Trust
Riley Edwards
trust
Riley Edwards
Copyright © 2018 Riley Edwards
All rights reserved.
This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted, or distributed in any printed, mechanical, or electronic form without prior written permission from Author Name except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Editor: Cindy Wolken
Proofreader: Deaton Author Services
Cover Artist: Riley Edwards
Interior Design/Formatting: Riley Edwards
Published in the United States of America
This is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, businesses, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
This book is dedicated to our first responders. Those brave men and women who put their lives on the line each and every day. And to the families who stand behind these heroes and support them. Thank you! We are forever in your debt.
"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
~Washington Irving
Contents
Prologue
1. done
2. my boyfriend
3. no more lies…
4. # seventeen
5. deal with the devil
6. sweetest torture
7. Italians
8. I’d rather die
9. it’s way over
10. Harper
11. hold on
12. tainted
13. swoon vs scream
14. not ever
15. savor
16. knitting
17. Graham Cartwright
18. normal
19. off reservation
20. Nonna Maria
21. we’re over
22. I want babies
23. let her go
24. she was determined
25. police officer shot
26. the unknown
27. we’re good, brother
28. blame game
29. it hurts
Also by Riley Edwards
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
New York, Hudson Federal Penitentiary
“The streets of the Sea Cliff area of San Francisco are beginning to look like a war zone as the National Guard has been called in. Another mob of angry citizens has gathered in support of the protesters who have surrounded City Hall and the Northern District Police Station where Channel 9 News is told Police Chief Brown is in the building with his detail.
“However, he’s refused to comment on what began as a peaceful candlelight vigil for nine-year-old Holly Springs. The little girl was gunned down during what is being called a gang turf war…” I tuned the reporter’s high-pitched voice out as she continued to blather on. The fucking bitch had no sense of self-preservation. She stood on the sidewalk trying to get her story as people threw trash cans and other objects at store windows and cars.
I never did understand why people destroyed their own neighborhoods when they were angry. Outsiders liked to look at me in disgust and revulsion. They called me a monster—a criminal. It’s because of people like me there’s order on the streets. We live by a code—a set of rules. When those rules are broken… we handle it.
In-house.
We don’t waste taxpayers’ money on an expensive trial through the justice system. We take care of our own. When you’re guilty, you get what you deserve—a five-cent execution. Hell, sometimes it’s even free if I want to get creative and get my hands dirty.
But these fuckin’ babbos on the street aren’t doing shit but making a mess.
I continue to watch the bitch on the TV make an ass out of herself as she runs into the street to shove her microphone in someone’s face. I’ll tell you what, if she shoved that thing in my face—I’d shove it up her ass.
Speaking of ass, a blonde with a smokin’ ass encased in a pair of jeans came on to the screen, and my unused cock jerked to life.
The blonde turned, stepping into the street showing her face, and I was out of the hard metal chair, my cock deflated and forgotten. I was on my feet walking to the TV for a closer look.
It was her.
My gut recoiled at the sight of her. She was a blonde now, her natural brown hair bleached, but there was no hiding her identity.
Harper Russo.
I had waited years for this day and I finally found her.
“Guard,” I called. “I need to use the phone.”
Gotcha, bitch.
1
done
Mac
“Detective Aiden Mackenzie?” an older woman with shoulder length salt and pepper hair stopped me as I rushed past my desk in an effort to leave the station. She looked vaguely familiar, but in my rush, I couldn’t place her. My mind was too preoccupied. A certain frustrating female had taken up all of my mental energy at the moment.
“Yes. May I help you?” I asked, coming to a stop in front of her.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Detective Mackenzie, especially with all those people gathered outside. The desk clerk said I could wait for you here.”
“Mac, please,” I offered, hoping this wasn’t going to take long. A call had just come through that there was a group of protesters in Sea Cliff near Del Mar’s. Laura had worked the morning shift and wasn’t answering her cell, not that it was all that unusual for her. Recently she had been answering my calls less and less. And if I was honest, I was beyond annoyed.
In the nine months we’d been together, instead of getting closer, she had built more goddamned walls and pulled away. Not that she’d ever been open with me about her feelings, or any-fucking-thing. However, in the last few weeks, she’d patched and reinforced the tiny cracks I’d been able to make.
