteran of the force himself since he'd been around a lot longer than my few months. I'd been partnered with him before the whole Jimmy Randolph fiasco, and Gabe was a nice guy.

  Gabe was also in line for a promotion to d
etective, though he hadn't been told what department he would be joining. But because of my sudden fame—or infamy, depending on who you asked—focus had been shifted from him to me.

  He didn’t take any of it like I expected. Any other junior cop in his place, looking to move it up and out of uniform certainly would have been pissed off at the turn of events, but he just took it in stride. More than just that, he was genuine about it.

  I knew I was lucky to have him as a partner; it could have been a lot worse, and a very short-lived career for me otherwise.

  Then his demeanor suddenly turned serious.

  "You should be careful, though, Lara. The kid is a nasty piece of work, but his father is a class A bastard. As awesome as what you did was, arresting Jimmy Randolph put a huge target on your back, and I'm talking a bulls-eye here."

  I sighed, not even bothering to answer because I knew. I just didn’t realize it when it happened.

  I understood it, but it was my job, wasn’t it? He was a criminal because I caught him committing a crime; so, I caught him before he could run, slammed him against the car door, put cuffs on his wrists, and booked him. Then we had a lovely ride in the squad car where he cursed my ancestors and I whistled along with a fifties tune on the radio. I didn’t realize until much later just who he was.

  Considering the position he was in when I caught him, it would never have occurred to me. Catching him was ridiculously easy, even though he tried to run. Hard to believe someone so incompetent was a son of someone so feared.

  I didn’t regret doing it, not even after finding out his and his family's history with the police; I did the right thing.

  "There really isn’t anything more I can do about it," I said with a helpless shrug. "I didn’t even mean to, but what's done is done."

  He frowned. "You'd think, but it just isn’t that simple. I haven't been here all that much longer than you compared to the real veterans—just about five years—but I realized that my first year here."

  "Realized what?"

  He paused, casually glanced around. When he turned back to me, he was hunched in on himself, chin nearly hitting the tops of his arms, and he held my eyes.

  "You need to keep your head low, especially while you're still so green. Trust me when I say you don’t want to push the wrong people. We're cops, yeah, we're supposed to enforce the law, but we are still just people. You and me, currently we're low on the totem pole."

  "So what? No matter how fresh, we are still cops." I scowled at him. "So long as we're doing our work right, what's the matter?"

  "Forget what you had in mind when going into this career track, whatever shit they told you at the academy. If you fill your mind with that crap, you will remain green for a while. This is the real world, Lara, where the good guys don’t always win. Corruption, rampant crime; more cops are recruited and trained not so much because the current workforce isn’t enough, but because this crap never dies. But we can. It also spreads when left unchecked, which is basically our real job, to keep it all in check. There are only so many of us to begin with; we can't get them all."

  I stared at him hard. I understood that, too. I chose to be a cop. I wasn’t forced to by whatever other reason. I could have gone to college, learned something that would get me a cushy job, and lived a comfortable life. But I didn’t go into the cop thing with rose-colored glasses. I knew the ugly out there, I'd seen plenty of it, and not just on TV. My motivation wasn’t so much to stop it all, just to manage what I could.

  There was no way to explain that without sounding stupid, though. Besides, the last thing I wanted was for someone to stumble upon this conversation. It was a private thing, and I could sense Gabe wouldn’t want it getting out, because it was a pretty bleak stance for a cop to take when they were charged with protecting the public.

  "Officer Foley, Officer Jackson. I've got a report for you. Boss says you should consider it."

  We both looked up at the interruption. I'd met the guy before. He wasn’t in uniform, but he did most of his work behind a desk. 'Boss' was technically the captain, but just about everyone referred to him as 'the boss,' no matter how tacky it sounded. Anything that came from him was to be taken seriously, so both Gabe and I went on alert.

  "What is it?"

  "A report of a disturbance at a night club just came in. He wants the two of you to drive over and check it out, smooth it over if you can."

  He didn’t give any more detail, which was strange, but then the captain himself wouldn’t have taken interest in it if it wasn’t important. It must have been serious.

  "If we can't handle it, we'll call for back up."

