Her Wolf (Their Lady of Shadows Book 4)

by Logan Fox

  Her Wolf

  Their Lady of Shadows Book Four

  Logan Fox

  Copyright © 2018 L. D. Fox

  First Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences only. All sexually active characters portrayed in this e-book are eighteen years of age or older. Please do not buy/read this e-book if strong sexual situations, multiple partners, violence, drugs, domestic discipline, and explicit language offend you.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Prologue

  1. Hoofuckingrah

  2. A wife’s needs

  3. The Mafia

  4. A little psycho

  5. Because

  6. A disgrace

  7. What's a Bitcoin?

  8. All Apologies

  9. Forgive Me

  10. Worshiping the Devil

  11. Come hither

  12. Its taboo nature

  13. A cocaine fountain

  14. Sock and Buskin

  15. Maybe she is the one

  16. Brave

  17. Shiny-as-fuck Oxfords

  18. Dona Cora

  19. Simon says

  20. Is me!

  21. Wanna party?

  22. Kane isn’t able

  23. Moon dust

  24. Blue Tequila

  25. Spread your legs

  26. Possible Suspect: Dreamy

  27. Her Dark Lover

  28. Masquerade

  29. Not today

  30. Peter Piper motherfucker

  31. The problem with Americans

  32. Martyr no more

  33. The Master Bedroom

  34. Catatonia

  35. Tighter

  36. Christmas in November

  37. It’s not kopi Luwak

  38. Shadow heart

  39. Home

  40. Firestarting

  41. Closure

  42. Newbs tended to disagree

  43. Carbon to diamond

  44. A real DEA agent

  45. Not Enough Glasses

  46. Rescue the Princess

  47. Unholy Fire

  48. Consummation

  49. Absolution

  50. She’s got the fire

  51. Something black

  52. Put some ice on it

  53. Someone to protect her

  54. Someone to warm her bed

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Also by Logan Fox

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Disclaimer

  Previously published under the title:

  “Possessed by the Devil”

  Please note that this book contains dark subject matter that may be considered triggers for some.

  For Juan

  You are the sun and moon to me.

  Prologue

  “Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it.”

  Mark Twain

  1

  Hoofuckingrah

  Downtown Marfa was shiny-slick with rain. A light drizzle still fell, so Kane Price put up the collar of his jacket as he jogged to the convenience store across the road. He’d stayed in town in case the black SUV returned. Although he now knew where Javier Martin lived, without backup from the DEA office in Albuquerque he could do sweet fuck-all about it.

  He’d sent a detailed email to his Captain earlier today. Fredericks sometimes took a while to get through his mail if there were working a case, but he’d hoped to have heard something by now.

  Kane grabbed a six-pack of energy drinks and went to the counter.

  “Russian Bear,” he said, pointing at a half-pint behind the counter. “And a pack of Gunston,” he added. He had half a pack back at the motel, but he already knew he’d be up all night waiting for the Captain to reply. Might as well save himself another trip.

  “Ten-thirty-five,” the clerk said, holding out his hand.

  Kane gave him his credit card, staring out at the rain-soaked road as he waited.

  “You got another?” the clerk asked, handing Kane back his card.

  Kane frowned at him. “Why?”

  Had the clerk looked down at the name on the card? He hadn’t been paying attention.

  Motherfuck. Since when didn’t he pay goddamn attention?

  “Declined,” the clerk said, showing him the read out on the card machine. “Should I try again?”

  “No,” Kane muttered, opening his wallet. He took out two bills and handed them over to the clerk.

  As soon as he had his change, he hurried back across the road to his motel.

  He paused in front of his door, and detoured half a block down the road. There, he tossed the credit card into a trash can he passed before turning back.

  Closing the motel room’s door with his back, Kane ran a hand through his hair as he tugged on his cigarette.

  Out of cash again.

  “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, pushing away from the door and dropping his shopping bag on the table. He went over to the window and drew aside the edge of the curtain to peer out.

  The road was empty.

