Smuggled: The Mercenary Series

Introduction

Even a bad boy on the wrong side of the law can fall

in

love

.

A pleasure cruise in the Caribbean turns into a nightmare when a tipsy Lillie falls overboard.

Rescued by a smoking hot smuggler, she wants to hate the man who thinks he’s above the law, but instead burns at his touch. Even the sound of his voice is enough to make her forget her previous life…and morals.

Surely she’s not falling for her captor? How else to explain why she can’t resist when this bad boy decides to make

her

his

?

The Mercenary Series.

Chapter

One

I can’t believe I fell overboard.

The disbelief was followed by a giggle. In her drunken state, Lillie had a hard time sobering to the fact she bobbed in a gentle wake as the cruise ship chugged

on

past

.

How could I be so clumsy? Blame the booze. One drink turned into two. Three. The unrestricted and free access to cocktails, and the fact she didn’t have to drive, meant Lillie let loose and guzzled an unseemly amount of pretty, pastel-colored concoctions, one after another.

While by no means a lightweight, the innocuous drinks were stronger than she suspected. The alcohol destroyed her inhibitions in minutes.

Dear God, please tell me that wasn’t me dancing on the table in

the

bar

.

Yet, she clearly recalled gyrating her hips, and laughing as men peeked up her skirt. Good thing she’d shaved.

The haze of alcohol didn’t allow her to blush despite knowing once she sobered up she’d be mortified. Being wasted also meant when she hit the water—because her dumb ass decided to sit on the rail—she forgot to scream for help, instead watching the pretty blinking lights on the ship as it

sailed

away

.

As the ship winked out of sight, the thump of the bass a final goodbye, it occurred to her this was a bad thing.

Uh-oh. I think I’m in trouble.

Not just think. Was. I am totally screwed.

She treaded water, the salt content of the ocean helping her to remain afloat, and yet, how long could she realistically stay above water?

Just hold on until they rescue you. Because someone would notice she

was

gone

.

Eventually.

Or

not

.

She’d embarked on the singles cruise to meet people. Meet guys. With this being the first evening out of port, how long before someone discovered her missing? As her buzz waned, logic insisted no one would know Lillie had disappeared until they docked and did a passenger count.

Which meant…No one is going to

rescue

me

.

Why oh why the hell did she think it was a bright idea to sit on

the

rail

?

I wanted to look at the stars. There were so many of them on this clear night. Floating on her back, she had a panoramic view, but they’d lost their appeal. Knowing she would drown kind of ruined it

for

her

.

She couldn’t have said how long she bobbed in the waves, a piece of flotsam that might eventually wash up on a shore. Bloated and gnawed on by fish. An ignoble end to a

boring

life

.

The headline would read: Drunken Passenger Falls Off Ship. Because of Lillie they’d probably erect more warning signs.

People say when you are dying, your life flashes before your eyes. When you drown it takes forever, each mistake you’ve made in your life playing over

and

over

. 

The lack of romance in her life that led her to this cruise.

The boredom of a job at which she worked too hard, for too many hours, leaving her little time to socialize and cultivate new friendships.

The fact her old friends had found that special someone. Married. Relocated to the ‘burbs and popped out babies. Her friends moved on while Lille continued to search for "

the

one

."

And now I never will. Cue the violin music.

As time passed, her body grew numb. Her muscles tired. It didn’t take too much effort to float on the rather calm sea, but even a little effort over time took

its

toll

.

Would drowning hurt? Don’t even think like that. Giving up wasn’t an option even if her fate seemed sealed.

Despite the fact the muscles in her body wanted to take a break and relax, she kept up the fluttering movements, sculling her hands and feet enough to keep her face pointed to the sky and the twinkling stars.

Every so often, a choppier wave would roll over her, filling her mouth and nose with salty water that made her choke. But it wasn’t as frightening as the occasional bump of something swimming under her. Most fish were harmless. Most…

not

all

.

Sharks roamed these waters. Would they think her a tasty treat?

Please don’t let anything bite me. She didn’t do well with pain and couldn’t help but tremble at the thought of dying to fill a shark’s belly.

