Finders Keepers (Syndicate Book 1) Read online

  Finders Keepers

  A Syndicate novel

  BJ Bentley

  © 2018 BJ Bentley

  All rights reserved.

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

  The characters in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or in spirit, is entirely coincidental.

  A note from the author-

  First, THANK YOU, to all my readers. Your willingness to take a chance on me humbles me, and I hope, more than anything, that I’ve done you proud. Second, thank you to my editor, Jenn, and my beta reader, Emma. You two are so much help to me when I’ve been staring at a manuscript so long, I fear I might go cross eyed. Third, this book is so far from where I began, it’s almost comical. My first published series was a set of romantic comedies. This series is at the other end of the spectrum. That being said…

  TRIGGER WARNING: This book contains possible triggers for graphic violence and non-consensual situations. Read at your own risk.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Charlotte

  “Come on, Char, you’re the best safecracker this side of the Mississippi. You got this!”

  “Chace, keep your voice down,” I whispered urgently. I loved my baby brother, but sometimes his lack of awareness got us both into more trouble than I cared to remember. “Back up a little. Give me some space.” I couldn’t do this if he was crowding me.

  I took a deep, steadying breath and picked up my stethoscope. Yep, we were going old school. Some people apparently thought that with all the hackers being able to crack the more high-tech, sophisticated systems that were popular these days, that meant that the ability to break into an old fashioned vault with a combination lock was a lost art form. Not so, in the Benson household. Chace and I were raised on the classics. In fact, this job was working out like it was going to be just too easy. And, well, when you’re thieving from one of the most feared men in the country, not to mention the criminal underworld as a whole, ‘too easy’ is certainly unexpected.

  I heard the last click of the lock disengaging and sat back on my heels. Letting out a breath, I hand the stethoscope to Chace to shove back in the small duffle bag which carried the tools of our trade. Slowly moving my hand up to grasp the handle, I pulled the safe door open with bated breath and peered inside. Shit.

  “Char?”

  “Fuck, Chace, it’s not here. How the hell did we get this wrong? Did he move it?” I asked without turning to look at my brother. Instead, I shuffled through the various papers that lay inside the safe. There didn’t appear to be anything of significance on the papers. They looked like old shipping receipts. Certainly not the artifact we came here for.

  “I don’t know, Char. Why don’t we ask him?”

  “Ask him? Are you fucking serious right now, Cha-,” my voice died the second I turned around to confront Chace and that asinine idea, only to be met with several scary-looking men pointing several very large guns at us.

  “Miss Benson,” a man with a thick Russian accent, pock-marked skin, and an angry scar from his temple to his chin, addressed me. “It seems you did not find what you came here to steal from me, did you?” He clucked his tongue, chidingly. “That is such a shame,” he mocked.

  Dmetri Sokolov. The name was synonymous with ‘agonizingly slow and torturous death.’ And he was looking directly at me. Fuck.

  “I don’t suppose you could just show me where it is, and then we can get out of your hair?” I said breezily. I hoped that if I didn’t show fear in the face of certain death, maybe he wouldn’t torture me before planting a bullet between my eyes.

  Smirking, he took a moment to take me in. My cap of champagne blonde hair was cropped short. That, in addition to my dark green eyes, button nose, and petite frame actually caused me to appear younger than my twenty-five years. My youthful appearance often gave the impression of innocence, and I was hoping that would work to my advantage here.

  “I think we can make a deal, Miss Benson,” was Dmetri’s cryptic and creepy reply.

  Narrowing my eyes, I jerked my chin up. “What kind of deal? You want to make a trade?”

  He nodded once, “Something like that, yes. I think you’ll find my terms generous.”

  Now, that I didn’t believe for a second. And how was it that he knew my name?

  “How do you know who I am?” My curiosity got the better of me. It didn’t really matter how he knew who I was, the fact that he knew at all didn’t bode well for me.

  He raised an eyebrow and said, “You are Charlotte Benson, and this is your brother Chace, no? Your family’s reputation as thieves precedes you. I’m well acquainted with your parents’ work.”

  “Actually, we prefer the term ‘antiquities procurement.’” I glibly replied. And I wasn’t really surprised that he knew us. Practically our entire family was thieves, with the exception of Uncle Sal, whose talent laid in check forging. Mom and Dad actually met on a job. They were both casing a museum when they realized they were in competition for the same item. They ended up partnering up, stealing the item together, and falling in love. A real fairytale romance, there. Once I came along, and then Chace not long after that, they slowed down a bit and focused on teaching their kids everything they knew. Since Myra and Daniel Benson were fairly well known in the trade, it only stood to reason that their kids who followed in their footsteps would have been too.

