Broken Bonds: The London Crime Syndicate - A Dark British Mafia Romance

by Brit Vosper

  Broken Bonds

  The London Crime Syndicate

  Brit Vosper

  Vosper Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Brit Vosper

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including copying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Olivia

  2. Olivia

  3. Aaron

  4. Olivia

  5. Olivia

  6. Aaron

  7. Olivia

  8. Aaron

  9. Aaron

  10. Olivia

  11. Olivia

  12. Aaron

  13. Olivia

  14. Olivia

  15. Aaron

  16. Olivia

  17. Olivia

  18. Aaron

  19. Olivia

  20. Aaron

  21. Olivia

  22. Aaron

  23. Olivia

  24. Olivia

  25. Aaron

  26. Olivia

  27. Olivia

  28. Aaron

  29. Olivia

  30. Aaron

  31. Olivia

  32. Aaron

  33. Olivia

  34. Aaron

  35. Olivia

  36. Aaron

  37. Olivia

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading

  Lucy’s Law

  Prologue

  Lucy’s Law

  Also by this author:

  One

  Olivia

  “It’s ‘bout time one of you showed up.” His choppy East London accent cut through the cavernous basement.

  It switched my focus away from the coppery smell of fresh blood and the disturbing unease twisting in my guts.

  As the heavy, metal door behind me locked shut, I glared at the thug in the centre of the room. A huge, brick-shit-house of a man. Thick with muscles and a more than healthy layer of fat. His dark jeans and old leather jacket shimmered with wet patches as he reached across the table to his side and picked up a red stained rag.

  Blades and blood glistened on the sturdy wooden top as the morning light streamed through the small basement windows. It was strewn with knives, saws and pliers. All manner of items intended to inflict the maximum amount of pain. An implement for any interrogation need.

  A thin smile crept across his scarred face as he wiped his mangled hands on the blood soaked cloth. “Aren’t I lucky it’s the pretty one?”

  I could hear the malice beneath his leering compliment.

  He’d worked for the business for a while. His only job to torture and maim at my father’s request. A job at which he excelled. I’d been down here with him before. He was well aware of what I was here to do, and it always amused him no end.

  A slip of a woman like me involved in a world like this; I wish I could see the funny side.

  His familiar look had appeared on countless faces throughout my life. All from men who refused to believe I was up to the job because I had a pair of tits.

  Keeping my gaze fixed on him, I strolled over and willed forward my best bitch persona. He had to believe it despite the dread knotting my insides. “Something funny?”

  He licked his lips as he paused and debated his answer. “Nah, nothin’ at all.”

  I stood in front of him and folded my arms. My neck craning back to hold his eyes. “Then wipe that fucking grin off your face before I have it removed for you.”

  There was no anger in my voice. It was far more intimidating to stay emotionless. One of many tricks my father instilled in me.

  His smile faded to a grimace as he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t used to being challenged, not by a woman. If I were anyone else, he would’ve beaten me into place, but he knew better than to do anything which would upset my father.

  “Whatever you say… boss.” The word spat from his mouth like it tasted foul.

  “If I were you, I’d reconsider your tone.” Cocking my head to the side, I narrowed my eyes. “Or you might find yourself in the chair behind you.”

  I should’ve done more to curb the disrespect, but I didn’t have the strength to hold my persona for long. I needed this over and done with.

  He dropped his gaze to the blood soaked rag and inspected the broken skin on his knuckles. The threat was simple, but enough to amend his attitude. I may be a woman, but I had the influence of my father and that scared most men to my bidding.

  “I’ve been working this guy all night but he ain’t telling me anything.” He stepped aside and gestured to the guy he’d been questioning. “What d’you want me to do with him now?”

  When I saw him bound lifeless to the chair, the rolling in my stomach did cartwheels. I had to swallow the threatening bile.

  His was face swollen beyond recognition. He looked like he’d done twelve rounds in the ring and then yanked back up to do twelve more. The eyelids bulged like plums from his face, and his lips were so torn up, I was unsure he could’ve spoken even if he wanted to. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his left ear had been ripped from the side of his head, and the top of his crown was missing.

  I couldn’t bear to imagine what he’d suffered through. Instead, I focused my indignation on the thug who did it to him. “You’ve cut his fucking ear off. Who the fuck do you think you are, Mr Blonde?”

  His smirk returned as he revelled in my unease. “I do what’s needed.”

  “Did you need to scalp him?”

  “What did you expect, that I’d tickle him in to talking?” He leant into my face. “This ain’t fucking Disney Land, princess.”

  The pet name crawled across my skin. I huffed and squared up to meet him. “If it were, you’d be a far cry from my charming prince, handsome.”