  I was grabbing my empty coffee cup to throw away, everything I would need was already on me, so I was ready to go. Gabe got up and rounded his desk, sat down and pulled open a drawer.

  "Um—"

  I froze, looked up. "Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Don’t go in uniform. If you can rush, get an appropriate change of clothes at home then go. Or you could ask one of the other officers that keep spare clothes here if they have anything suitable."

  I wasn’t comfortable with option number two. Not only did I not know anyone enough to ask, I hadn't met a woman in the precinct that was near my size, so I would be stuck with clothes too small, or a bit baggy, the wrong length. Besides, I didn’t know anyone so well that I could casually ask for clothes.

  "Where exactly is this club?" He rattled off the address, and I grinned. "It's on my way. Gabe, go get the car. Let me get my keys."

  "Hurry it up."

  "We'll be there in five minutes, tops!" I called over my shoulder as I took off. The exhaustion had miraculously left my body. But then I was way past ready for some action.

  Blood On My Hands

  Clay

  How the hell did I end up here?

  The question was thought internally and pretty much rhetorical. Because I knew exactly how I got myself to where I was; by making all the wrong choices.

  There could be no other explanation for why I ended up there, feeling miserable in miserably happy company.

  A heavy slap on my back jerked my body forward a little. I sat on a stool, at a bar, holding a glass full of alcohol on its countertop. Full, because I made it a point to keep down the alcohol intake. Besides, someone had to be sane and sober enough to take care of the two idiots.

  "C'mon, Clay. We're here to celebrate. "

  Idiot number one grinned and held his glass up to me. It was half empty, and it wasn’t his first or even second glass.

  "Do something other than just sit there and brood, would you?"

  Fucker. I dare you to say that away from an audience.

  He wouldn’t, though, not to me. He was good at doing his jobs, but when it came down to it, the guy was a coward. If he thought something was too high a risk, or something easy just became difficult, he would split without a second thought.

  He was occasionally known to be a tenacious fucker, but the circumstances would really need to be special.

  "Aw, don’t ignore us," idiot number two added. "No need to be so fucking emo, right? C'mon, or don’t you give a damn about me at all? Huh, Clay?"

  I didn’t, to be honest. So, the little fucker got out of jail; he was stupid enough to get himself caught and taken in in the first place, and by a rookie cop on top of it all, from what I heard.

  Jacque no-last-name was a crook. Not quite like me, though. Where I had only the one job, he had his hand in pretty much every pie to deal with crime. He talked a big game, and he was good at what he did, even on the few times he was forced to pull his weight. He was still useless, though.

  The other idiot, on the other hand, was even more useless. Jimmy Randolph was the only son and child to the mafia man Eric Randolph. He was known for being a big mouth and an Al Capone wannabe. As much as his dad loved him, even he could tell, so he knew better than to let the boy into one of his operations on his own.

  Seems the little boy hadn't been happy with that. He ended up
showing his displeasure by overtaking a drug drop, only to end up getting caught. There was even a witness. But no matter how incompetent, Eric doted on his son, because he was the only family he had left. So, of course, he splurged to get the idiot out of prison.

  And then someone came up with the bright idea to celebrate his release publicly, at a club of all places. Also, for some reason, I was told—commanded, really—to attend. Like I didn’t have anything better to do. Technically, I didn’t, but just about anything had to be less a waste of time. When was the last time I was even at a club, or a bar, when I wasn’t there on a job?

  So, yeah, I wasn't going to join them in celebrating; I wouldn’t have given a damn if he was left to rot, anyway.

  Why the hell did we have to be here so early anyway? The kid could have just come with his dad, but the little bastard got impatient and decided to head out first. Only there was no way anyone would let him go out and get drunk on his own so soon after getting released from prison.

  He, of course, picked Jacque to accompany him, being something of a faithful dog to Eric. What I hadn't understood, and still didn’t hours later, was why I was picked to go with them. I didn’t want to, but they'd insisted and I'd been forced to accompany the two idiots.

  I was stuck listening to them blabber on about nonsense. I was tempted to drink, but the last thing I needed was to get plastered around them; or give them encouragement. I didn’t want them thinking I was going to join in their games.