  “Indeed, I’m sure you do. At any rate, my proposal would be in your best interest. Or, rather, your brother’s best interest,” he clarified, indicating Chace.

  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at that. “How so?”

  “Well, you see, there is an artifact that belongs to some friends of mine, and they would like it back. I think you can get it for me. For them,” he explained without really explaining anything at all.

  “So… You want me to… procure this artifact for you? In exchange for what?” I asked dubiously. I could not trust this man.

  “In exchange for your brother’s life, Miss Benson.”

  Chapter 1

  Charlotte

  Two weeks. I was given just two weeks to retrieve the artifact that Dmetri Sokolov requested. Two weeks to scope out the lay of the land, come up with a strategy that wouldn’t get myself or Chace killed, and steal a priceless artifact from a man who could be arguably more dangerous than Sokolov, just based on the fact that he’s so mysterious that very little is actually known about him. Two weeks is not an adequate amount of time to perform a heist under these circumstances.

  Being a member of the criminal underground, I was often privy to pieces of useful
intel. But Jensen Holm was not a man who inspired a lot of gossip in my social circle. It was known, however, that he owned legitimate businesses in addition to illegal ones. He was extremely wealthy, and incredibly secretive. One other interesting fact that I managed to uncover is that he was a collector, and he had a weakness for rare and beautiful things. Which is why he came to be in possession of the item that Sokolov ‘commissioned’ (read: blackmailed) me to steal.

  I was on day three of my fourteen day deadline. I perched in a tree at the edge of the property with my binoculars and scoped out the grounds. The house was actually a mansion, complete with manicured lawns and an inground pool in the back, sitting just inside the Las Vegas city limits. They were subtle, but I spotted some armed guards patrolling the perimeter and one stationed at the front door. I was sure there was also an electronic security system in place, but I couldn’t know for sure what make and model until I got in the house. And how did I get in the house without first disarming the alarm? If I had time, I could have reached out to someone in my network who could have likely hacked in remotely and disarmed it for me.

  The next night I stuck to the shadows on the perimeter. I counted the guards again, just to make sure my initial assessment was correct. I sat back and watched them perform their duties. I took note of any habits or patterns in their movements. I watched long enough to time how long it took one of them to do a perimeter check or to go from point A to point B across the property. There didn’t appear to be any changing of the guard during the night. The guards on duty in the evening were there until morning. After a long night of recon, I made my way back to my crash pad to sleep. The next night I was going to do the job, and I was going to save my brother.

  I realized the night before that there is at least one guard inside the house with a nasty nicotine habit. I watched him use the back door for his smoke breaks. So, theoretically, if I waited long enough, when he came out for his fix, my small frame would make it easy for me to wait in the shadows and slide in the back door when he came out. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the only one I could come up with that didn’t involve making my presence known.

  Just as I’d hoped, I saw my opportunity when the guard disarmed the security system before opening the back door. As he stepped out to light his cigarette, I slinked from the shadows and slid behind the door just before it swung closed. I knew from the blueprints that I was in the kitchen. Thankfully, the house was dark. Not only did it give me cover, but working in the dark was where I was comfortable. It was my zone. It bolstered my courage to get this job done.

  I prowled through the kitchen and down a long hallway that took me past several rooms that I didn’t have the time or inclination to investigate. My feet softly padded along what was likely Italian marble as I stuck close to the wall. At the end of the hall I turned to the left in the direction of the office. I had no idea where Jensen Holm would keep the artifact I was looking for, but the office was a good place to start.

  Moving into the office, I surveyed the room as best as I could in the dark. There were no displays housing the artifact, as I might expect. People who like beautiful things usually like them because they can show them off. I also didn’t see a safe in plain sight. After quickly checking behind the few paintings mounted on the walls, I determined that I needed to move up to the second story of the house. If what I was looking for wasn’t in his office, it was probably closer to his private quarters. I hoped it wasn’t in his bedroom.

  Tiptoeing up the grand, curving staircase, which was flanked by the wall on one side and a wrought iron railing on the other, I paused at the landing to get my bearings. Moving to my right, I came upon a set of ornately carved double doors. Based on the blueprints I had obtained, I knew I was facing the library. Hoping the doors weren’t connected to the alarm system, I gently tried the door handles. They opened easily without a sound. Stepping into the room and leaving the doors ajar behind me, I felt my eyes bug out and my jaw drop in awe of all the treasures my gaze landed on. There were religious manuscripts, classical statuaries, ancient weapons, and then there it was. The artifact I came here for. An oval-shaped piece of amber set in gold. An amulet believed to have belonged to Ivan the Terrible roughly six hundred years ago. In my excitement, I forgot where I was. I forgot to tread carefully. All I could think about was getting my hands on that amulet and getting Chace free of Sokolov. And in my haste, I made a rookie mistake. I caught my toe on the edge of an area rug and tripped. As I fell forward, I swung my arms frantically, trying to regain my balance, but only succeeded in propelling myself forward. As I lost my fight with gravity, my head hit the corner of the pedestal display with a sickening thud, and that was the last thing I was conscious of.