Yeah, I was pissed. In the middle of what was quickly becoming a citywide riot, she wasn’t answering her goddamn cell phone. I had half a mind to text her and tell her I would be bending her over my knee this evening and paddling her ass raw. She needed a reminder of who was in control. That was part of why we’d started this journey. Control. Her need to lose it, and my need to take it. When I saw her in Stripes, a local BDSM club, I was both ecstatic to find out she had similar tastes as I did, and furious she was there alone. That night I sat at the bar nursing my Jack and Coke, watching her from a distance. She didn’t know I was lurking only a few feet away; she had no clue I was studying her every move. I waited to approach her until she was about to leave, purse in hand, and headed for the door. The shocked look on her face when she saw me, and her stuttered excuses about why she was there, were comical.
> It took me all of thirty minutes to lay out the ground rules, and go over limits, before I had her bent over the spanking bench. Fast? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. If I’d allowed her to walk out of Stripes, she would never have summoned up the courage to come back. It was very obvious from my observation that she needed to be there. After a month of playing in the main public areas of the club, I finally took her into a private room. Another month after that before I played with her outside of the club. She was new to domination, bondage, toys, and discipline. For the first three months of our D/s contract, I was painstakingly slow in my exertion of power, only giving her more when those beautiful amber eyes of hers lit up in wonderment. This was about the journey after all, and I wanted her to enjoy every second of it.
Now, during a scene seemed to be the only time I felt close to her; when she let go and allowed me to take care of her. Wasn’t that a bitch? I needed to remind Laura that we had a D/s contract in place every time I wanted to hold her after we had sex. That as her Dom, I made the rules, and that included if I wanted to cuddle and gently caress her after sex.
The woman was maddening.
Commotion in the room brought me back to the present, reminding me I needed to get to Del Mar’s before the protesters turned violent. The mayor called in the National Guard to help keep the peace after an irresponsible reporter escalated the already volatile situation when she cited an unnamed source that said the police chief was on the take and not doing everything he could about the gang violence that had started to spread over the I-80 into the San Francisco area from Oakland. The PC was a dick and rumors had been circulating for a long time that he had been accepting bribes from a local mob family. However, no one had gotten close enough to get actual proof. Mostly because cops wanted to keep their jobs.
“Thank you. I know this sounds so silly, but I was told that you were the detective that was working burglaries in the North Beach area?”
Yes. That’s where I knew her from. She was one of the homeowners. “Yes. Mrs. Sinclair, correct?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s me. I was told that the man behind the break-ins had been arrested. I know this is a long shot but has any of the jewelry been recovered?”
“Yes, Ma’am, we did. But only a few pieces were found. We’re still hoping he’ll give up his partner, and we’ll recover more of the stolen property. Did you list all of the items that were taken?”
“Indeed,” she answered and then crestfallen, she mumbled, “Thank you for your time.” She turned to leave, the tears in her eyes a kick to my gut.
“Was something special taken?” I don’t know why I asked. It didn’t matter if it was special or not, the woman’s home was entered without her permission. Her possessions taken, the value didn’t matter, yet I felt compelled to ask.
“A locket my husband gave me when we were teenagers.” She wiped the tear from the corner of her eye. “It was for my fifteenth birthday.”
“Maybe you can describe it to me,” I offered and rummaged through the files on my desk until I found the case I was looking for. As desperate as I was to get to Laura, I couldn’t in good conscience let this woman leave until I at least gave her an answer.
“It’s a tiny gold heart. It doesn’t look like much, but it means the world to me.”
I thumbed through the photographs we’d processed into evidence and stopped on an image of an old and tarnished locket.
“Is this it?” I turned the glossy eight by ten image her way, and the sweetest smile spread across her wrinkled face.
“Yes. That’s it, my locket,” she gasped.
I turned the picture over and scribbled her name on the back, thankful I could give this woman a measure of relief.
“It normally takes about ten days for us to process out evidence. When the necklace is ready to be picked up, I’ll call you.”
“Thank you so much, Detective Mackenzie. You’ll never understand what you gave me back.”
“Glad it was found. Come on, I’ll walk you out to your car. I’ve heard it is getting rowdy out there.”
While I walked Mrs. Sinclair to her car, she explained that locket was one of the few pieces of jewelry her husband had given her. They had five children and money was always tight. It was more important to them that their family was taken care of than frivolous gifts. My heart broke for the old woman as she told me how the thought of losing something so special had been devastating. I navigated us through the throngs of people outside of the station and safely put her in her car with the promise I would call her soon.