  The smirk lingered as he turned to admire his handy work. “D’you really think the scalp was too much?”

  I glared at him and shook my head. “Just a little.”

  Sighing, I switched my attention back to the man in the chair. His name was Darryl, a major dealer in the Syndicate. He was close to my father, one of his more trusted associates. It surprised me to hear he was held down here. Higher levels aren’t usually subjected to the basement treatment, but my father never went easy on suspected thieves. “Is he alive?”

  The thug shrugged. “Should be.”

  He slapped Darryl hard across the face. A groan emanated from his throat as blood bubbled from his lips.

  “He’s alive.” The thug grabbed him by what was left of his hair and forced his head to face me. “Wake up you fucking piece of shit. Boss lady is here to talk to you.”

  His eyes barely opened through the swelling, but he followed my face as I crouched to match his level. “Where’s the shipment, Darryl?”

  Blood caught in his throat as he spoke. “I… I don’t know.”

  “The delivery was hijacked from the Manchester drop off. You’re the only one left who knows where that hand over takes place. We know you did it. Tell us where the shipment is and you’ll have a chance at living.”

  “I don’t fucking know where it is.”


  The effort of speaking sent him into a coughing fit. Blood splattered over my white shirt, and sent red droplets streaming through my long, brown hair. The thug chuckled as he handed me the stained rag, and I cursed under my breath. The rag spread more dark blotches into the fabric. I gave up and threw it back.

  I had to make a conscious effort to keep my voice calm. “You killed three during the robbery, but the driver survived. He told us you were asking about the delivery the day before it happened. It was you, we have no doubt.”

  Darryl cleared a large cough and spat the blood from his mouth. It dangled from his lips, swinging in an increasing pendulum until it merged with the rest of the blood on his soaking wet shirt. “Alright, I did it.”

  His admission was so nonchalant it took me aback. “So, where’s the shipment?”

  “Not a clue.” He dropped his head and I faced the mottled surface of his scalp. Clotted blood clung to it in patches. The view made my hair line tingle.

  I cleared my throat and waited for him to face me before I began. “You stole the shipment, but you don’t know where the goods are? Unlikely.”

  “I sold it.”

  “To who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I huffed. “You don’t know who your contact is and sold it all within twenty-four hours? Come on, Darryl, do you take me for a fucking fool?”

  “It was arranged. I did the job.”

  “Who arranged it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A groan rumbled in my throat. “Can you tell me something you do know, or would that go too far beyond your three word sentence structure?”

  His torn lips curled at the edges in what appeared to be a smile. There had to be a lot more to this than a simple robbery. Normally, they hold the plea of innocence until they can bear the pain no longer. He was playing with me. “You didn’t run, why?”

  “It was obvious you fuckers would come after me.” He flicked his nose up. “Why would I run?”

  “To save your life?”

  He swallowed.

  “You’re not in a position to play with me, Darryl. You need to give me answers, or I’ll leave you with this guy for a few more days.”

  He shifted in the seat then glanced up at the thug. The swelling made it difficult to read his expression, but it didn’t appear to be fear behind his swollen eyes. “Why don’t you just kill me?”

  My curiosity piqued. “You want to die?”

  He spat another wad of blood in my direction. “You’re gonna do it anyway, so get it over with.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. If you don’t give me answers, then Shrek here works you over for weeks, causing you as much pain as possible until you crack. Then and only then, will we entertain killing you. And that’s if we want to be nice.”

  I stood and stepped back. The thug caught my glance as I nodded towards Darryl. Another beating wouldn’t make him confess, but it was necessary to hammer home my point.

  The thug slid the knuckle duster on to his right hand and punched him across his jaw. The crunch crept up my spine. He grabbed the side of his head and landed two more on his nose. The break reopened and darkness oozed from his nostrils, filling his mouth as he groaned in pain.

  I had to look away. The brutality didn’t make me half as queasy as knowing I was responsible for hurting him. My head swam with the sounds of smacking skin, grunts and agonised cries. I tried to block it out and focus on the floor, but all I could see were the dried rusty brown stains covering the concrete from past interrogations. There was always a bloody reminder of the nasty business I was born into, everywhere I looked. All this blood shed for power and position, yet, I had no power to stop it. No hope of leaving. I was just as much a prisoner as Darryl.

  “Enough,” I called to the thug.

  He staggered backwards, unsteady from his exertion. His breathing heavy and laboured as he smiled at the mess he’d created. Darryl’s head hung over the back of the chair. Fresh wounds laced his skin, and the swelling had grown from his cheeks. Guilty or not, I could feel his pain.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where’s the shipment?”