  Chapter 2

  Jensen

  Something was wrong. Something I couldn’t define- an awareness of sorts- jolted me awake. Noiselessly, I slipped from my bed and retrieved the Glock from my nightstand. I crept toward the door and listened intently to the sounds of the night. I could hear the faint conversation between two of the guards below my window, and I could hear the crickets chirping in the night. I listened for a moment more, not detecting anything, but I could feel it. Someone was in my house. Someone who didn’t belong.

  I was a feared man. A respected man. I made a name for myself, not only in my legitimate business of real estate, but in my less-than-legitimate business of human smuggling. Not to be confused with human trafficking. I didn’t move people who were unwilling. I took volunteers, mainly from Latin and South America, who wanted to get into this country by less-than-legal means. And then I ran a protection racket on them. You see, my services weren’t cheap.

  Moving into the hall, I stalked without a sound toward the library. I could see that the door was ajar. Picking up my pace, I raised my gun and swung my arm around to level it on whoever dared to break in to my private collection. I stared with confusion at the body on the floor.

  I heard a weak moan come from a woman’s lips. Certainly not the kind of moan a man like me is used to hearing. Not a moan of pleasure. No, this was a moan of pain. Quickly scanning the room, and realizing that she was alone, I kneeled down next to her. It was relatively dark in the library, but the small light shining from a couple of the display cases illuminated the room just enough for me to take stock of the woman’s features. She had a cap of light blonde hair, a pert nose, and high cheekbones. Her frame was small. Petite. One could almost mistake her for a child if it weren’t for her plump breasts and rounded ass. She looked like fuckin’ Tinkerbell for Christ’s sake. A fairy. No, a pixie.

  Who was she? She was dressed all in black and passed out in my library, the one place in the house where I kept all my most prized possessions- rare artifacts I obtained either by purchasing them through legitimate channels like museums, or by purchasing them illegally via the black market. I thought it was pretty safe to assume at that point that she was a thief. The fact that anyone was ballsy enough or stupid enough to try to take what was mine filled me

  with equal parts rage and respect.

  The pixie moaned again, and as I leaned in closer, I saw the blood. Shit, she must have cracked her head when she went down. I scooped her up and strode down the hall to the guest bedroom directly across from my own. I laid her down on the bed and grabbed a wet washcloth to clean the blood from her face. She whimpered, but didn’t wake. Once I assured myself she was still unconscious, I moved back to the library. As I bent to scoop up my gun from the floor where I had laid it in order to pick her up, it occurred to me that she had fallen directly in front of the amulet. Was she planning to steal the amulet? That struck me as odd only because there were far more valuable pieces in my collection. If a thief was going to take the chance that they’d incur my wrath, and quite frankly, their own death, why for a relatively small ticket item? The real money was in the jewels- the diamonds, rubies, and sapphires in my collection- or the gold or the priceless works of art. Well, in any case, she’ll answer to me when she wakes up.
r />   I awoke before my alarm, as I usually did, and hurried to grab a quick shower and dress prior to meeting with my unexpected houseguest. When I stuck my head in the door, she looked like she was sleeping peacefully, so I called downstairs to have some breakfast brought up for her and also called my personal physician for a housecall. Hanging up the phone, I heard her begin to stir. I watched her struggle to open her eyes at first and then wince with the effort. Her gaze darted all around the room, and I could tell she was trying to figure out where she was and how she got there. Finally, her large, dark green eyes met mine.

  Mine. That singular thought possessed my mind. Whoever this woman was, whyever she was here in my home, she now belonged to me.

  “Hello, pixie,” I rumbled.

  She gasped and struggled to sit up.

  “Don’t move,” I commanded with all the authority I possessed. She froze like a deer in headlights. Terrified of the oncoming collision and at a complete loss as to what to do about it. “You’ve gone and hurt yourself, pixie,” I asked her like she was an errant child. “Tell me your name.”

  She didn’t speak, just continued to stare at me. I arched my brow expectantly. “I don’t like to wait, pixie.”