Flipping to her stomach, she scanned the waters via the scant starlight. Deep shadows cloaked everything, giving the ocean’s surface a surreal feel and look. A nightmarish landscape with no horizon,

no

end

.

Yet, within that darkness, she saw something. Not a triangular fin making a beeline for her tender parts. Nor an island to provide her succor.

She spotted among the soft swells a lumpy shape. Several of them, bobbing in the current, sticking out above the surface like jagged rocks.

Except they weren’t rocks. The crates, tied to dark buoys, floated and remained floating even when she crawled atop one of them and collapsed from exhaustion.

So bone weary she couldn’t help but fall asleep.

The sound of machinery woke her, but she found that less worrisome than the fact the crates were being lifted from the water, a giant net surrounding them, scooping her

with

them

!

Ecstatic at her unexpected rescue, she screamed, "

I’m

here

!"

I’m saved.

Chapter

Two

The scream, while faint, was distinct and unexpected.

What the fuck? Cole froze. Had he inadvertently crossed paths with a party ship? There were plenty of them in these waters. Usually they were lit up bright as a Christmas tree, making them easy to spot from miles away, especially on a clear night such

as

this

.

A man with secrets, Cole often ran his ship in the dark, relying on his power of observation and his very expensive radar system to warn him of objects that could sink him. He preferred to avoid drawing attention, especially considering what he did in these waters.

The machinery for the winch whined and grunted as it reeled his catch in. The beacon had led him right to the floating cargo. Expensive automation, as well as years of experience, meant he could prop his feet on the console and let his machinery do

the

work

.

An easy job. Usually. He heard another screech, a woman’s voice.

What is going on out there? he grumbled. Standing from his captain’s seat, he peered out the window, straining to see anything in the darkness.

He couldn’t see the deck, only shadows. He really didn’t want to turn on his lights. Not now. Not in these waters. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the noise of an intruder. He had to protect the cargo, which was why despite having a knife tucked in a sheath by his hip, he also pulled the gun he kept stashed in the wheelhouse. Not exactly the only one. He had weapons hidden all over his boat. Never knew when he’d have to deal with pirates, or people trying to double cross him. Most people only made that

mistake

once

.

Cole wasn’t one to forgive.

With a sigh of annoyance at having his usual routine interrupted—and a touch of adrenaline because he might have to act—he stomped out of the pilot house and took the stairs down to the main deck. He knew his ship, knew it well enough to avoid the gaping hole in the middle waiting for its cargo.

Help me. Please.

No denying the faint plea, and fuck him if it didn’t come from the

damned

net

.

Who had he caught? And would anyone notice if he dumped her back in

the

sea

?

Making his way to the winch, he slapped a large button to stop it and another to light up the deck. Darkness was only his friend if he knew what hid

in

it

.

The soft light illuminated the bulging net hanging over the cargo hold. At first he didn’t see anything amiss. Just the expected waterproof containers and their buoys daisy chained together. Then he saw movement atop

the

heap

Usually, he would assume he’d netted a stray fish. Except fish didn’t speak.

Had he caught a mermaid? The sailors spoke of them—usually after a few drinks—the legends growing with each recitation. Cole didn’t believe in fairy tales. Cole didn’t believe in the law either.

He lived by his own rules.

Gun in hand, he tromped across the deck to get a closer look. He didn’t bother masking the heavy thump of his boots, loud in the stillness of the machinery gone quiet. The voice didn’t speak again, the only sound that of the creak of his boat bobbing on the waves.

Get up. I know you’re there.

Nothing moved.

Why hide? It wasn’t as if whatever he caught could run away. Not here in the middle of the ocean.

Arriving at the edge of the cargo hold, he peered within the gaps of the net, the briny scent of the ocean engulfing his senses, drips of water plopping to the deck. Amidst his cargo, he saw a

wet

lump

.

What the fuck? He’d certainly not caught a mermaid, even if a briny stench rose from the catch. He caught a glimpse of pale legs and a tangle of hair. Fuck, fuck, and fuck! Cole cursed as he stomped back to the winch. He slapped the controls to close the hatch on the deck before lowering his cargo. He didn’t do it out of kindness. Fuck kindness. Dropping the stash into the hold with a body would mean more clean-up later if the person

bled

out

.