  He didn’t move. Only the raspy gurgles popping from his mouth told me he was still alive. He couldn’t endure much more. It was time to shift the stakes.

  The thug grabbed his head and yanked it in my direction. “Answer the boss.”

  His eyelids twitched and opened a fraction. “Fuck you,” he muttered with a heaving breath.

  “Okay, Darryl. There’s no rush,” I sighed. “We’ll keep you alive until we get what we need.” I leant over his chair. “Maybe a few months after, just for shits and giggles.”

  He yanked his head from the thugs hand and averted his gaze to the ground. I had him. For whatever reason, he wanted us to kill him.

  I pulled out my phone and dialled my sister. “Milena, can you give the Doctor a call? We need treatment and IVs for a long term guest.” She sounded surprised. “Yes, I’m sure. Just get him down here.”

  I hung up, spun on my heels and started towards the door.

  “Wait,” Darryl’s tortured whisper called to me.

  It was so low I would’ve missed it, if I wasn’t waiting for it. I strolled back to him. “Do you have something to say?”

  His face contorted beneath the swelling. “Will you let me die?”

  “It depends on what you can tell me.”

  “You have to kill me.”

  “Why do you want to die?”

  His eyes met mine. “Promise me,” he pleaded. “You’ll do it if you say you will.”

  I paused to give him the impression I was considering the decision, but it wasn’t mine to make. My father would only let him die if he got answers on the shipment. “Okay, tell me what went on.”

  He gestured his head at the thug. “Get rid of him first. I don’t trust him.”

  I clicked my fingers and pointed to the door. “Leave.”

  The thugs eyebrows raised with a look of insult. “No, I’m not su…”

  “Go.” I narrowed my eyes as I glared at him.

  He stalled as if to say something else, but then thought better of it. He huffed and headed towards the door. I watched as he knocked on the inside and the heavy bolt shifted. He glanced over at the two of us before he muttered to the guard on the other side and walked out. The door slammed and the bolts locked, sending echoes reverberating around the desolate room once more.

  Darryl’s body tensed. More now than when the thug was here. “Tell me. What happened to the shipment?”

  He hesitated, biting down hard on his broken lip. “He can’t know I’ve told you. If he finds out…” He left the sentence hanging in the air, afraid to voice the repercussions out loud. Whatever he was afraid of, it was for more than himself; maybe someone close to him.

  “Who can’t know?”

  “It… It was Marcus.”

  “South London Marcus?”

  “Yeah, Marcus Bradley.”

  It was a name I hadn’t expected. My father hated him, but they’d always kept their distance. My father ran the Syndicate, Marcus ran his own shit, and stayed away. Nothing had gone down between the two of them for as long as I could remember. “Why would Marcus risk stealing our shipment?”

  “He’s got my son.”

  That’s who he was protecting. “What’s that got to do with our shipment?”

  He shook his head in frustration. “I’ve been working with Marcus for a few months. I know we’re not supposed to, but I didn’t think your father would find out.”

  “Quite a risk to take.”

  “I know,” he huffed. “But I didn’t think it would hurt anyone.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Last week, he asked me to help him take down the Syndicate, to go against your father. I refused. I’ve got a good thing going in my position, I didn’t want it to fall.”

  “What’s he planning?”

  “I don’t know, he didn’t get that
far.”

  “It would’ve helped your case if he did.”

  “That wasn’t my concern. I left and thought that would be it. I didn’t tell your father because I didn’t want him putting two and two together. That would be my neck on the block.”

  “Marcus wasn’t too pleased then, I take it.”

  He shook his head. “Marcus wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he kidnapped my son. Stole him from his Mother’s arms. She was beaten, too, but she’s alive.”

  My father had warned us countless times to stay away from Marcus. No one in the Syndicate was to work with him. I was starting to see why. “What did you do?”

  “I went after him, but he killed all my guys. He’s built a fucking army down there.”

  “Where?”

  “Forest Hill.”

  “What’s this got to do with the shipment?”

  “He told me I had to frame myself for the robbery. You needed to believe I did it; you had to kill me for it. If I failed…” He paused and swallowed. “He’d torture my son, then sell him to some fucking dirty bastard abroad.” Tears welled in the corner of his blistered eyes. “I had no choice. He burnt his feet in front of me. The smell… the fucking smell.”

  Desperation hung in his words, he sounded sincere. He’d have to be a great fucking actor to fake the droplets rolling down his cheeks. He sobbed as he caught his breath.

  An ache filled my chest. Pulling my heart down with every sob which choked from his throat. I hated being so soft. “Is there something I could do?”