Prologue

New York City, 2000

“Is he sure about this?”

“Yes, Miguel. He wants them dead. Are the others in position?” Rico asked.

“Yes. As soon as the alarm is disarmed and we have the all clear, Al Michaels won’t know what hit him,” Miguel replied.

“The boss must really dislike this guy. To wipe out his entire family. Are you certain there aren’t any other weapons or guards inside the estate?”

“Just his wife and three young girls. A piece of cake,” Rico whispered as he checked his weapon.

They were standing in the wooded area right behind the private estate. An upscale neighborhood in the suburbs, and the Michaels home sat alone in a cul-de-sac, acres and lush woods apart from the surrounding neighbors. No one would hear a thing. Rico and his team of nearly a dozen men would be in and out in a flash. Hits like these fed his ego. He’d already achieved his reputation as a notorious gun for hire, but with Maxwell he no longer needed to do side work for money.

They waited for the signal, and Rico thought about Maxwell, his boss. He really was a slimy bastard and a man to never underestimate. Most people didn’t even know how powerful he was or the connections he had. But Rico knew. Had been working for him for the past seven years and things had gotten more intense and more violent as time passed by.

He was headed for the grave or for ultimate success and power in the underworld, as Maxwell liked to call it. Black market stuff that most wouldn’t touch because of the danger level.

Rico knew this businessman Michaels was standing in t

he way of a business merger between Maxwell and a large construction firm. The Russians and the Cubans all wanted to get their hands on this company, but Michaels seemed to have some connections of his own with this one guy. Connections that had the owners of the construction company withdrawing their interest in Maxwell’s proposal.

Rico wouldn’t be surprised if Maxwell asked them to go after those people next, and to put the pressure on them.

“Let’s do this already,” Miguel said, and Rico could tell that he was getting antsy. Miguel had no patience, and was definitely made to muscle people around and threaten them to the point of beating them to death.

Rico was similar but his curiosity sometimes got the better of him. Like now, he wondered why Maxwell wouldn’t take the girls and sell them off on the black market. There were definitely men willing to pay for such young girls who could be trained.

“He gave the signal. It’s a go,” Miguel whispered and then began to make his way toward the house. Rico followed, and he gripped the gun and headed inside with Miguel and the others.

This was what he lived for. Michaels and his family were going to die tonight.

Chapter 1

It came upon the midnight hour when there was no one left to see. Just a young girl, on top of the world, who thought there was nowhere else she’d rather be. But then came the sound of thunder, bright lights, and rumbling earth, an invasion into the sacred ground, and the destruction of her hearth.

The howling screams, bullets flying, there was nowhere safe to go.

The echo of voices deep, combined with curses, threats, and blows.

Her mother’s scream, her father’s roar, an invasion in the night. She’d been well trained, but could not move until she heard her sisters’ fright. Taking action, running to the safe, she gripped the metal with her hand, then turned and ran within the shadows. Her sisters’ screams were her command.

There he stood all dressed in black as others yelled, fought, and destroyed.

Her sisters tried to stop him, but his forcefulness they couldn’t avoid.

More shots rang out, abundant screams as she faced death head-on.

The blood, the screams, the terror in the night. She cried for them to all be gone.

The touch, the grab, the growl of anger, strong arms pulling her back and down, the tear of clothing. Her sisters’ tortured screams made her whirl the gun around.

There he was, the devil himself, the man responsible for their pain. She didn’t think twice as he ripped her dress, as her sisters called out her name.

One shot, two shot, three shots, dead, the memory crisp and clear.

Her sisters crying, her parents dying, the hollowness and the fear.

How will we survive? Where do we go? How can we make it alone?

“I’ve got you both. I’ll take care of us. I promise you’re not alone.”

* * * *

Lauren Michaels stared at the old sheet of paper. What was once a daily ritual had turned into nights when she was overwhelmed with emotion from a call, or an upsetting circumstance on the job. The poem she wrote months after the home invasion had been an idea her therapist thought might help her. It hadn’t helped her sisters Carly and Daisy. The circumstances of their parents’ death had made them timid and shy. They were only young girls when it happened. Lauren was twelve, Carly was ten, and Daisy was eight. They had years of counseling, assistance from their wealthy Aunt May, and help from some family friends. But once Lauren graduated from the police academy at twenty, she took over as provider, and they left their aunt’s house to live in their own place.

