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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 thenight 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. Threeother 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’ma 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—demandingthat the world burn in an inferno of violence, drugs, and destruction to feed their own fortunes.
