Wyatt held in a chuckle.
Belle looked straight at him. Those piercing blue eyes of hers, lined with heavy kohl, were like lasers homing in.
Wyatt’s heart did a weird flip, and he let a smile grow on his face.
Quickly, she looked away, blew a pink bubble until it popped on her lips, then pulled it off with her teeth and tongue.
He shifted on his seat, his cock heating. Fuck. When did gum become so damn erotic?
“So, it’s weapons,” Hudson was saying. “What and how many?”
“Four cases, Glocks, AKAs, shotguns.”
“How big’s a case?” Hudson asked.
Arturo smiled. “Big enough.”
“We need details,” Rigor said, “like how much cargo we gotta shift, you know.”
Again, Goatee Guy spoke, this time in Spanish, fast and mumbled.
Belle didn’t write anything. She was smart, she knew they’d catch on to what she was doing—interpreting their private comments.
“It’s enough to do you a solid fifty grand,” Arturo said. “Which is what we’ll sell for. You make a good bargain for yourself selling it on, you’ll make a good profit.”
Belle wrote.
Rigor’s gaze flicked toward it.
“It’ll cost us to get rid of serial numbers,” Rigor said, tapping his bottom lip as though thinking. “Costly to get over the border before that.”
“And we need time to find the right buyers,’ Hudson added, his eyes narrowed. “That’s a lot of weaponry.”
“We’ll take it all off your hands for twenty,” Rigor said.
Arturo laughed. “You really going to waste my time like this?” A hum of Mexicans’ conversations rose in the room. Shaking of heads, muttering. Eyes rolling.
“I’m guessing you guys didn’t pay more than ten for this stash south of the border,” Hudson said, his attention landing briefly on Rigor.
Rigor gave the merest of nods.
Belle was writing.
“So that’ll give you one hundred percent profit,” Hudson said. “Take it or leave it.”
“We’re leaving it.” Goatee stood, his chair legs scraping on the floor.
Arturo sipped his beer then chewed on his bottom lip. He remained seated.
“Come on, guys,” Hudson said. “You won’t get much fucking better than that, and to tell the truth, and what you already know, we’re the only goddamn option. Ain’t no other fuckers around here willing to risk transporting illegal weapons over the border, or with the know-how and contacts to move that much shit.”
Goatee scowled and spoke in Spanish, a few other Mexicans added to the conversation.
Belle wrote. When she looked up, she looked straight at Wyatt.
It surprised him that she did … again. Was she just playing the game of looking distracted as her brother read what she’d written? Or did her attention keep swinging back to him of its own volition?
Fuck, he hoped it was the latter. He wanted her attention. All of it.