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He dragged my panties down my legs and kissed up the length of my right thigh. By the time he pressed his lips to my pussy, I was already panting with need for him.
He’d always been especially good with his tongue.
“Lay back, my pretty bride. I want to hear you scream for me tonight.”
* * *
The night had been perfect. His tongue had worked at the cusp of my thighs for what felt like forever and I came for him several times before we made love like the perfect story book couple.
I tried to enjoy myself but now that it was so close to ending, the whole thing simply felt hollow. My orgasms were good, and I was satisfied by the time he fell asleep beside me, yet it still felt like something was missing. When his breathing was steady, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet padding silently against the floor.
I’d packed my laptop in my luggage, and I dug around until I found it. He was still fast asleep when I peeked inside the bedroom again, so I sat down at the kitchen table and booted it up. He didn’t know it, but I’d hacked his computer at his house. I’d stolen every one of his passwords.
It was time to get to work.
I cleaned out his bank account, his savings, his stocks, and maxed out all of his credit cards. I logged into the financial servers of his company and cleaned that out too. By tomorrow, his company would be in full ruin. I took everything he had, and I left nothing behind. I transferred everything to an offshore account that had been set up especially for me before this all began. By the time I was finished, he had nothing left.
After that, I dressed quickly, pulling on dark clothes. My jeans were gray and stretchy and my tank top was black. I didn’t even bother with underwear. No one was going to see my naked body for the next few days. When I was finally ready, I gathered a few more things and stuffed them all into a dark backpack. With a heavy sigh, I slung it on my back.
I took out the envelope I’d hidden in the secret compartment of my laptop case and crept silently inside the master suite. Without making a single sound, I laid it on the pillow next to him.
I knew what it said.
It was a confession. It would tell him what I’d done, how I’d married him for his money and that I was going to disappear. It said that Sophia Jackson was nothing but a ruse that he’d never have the good fortune to see again. The note would tell him to move on. It would also warn him not to look for me unless he wanted to die.
With a quiet breath, I tiptoed out of the room, but I couldn’t help myself as I peered inside once more.
Still sleeping, Dean looked like the perfect picture of innocence. His five o’clock shadow had grown thicker. His dark eyelashes framed his eyes, just touching the upper curves of his cheeks, and I wanted to reach out to touch him.
I wished I could freeze time and keep this moment to myself, but I knew better than that. By morning, he would find the note. He wouldn’t believe it at first. No one did. He’d log in to all of his accounts. He’d think there was a glitch and he’d call them all.
It would be no mistake though.
I’d been the one to take all his money. I’d been the one who left him with nothing.
By the time the sun set, his initial disbelief would turn to anger and eventually that fury would morph into hatred.
It always ended this way.
With one last furtive glance, I turned away and left the bungalow, disappearing into the shadows of the night where my own private transportation was waiting for me.
Dean would never see me again.
And that made me want to cry.
Chapter 3
A year and a half later
New York was quickly becoming one of my favorite cities. Not only was it easy to get lost in crowds, but it was also extraordinarily simple to tail my next mark.
His name was Tim Morris. He’d never lived in a place more than six months but had taken up residence here in the city for the past year. He owned a big oil company and was used to traveling around the world to places like Dubai to secure multimillion-dollar contracts quite often.
I was just getting back to work and beginning the initial process of studying my mark before I engineered the first meet-up. Dean Waterhouse had been such a massive payday that the Father had allowed me to take an extensive vacation for the better part of a year. I spent it backpacking through Europe and enjoying life outside of the rich sector. I stayed in hostels and made friends with normal people and just generally made the most of my little piece of normalcy.
Tim was drinking at the bar. His glass was filled with his favorite top-shelf whiskey. He fancied himself something of a cowboy, but he was pretty much anything but. He wore a hat, and he owned a fancy ranch in the foothills of Montana. He could probably ride a horse, but I would put money on the fact that
he’d never even mucked out a single stall. He was a weekend cowboy at best.
