Six B

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?

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.

I chuckled to myself. Maybe she would say the same thing about me?

After all, were we not in exactly the same position? Both of us forced into a situation we didn’t want to be for the sake of our families? The difference was, she wanted to go through with it, while I’d rather shave my balls with a rusty razor than end up as a married man.

Lost in thought as I was, the drive back to the house went by quickly. I used my buzzer to open the gates and the garage beyond. They both opened swiftly, and I drove through and straight into the confines of the garage. The gates had swung shut behind me, but I still wanted more security so also closed the garage doors behind me. I stopped the car and climbed out, then clapped twice to turn on the lights. It was a double garage with plenty of space, and a workbench that I never used for anything that had to do with DIY.

I retrieved the holdall from the car and carried it over to the bench. I opened it and took out one of the bundles of notes. Using a flick knife from my pocket—kept there in case of emergencies—I slit open the top of the cellophane. I took out the first of the fifty quid notes, sliding it between my fingers, testing it for the quality and authenticity. I nodded, pleased with what I’d got.

Keeping going, I flicked through the rest of the bundle, and paused. My heart lurched. What the fuck was this? Beneath the first layer of notes were yet more fifties, but these were different. I could tell by touch alone that they were in no way the same quality as the initial ones, and I slid one out and held it up to the light. The money was a terrible forgery. It looked as though whoever had made it hadn’t even bothered trying. Creating a replica bank note that would pass all checks took time and skill, and the things that were hidden beneath the high-quality notes could have been made by a child with an Etch A Sketch.

I snatched up my phone and swiped to call Sly. I didn’t even let him speak. “Have you checked your goods?”

“What? No, not yet. I just got home.” “Check it, now. I’ll stay on the line.” “Why? What’s going on?”

“Just do it.”

There was a rustle and a pause as I assumed he was moving to wherever he’d left the cash. I paced back and forth across my garage, wishing he’d hurry the fuck up. If I’d been there, I’d have had him by the throat by now and thrown him at the bag.

Heavy breathing, and then his voice again. “Okay, I opened the bag.

What’s wrong?”

“Did you open one of the bundles?” “Hang on, I’m doing it now.”

“Fucking do it.” I was losing my temper.

“Tam, I don’t understand what you’re getting at...” “The money, it’s fake.”

He hesitated. “Wasn’t that the plan?”

“Check it again. Someone’s switched out our money for a crap version.”

Why wasn’t he getting it? Surely, he could see that this was an inferior version to what we’d paid for. Unless the bundles he’d taken hadn’t been switched, but I couldn’t see how it was possible since we’d shared them out without any kind of organisation.

“I guess...maybe it could be different,” he said.

“I fucking knew it.” I kicked out at the workbench, sending the stack of forged money on the top fluttering to the floor. “Motherfuckers.”

Someone was going to pay for this. You didn’t rip off the Cornells and get away with it. The question was, who was responsible for the dud money? Surely the original forgers who we’d bought the cash from at a ridiculously low price hadn’t been dumb enough to switch it. They’d know we’d go straight back to them and cause them problems. So that meant it was someone along the transport route. How many different hands had it been in over that time? There would have been transport from the forgers to the lorry where it would then have been taken to the port. At the port, it would have been loaded into the logging container. The container would then have been placed on the ship, where it took several days’ travel to reach London.

Numerous people would have had access to the container then, but how many

of them had knowledge of what was inside and would be able to make the switch without being seen? No, my instincts told me that the switch would have been done before the container had been loaded onto the ship, which meant it had happened in Estonia. I wanted to believe our contact at the port here in the UK wouldn’t be stupid enough to try such a thing—he knew what would happen if he was caught—and besides, we paid him well. Screwing us in a deal like this wouldn’t work well for him either, but when things went wrong, someone had to pay, and we’d need to be sure he had nothing to do with it.

Even so, my instincts told me that we needed to look further afield, to a country where people might not know the name Cornell as they did in London. If I had to go to another country to make sure whoever fucked us had my family name on his lips as he died, then so be it.