Best to grab hold of them now and dump them overboard. No evidence that way. Especially if he tied some weight to whoever he’d

reeled

in

.

Sunken bodies told no tales. It’s what he promised when he sold his disposal services. One of his sidelines when he wasn’t smuggling.

The cargo hit the deck with a thump, and he moved close enough to unhook the netting, pulling it back from the stash to reveal the waterlogged person

lying

atop

.

Make that a woman, not wearing a life jacket, just a short party dress. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.

Someone partied a little

too

hard

.

Just his bad luck he’d caught her in his haul. Easy enough

to

fix

.

He tugged a few crates out of the way to better reach her and placed a hand on her slender arm, meaning to grab her and pull. Except, she moaned.

Still alive.

Shit. He should have known that given he’d heard her crying for help. Then again, she looked about as lively as a corpse.

Retreating a few paces, he aimed his gun at her as she moved, uttering a soft groan as she pushed herself up. She raised her head and gave it a toss to remove scraggly wet strands from her face. She blinked big brown eyes shot with red streaks. Her pale lips parted on

a

gasp

.

"Thank God you found me. I thought I was going

to

die

."

You still might, he muttered ominously.

Her lips stretched into a wan smile. "I’ll be fine. I just need a

little

rest

."

I can help you sleep with the crabs.

She uttered a strangled giggle. Too funny. Her eyes fluttered. "I always wanted to meet

a

hero

."

Did such a thing even exist? It certainly didn’t apply to Cole. Heroism was something noble men aspired to. All Cole wanted was enough money to retire on a beach somewhere.

Instead, he got a complication. He totally wasn’t in the mood to deal with this woman, especially since her presence wouldn’t pay extra.

"I ain’t no hero. And you shouldn’t

be

here

."

I know, she said with a sigh. Thank God you found me. As if those words exhausted her, she slumped forward again, face smacking against the package she

lay

on

.

What a fucking mess. With hands braced on his hips, Cole grimaced down at the unconscious woman. Now what? Kill her or

keep

her

?

Killing was probably his smartest and most efficient choice. Who wanted to deal with a woman on a boat who’d probably have hysterics once she regained consciousness and realized he wasn’t about to just release her? She’d seen

too

much

.

Then again, despite her bedraggled state, he could see hints of beauty. Enough that she could fetch a fine price. He knew the type of people that would take her, and while he wasn’t usually into human trafficking, there was money to

be

made

.

Still, despite the market for flesh, surely he should have a line he didn’t cross? He might not have been raised with the best morals, but even he knew it was wrong to sell women as sex slaves.

Perhaps I could just drop her off on a beach somewhere. She’d not seen the name of his boat, and while she’d seen his face, how hard would anyone really look for the Samaritan that saved the drowning woman?

Dropping her off, though, meant delaying his delivery and then there was the fact he couldn’t be bothered. I don’t know her and I don’t care. Someone might mourn the loss of this one woman, but it wouldn’t

be

him

.

I guess that’s decided then. He raised his gun to crack her hard on the temple—hard enough she wouldn’t awake when he dumped her overboard—but hesitated.

She called me

her

hero

.

Only because she didn’t

know

him

.

He wasn’t a nice man. Hadn’t been nice in a long

fucking

time

.

Still…had he completely gone over the dark edge to the point he killed innocents?

The answer eluded him. So rather than act rashly, he did something that baffled even him. He holstered his gun in the waistband of his cutoffs before leaning in to grab her

limp

body

.

He rolled her over, and—being a man—couldn’t help but notice her tits. A nice handful, spilling from her dress, the wet fabric sticking to the nipples. Her hips weren’t exactly model thin, giving her a rounded appearance, her waist a nice indent. Not bad looking, he’d bet, once she got

cleaned

up

.

As if he cared. He was just hoping she didn’t start fucking screaming and crying when she did wake. He’d toss her overboard before he started dealing with hysterics.

For a moment, he again debated just tossing her over the rail before any possible problems, yet