I clicked onto the camera in the main bathroom and drew in a breath. Found her.
So, she’d taken me up on my suggestion of a bath. Was she doing that for my benefit? A small smile tweaked my lips at the thought.
Hallie lay in the spa tub, up to her neck in bubbles, her damp hair a shade darker and floating around her shoulders. Another glass of wine sat on the side, and she held a book in her hand.
I rewound the footage and glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby before hitting ‘play’. This was an invasion of her privacy of the worst possible kind, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. I paused the camera as the screen showed her leaning over the tub, filling it with hot water and bubble bath. I could practically smell the scented steam myself.
Holy fuck.
She straightened and pulled her top over her head, her hair catching in the material momentarily and then swinging down her back. Then she pushed those tight leggings off her hips and stepped out of them. She was just in her underwear now, and I didn’t want to tear my eyes away. I was supposed to have been watching out on a job, and I didn’t think I’d ever been more distracted. Her legs were endless, her arse perfect, and those tits looked like they defied gravity.
She bent over the bath and checked the temperature of the water. I willed myself to turn off the phone, but bloody hell, this was hotter than any of the porn I’d ever watched. My cock lengthened beneath my suit trousers, and I had to shift positions to make room for it. Fuck. If I didn’t know that I might have to be ready to spring into action at any moment, I’d be giving myself a hand job right now.
On my small phone screen, Hallie reached behind her back to unhook her bra and free those magnificent tits. Shit, I was practically salivating.Turn around,I willed her.Show them off to me, princess. Let me see the colour of your nipples.I wondered what they’d feel like under my tongue; how responsive would they be, coming alive in my mouth. Would she try to push me away if I tried to suck them for real, or would her back bow to push herself harder against me and sighs of pleasure leave her perfect fucking lips?
The phone suddenly buzzed in my hand. It was my cousin, Sly. Fuck it. Talk about bad timing. I made a mental note to watch the rest in private later. Or maybe I’d get Hallie to show me the real thing after I got back.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“They’re here. Time to move.”
I took my gun out from where I’d stashed it under my seat, and as I got out of the car, I shoved it down the waistband of my trousers, covering the butt with the hem of my shirt. I hoped we weren’t going to run into any trouble, but it was better to be safe.
Our contact inside the port had opened the gates for us. It was safest to move on foot, which meant carrying the money back to the vehicles in large holdalls. I grabbed a black hoody from the back seat and pulled it on over my shirt, flipping the hood up to hide my face. Then I slipped on a pair of gloves. I knew the other two would have done the same. There would be cameras around, and we couldn’t know for sure that they’d been disabled. None of us wanted to be identified or have our prints picked up should something untoward be reported.
Murphy and Damon were already on the go, walking at a quick pace towards the unlocked gates.
Moving at a jog, with my head down, but staying alert for anyone unexpected, I joined Murphy and Damon. We didn’t need to speak—all our plans had been made long before this moment. Two figures stood near the gates, and I picked one of them as being my cousin, Sly. He saw us coming and gave us a nod, before opening the gate for us. There would be other security around, but the port covered a large section of ground, and they couldn’t cover everywhere all the time.
“This way,” he said and jerked his head, indicating for us to follow.
The contact at the port was a skinny man in his twenties, his gaze darting between us anxiously. He was being well paid—we often needed this port for our business—and he was probably more anxious about upsetting us than he was worried about being caught by port officials and either getting fired or going to jail, or both.
Large metal containers were stacked everywhere, their vast sides creating walkways through the port. I appreciated their presence—they offered plenty of places to hide, if needed.
“This way,” our contact said.
We hadn’t seen anyone else yet, but we were getting close to the water now, and I was primed for a shout of someone questioning our presence.
The contact stopped beside one of the containers. “It’s this one.”
He reached up to the metal locking system, lifted the bar up and twisted it, then pulled one side of the double doors open. Stacks of sawn wood met our eyes.
“Get it out,” I instructed.
Murphy and Damon got to work, hauling out the first layer of wood. The planks were stacked on top of one another and then strapped together. Murphy brought out a knife and cut the first lots of straps. They slid off the top board. Sure enough, cut into the pieces of wood beneath, were brick-sized slots. Filling each of the slots was a bundle of money wrapped in cellophane.
Moving quickly, we removed the money from its hiding places and passed the bundles down the line to be packed into the empty holdalls between us. When that bundle of wood was empty, we shoved it back into the container and repeated the process with the next one. We worked silently, each of us focused on our job, while our contact at the port kept a lookout. If we got the shout that someone was coming, we’d have to re-cover the gaps in the timber bundles and pretend to be the buyers of the timber come to inspect it, and hope that no one asked any questions. If things got difficult, I’d have to put my gun to good use, but I’d rather it didn’t come to that. Murder meant bodies, and bodies were messy. While I could depend on my men to get rid of one swiftly and cleanly, I preferred to simply avoid the confrontation.
We were in luck, and we weren’t disturbed.
It took us almost an hour, but finally we had all the hidden money and had shared it out between us, stuffing it into the bags. It was safer to divide up the cash than for one person to have it all on them. If that person ended up on the end of a hit, or if they were pulled over by the police, we’d lose the lot. At least this way, we could be assured that the majority of it would make it back.
Sly closed the container doors and locked them again. No one would ever know we had been there. If the wood was checked now, all it would look like was lengths of wood cut into different sizes. The most dangerous part of the job was done.
I nodded my thanks to each of the men, and then we separated again, the holdalls slung over our shoulders. I let Murphy and Damon get ahead of me, and Sly went in a different direction all together—he must have parked by one of the other entrances.
We’d reconvene tomorrow, once the money was safely stashed. Murphy and Damon were already driving away by the time I chucked my holdall onto the seat next to me. I drove home, discovering I was in a good mood for once. The pick-up had gone down without any hiccups, and I was going home to Hallie Wynter in my bed. Or perhaps she’d still be naked in the bath. Either way, she’d been stupid enough to hand herself over to me, and now she was mine to do whatever I wanted to. If she wasn’t naked, I could simply instruct her to remove her clothes. If she said no, I could remind her how much she wanted this marriage. I was sure someone would argue that Hallie being married to me didn’t mean she had to do everything I said, but I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought. Those situations happened when people willingly got married, and that was the last thing I was doing. I didn’t have an ounce of respect for Hallie Wynter, and considering how easily she’d given herself to me, I wondered if she had any respect for herself.