She scowled. “Never.”
“Watch television, read a book, listen to music. Whatever it is you like doing.” I thought of something. “Why not take a bath and make yourself pretty for when I get back? I’m always horny after a job. Would be good to come home to a sweet-smelling pussy.”
“You disgust me.”
“How old did you say you were? Twenty-one. So young. I bet you’re tight as fuck down there. I’m going to need a whole tube of lube just to get my cock inside you, and then I’ll tear your pussy up.”
She twisted her face away and blinked back tears. An unaccustomed pang of remorse struck me. Had I pushed her too far? If a few words was all it would take to send her running back home, I wasn’t even going to need to lay a finger on her. That would be a shame. I might as well get what’s been put on offer to me before she scurried back home like a frightened puppy.
“There’s wine in the fridge,” I told her, changing the subject, “and takeaway menus in the drawer. Order whatever you want on my account.”
“I have my own money. You seem to forget who my father is.”
“How could I possibly forget, sweetheart? Isn’t that the whole reason you’re here? And by the way, when you say you have your own money, what you’re really saying is that you have your father’s money.”
She bristled. “Can’t you say the same thing?”
“No, I work for my money. What is it you do?”
Her shoulders slumped. Did she really think she was going to outlast this? That she’d survive spending the next month with me, and then we’d get married? What did she think would happen then, that we’d somehow become a happily married couple and go on to have a life together? Or was she hoping something would happen to me, like it had Harvey, and she’d be free once more and yet still be seen to do her duty. That was what lay at the heart of this, after all. It was duty to our respective families that held us both here.
“I need to get ready.”
I left her standing in the kitchen. Had she expected for me to wine and dine her? As Marlon Wynter’s daughter, she’d been pandered to all her life. She’d probably thought that she’d come here and have me fawning all over her, grateful to be blessed with her presence. She was going to get a wakeup call pretty bloody quickly.
I took a shower and dressed in my usual attire of a black suit and a black shirt underneath. I owned numerous identical outfits. Clothing wasn’t something I cared too much about. While I wanted it to be of the best possible quality, and so it looked like I always meant business—which I did—I didn’t want to have to waste any time or thought on what to wear. Plus, black was good when it came to moving around, unnoticed, at night. Paired with my dark hair and eyes, it could make me nearly invisible, and I’d learned a long time ago that black hides any blood spatter.
When I walked back downstairs, I caught a glimpse of Hallie curled up on the sofa in my living room. She had her bare feet tucked up under her body and held a glass of chilled white wine in one hand. The television was on, and curiously I checked out what she was watching. I was expecting some crappy documentary about celebrities, or a chick-flick, but was surprised when I saw that while she might be watching a documentary, this one appeared to be about the serial killer, the Yorkshire Ripper.
Maybe I’d misjudged her in that department, at least.
***
THE DRIVE FROM GREENWICHto the port only took an hour, but I wanted to grab some food on the way, and then I needed to meet up with the others on my crew. There was a lot of sitting around, but it was important that we made sure there was no chance either the police or a rival syndicate had got wind of the drop-off. We’d get there first and spread out, then lay low, watching anyone who came or went. If the police were staking out the place, we’d spot them fast enough. We also had a number of Met cops who were dirty as fuck and more than happy to spill the beans should they get wind of a sting being put out on us in return for some extra cash in their pockets.
I took the A13, past Barking and Dagenham. The port was at the mouth of the River Thames and would have been one of the greatest ports in the world back in the day, when the old-school gangsters of the nineteenth century were around. Those were the days when extreme violence was expected, and they didn’t have to worry about little things like DNA evidence or being caught on a mobile phone camera. It must have been a simpler life, though perhaps even more ruthless than the one I lived now. Unapologetically violent. I was envious of them.
It was approaching nine p.m. by the time I reached the outskirts of the port. Large lorries were parked in the distance. The surrounding area was flat, and other than the port and a couple of large logistics buildings, surprisingly unbuilt-up. I pulled the car up onto a little gravelled side lane. It was hidden from view from the main road by a wooden fence but still let me see the entrance to the port. Here, I would be able to see if anyone was coming or going.
I tapped the button that automatically opened my car door. There were few things I took pleasure from in this world, and my car was of them. Those owners of giant, petrol-guzzling four-by-fours would probably laugh at my sleek, dark-grey electric Tesla, but I loved it. The smooth, almost silent drive made me feel as though I’d taken a step into the future and left everyone behind.
I climbed out of the car and took off my suit jacket and hung it from a hook behind the driver’s seat. Leaving the door open, I folded both arms onto the roof and assessed my surroundings. Steel structures rose into the sky ahead of me, and beyond that came the crash of the ocean. It was a clear night, just a few dark clouds skittering across the almost full moon. The scent of oil and sea salt hung thickly on the air, and a cool wind ruffled my hair and clothes. Where were the others? Those fuckers had better show up.
I had three men directly under my command, and I expected each of them to respond to my orders without ever questioning them. Pierce Sylvester was my cousin, and no one ever called him Pierce, but instead went with the nickname Sly. He was my father’s sister’s son, hence the different surname, but I liked to think we treated him like a Cornell. Sly was a couple of years younger than me—closer to Harvey’s age than mine—but I’d always got the impression he looked up to me, so I’d been more than happy to take him under my wing. Now he was in his thirties as well, and he’d long since stopped needing any coddling from me. The other two men, Murphy and Damon, had come to me through my father. Murphy was older—in his fifties—a world-weary man, and Damon was more my age, but was rough around the edges and could be trusted to tear someone’s ear off, if the situation required.
I checked my Rolex. I was early, so it made sense that I was the only one here, though Sly would be with our contact inside the port. Why had I been in such a rush to leave? Had it been because I hadn’t wanted to spend any more time in Hallie’s company? Did I think I wouldn’t be able to control myself with her? Did I care?
My leg ached, and I took my bottle of pills from my pocket, unscrewed the cap, and tipped a couple out into my palm. I quickly dry swallowed them. I probably could have got the drugs on prescription, but I didn’t like the idea of either my injury or my drug habit being on record anywhere. No matter what bullshit the doctors spouted about medical records being confidential, I knew full well that anything could be acquired with either enough money or violence. I didn’t want my enemies to know any more about me than they needed to.
The hum of an engine caught my attention, and a car slowly rolled down the road. I caught sight of Damon in the driver’s seat, his face partially hidden by a baseball cap worn low over his forehead. Someone on the inside of the port had hopefully disabled the security cameras for our benefit, but it was always better to be cautious. He spotted me and ducked his head in a nod that was barely visible in the dark and pulled his vehicle off the road to wait for the signal.
Only a couple of minutes later, Murphy also arrived and parked his own car behind Damon’s. Neither of the men got out. We were waiting for the call from inside the port to say it was time to move.
I got back into my Tesla to rest my leg.
Our delivery was being brought in by sea. A paid-off dock worker would ensure they were able to offload without being searched, the container paperwork showing a shipment of sawn hardwood from Estonia. The shipment had been made earlier that day, but only now did we dare remove the bundles of money hidden within it.
I should be watching the entrance to the port, but instead I couldn’t help wondering what Hallie was up to back at the house. I had all the camera footage stored online so I could access it from my phone. It wouldn’t take me a moment to find it. Quickly, I logged on and opened the app. It took me a minute to find her. She wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen, and I checked the bedroom and she wasn’t there either. Had she gone out? I hadn’t expressly forbidden her to do so. As I’d already told her on several occasions, she was free to walk out the door whenever she wanted. So where the fuck was she?