There was something in the way Mrs. Sinclair spoke of her locket that reminded me of Laura, and how she spoke of her grandmother’s scarlet emerald necklace. I thought back to the day I found it on Laura’s nightstand. In one declaration, she told me it was nothing, and in the next, she claimed it was her most valued possession. I hadn’t seen the necklace since and that was months ago. That small tidbit of information was the most she’d ever opened up about. I still knew nothing about Laura’s past. Being a detective, I could’ve run a background check. However, doing so seemed to be crossing a line I didn’t want to cross. Besides, I wanted her to trust me enough to tell me her story. What had happened to her that made her so skittish? Who hurt her so deeply that she hid behind a façade of indifference? There was so much to Laura; she was a walking contradiction. Hard and soft. Nonchalant and passionate.
I took in the disorderly crowd gathering around the station and shook my head. I was pleased as fuck I was no longer in uniform and didn’t have to stand guard outside the precinct during times of unrest. My temper was too short for that bullshit.
Once I’d driven a few blocks, the mob thinned and the streets were normal. Personally, I thought the mayor was overreacting calling in the National Guard, but he was known for being extremely oversensitive and famous for making rash decisions. Thirty minutes later, I was pulling into Del Mar’s. A few people were milling about but it looked like whatever crowd had gathered had been quickly dispersed by the police.
I parked in the lot behind the café and made my way to the front entrance.
“What the hell?” I asked when I found my friend, Reid, out front with a push broom sweeping up glass from the sidewalk.
“Trash can through the front window,” he clipped, his tone low and close to a growl. “Stupid fucks.”
“Ava?” I asked about his wife. “Laura?”
“Inside. Laura’s fine. Ava’s taking it pretty hard. Just because Del Mar’s has been officially sold to Suzie and Michael, doesn’t mean that Ava still doesn’t love this place. She’s heartbroken.”
Ava had opened Del Mar’s after Jacob, her first husband, was killed in the line of duty. She had only recently sold it to Suzie and her husband Michael, who was a fellow cop. Ava had decided she wanted to stay home with JJ and Melody, her and Reid’s children. I was happy Ava had finally found the peace and happiness she deserved.
I looked through the now glassless window frame and saw Laura, Ava, and Suzie were sitting at the counter. The normally bustling café almost empty. Laura had a towel wrapped around her hand, the blood easily seen even from where I stood. Without thinking about the audience we had, I stormed the café, stopping beside her.
“What the hell happened?” I demanded, harsher than I should’ve if the narrowing of Laura’s eyes were any indication.
“Nothing. It’s just a little cut.” Her eyes slid down and to the right, a clear sign she was lying.
I was fed up with keeping our relationship a secret. Her demand, not mine, and one that I had respected for months.
I was done.
2
my boyfriend
Laura
I saw it, the moment it happened. In the space between my carefully constructed life being blown to hell, there was a shift in Mac. I had known it was only a matter of time. I was stupid believing I could keep our secret this long. My time was up—it had been up for a long time. I knew better than to get close to anyone, especially
the pragmatic detective. I had even allowed myself to form a friendship with Ava. That might have been the nail in my coffin. The final straw that was going to be my downfall.
“Laura,” Mac growled, and I fought the urge to drop to my knees in front of him. “I’m taking you home.”
Ava’s head swiveled to Mac, and she glared at him. “She’s fine, Mac. We cleaned it off and wrapped it,” she explained. My sweet friend was trying to defuse the situation.
“Is that why it’s bleeding through the towel?” he returned.
Reid strolled in looking like he was ready to strangle the person who dared to vandalize Ava’s beloved café. It didn’t matter that ownership had been transferred to Suzie days before, making her my new boss. Ava had often said that the café was the only thing that kept her sane during a time of great sadness, that and her son JJ. Now she had Reid and his daughter, Melody, too. I was glad that she was settling into her life with them. They had a family, and Ava deserved to be happy.
“Does that need stitches?” Reid asked, motioning toward my bloody hand.
Great.
“No. I’m fine. I’ll clean it up when I get home.”
I tried to stand and beat feet before Mac could say any more, but his large frame stood unmoving. “We’re going to the ER,” Mac announced.
Trust Page 1