Lauren had seven years on the NYPD police force. Five and a half of those years were spent becoming a knowledgeable homicide detective. She thought about that as she prepared to get out of her car.

She’d worked some seriously sick cases. Things most people would shudder at or become sick from, she embraced. She wanted justice. She sought closure for victims and their families because that was what Commander Jonathan Mathews had done for her and her sisters. Lauren had killed three men that night, and two others got away. She saved her sisters, but she hadn’t been able to save her parents. That was something she had lived with her entire life. But she was always on edge. She tried hiding it from her coworkers, her sisters, and friends, but that edginess was doing a number on her. She was getting tired. Tired of the violence, the smell of death, the sight of blood, and the gore and evil abilities of mankind.

The badge of honor was wearing her down. She was questioning the legal system, and becoming angry at how the most violent, repeat offenders continued to slip through the system or get off with a slap on the wrist. Politics. She fucking hated politics.

As she sat outside her aunt’s house preparing to get together with Mary Higgins, an old friend of her aunt’s from Texas, she wondered how much longer she could go on like this. The small house in the city had never really become a safe haven. Lauren was always waiting, anticipating something bad. Her sisters were busy with their lives, their hopes of opening up a coffee and sweets shop somewhere, and they were trying to finish their schooling.

Lauren, as their eldest and their main provider for many years, was still working to raise money they needed. It was a lot of pressure, but considering she didn’t have much of a social life, she could afford overtime and even walk the beat like some rookie cop.

She took a deep breath as she looked at the old home in Bayside, Queens, New York. It was all brick, with a fancy front entryway from the sidewalk. It had three bedrooms and a large yard, but was so very different from their parents’ estate in upstate New York. But quickly, the brick-style home in the city had become their new home, and a new way of life. From learning the streets and subway routes to taking mass transit busses and taxis, her and her sisters learned the hustle and bustle of the city and all it had to offer. Talk about becoming street smart, Lauren embraced the city life, and the people both good and bad. Her sisters avoided them as much as possible. They rarely went out and attended private schools with the help from Aunt May who knew that Lauren couldn’t afford the tuition on a cop’s salary.

Lauren loved being a cop, and once she graduated from the academy she was like a sponge for knowledge. She asked Commander Mathews to take her under his wing and help her to be the best cop out there. Here she was, seven years later, still feeling that need to serve but getting tired of the violence. For every case she helped to solve, another dozen or more stood in line to be handled. It was never ending, like a pile of quicksand slowly draining her of everything else. Homicide had become her life, her every breath, and she was slowly going under. The badge felt heavy lately. Especially now with the undercover case her and her partner were working on. One undercover officer had turned up dead. Another was beaten into a coma. She shook her head. Aces and his crew of shit from Tenth Street gang were behind it. She just knew they were. But without proof, and with an ongoing investigation including the state police and Feds, her and Frankie couldn’t do a thing about it.

She got out of the car, taking a deep breath of air. She locked her car door and headed up the walkway. She could hear the music coming from the house and she smiled. Her aunt had a special way about her. She reminded her so much of their mother, even though Aunt May had brown hair and their mom, Louise, had blonde hair. They shared the same smile, the same blue eyes, and that classiness and sophistication Lauren fought from showing. As a cop, a detective in New York, she needed to be tough. Talk tough, walk tough, and act like she could kick the world’s ass if someone messed with her. She was getting tired of fighting. Tired of being on edge, and not knowing what was coming next. She was getting burned out.

When others turned to alcohol to clear their minds of the gruesome acts of violence, she turned to exercise and running, working out. She took a deep breath and released it as she reached for the doorbell.

Before she could ring the bell her aunt was there, a huge smile on her face.

“There you are. Come on in, we’re

just about ready for lunch,” she said as she gave her a big hug hello and then took her hand and smiled at her. Then Aunt May’s face went serious.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” she asked immediately, knowing her niece so well.

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