  He opened his laptop and hit refresh.

  No response from the Captain yet. He itched to pull out his cellphone and call the man, but he knew that would just piss him off.

  Out of cash.

  If he didn’t have a cent to his name, how the hell was he supposed to get anywhere with his investigation? His toys—the tech he used to get the intel he needed—were expensive. And he’d need plenty if the Captain would be a hard ass by ignoring him the whole fucking day.

  Snatching his car keys from the table, Kane opened a can, drank a quarter, and topped it up with the vodka.

  He started up his Jeep and pulled into the road, setting his wipers to slow as he cruised down the road. As he drove, the neighborhood became seedier. Graffiti popped up on the walls like urban lichen; an indicator that helped him find his way through any urban forest.

  A few minutes later, he spotted a bright pink Dry Mac. He could barely make out who huddled under it, but a plume of cigarette smoke beckoned him like the flick of a finger.

  He slowed his Jeep. The girl in the Dry Mac crouched beside the wall, her back to it and her head hanging down. It looked like she was busy on her phone. He touched the car horn with the side of his thumb.

  The girl’s head jerked up at the sound. She hurriedly stashed her phone away in a pocket, grabbed an over-sized handbag from the sidewalk and tottered toward him in suicidally tall pumps.

  He opened the window a crack. “Hey, honey. What are you doing outside here in the rain?”

  She must have smelled a trap. Her muddy brown eyes flickered over his face before darting inside the car. He kept the interior immaculate. “My guy’s running a little late.”

  “You need a lift?”

  Another hesitation. “You a cop?”

  “I’d have to tell you if I was, wouldn’t I?”

  “Yeah,” she drawled, taking a long pull at her smoke. “But they don’t always do.”

  “Come on. You’re getting soaked.” Kane pulled out the hundred-dollar bill he’d folded around five ones. It didn’t matter that it was all the money he
had left—it wasn’t like he planned on giving it to her. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  The hooker’s eyes flashed to the wadded-up notes. She scanned both sides of the street and then lifted her chin. “Got to be back here in twenty minutes.”

  Perfect — her pimp hadn’t come by to collect his earnings yet. Meant she probably had a kay, if not more, on her. Pretty thing like her, maybe even two kay. That she was working in the rain meant she had regulars to satisfy.

  And now him.

  “I only need ten,” Kane said to himself as she made her way around the car. Her long legs ate up the distance easily, despite her heels. A gust of wind ripped the hood from her head, sending her shoulder length black hair flying.

  “Mmm…” He tapped a finger against the steering wheel as she opened the door. “Make that fifteen.”

  2

  A wife’s needs

  “Your wife wants to see you.”

  A shadow eclipsed Neo Martin. Honestly, he’d expected Milo Finn; of all Cora’s lackeys, he seemed to be Numero Uno. But his second guess had been the lanky guy who could have doubled as an underwear model on those days when he wasn’t running to do Cora’s bidding.

  Neo sat up, ignoring Lars as he took up his glass. Sylvia sat up too, perhaps sensing that their time sunbathing on the villa’s patio was over. Neo put a hand out to her; Sylvia had made no secret of her feeling for Cora, especially after Cora had murdered his father in cold blood in front of a hundred guests.

  Sylvia sank back, a small sneer for Lars.

  “Nice to see you too, peaches,” Lars said, pointing a finger at her as he clicked his tongue.

  She rolled onto her back on her lounger and threw him a lazy finger.

  When Neo rose from his lounger and snagged his signed soccer jersey from the back, Santino appeared at the corner of his eye.

  Him he didn’t wave away—if Cora’s entire posse attended this meeting, he’d at least have someone at his back.

  Santino had come to him after the wedding, distraught at the news of Javier’s death. He’d been too busy to attend the ceremony, which meant he’d missed the execution. Which was for the best; Santino had been close with Javier.

  He followed Lars through the villa, Santino trailing them.

  Strange, but he’d thought everything in this place would remind him of his mother, but only a few things triggered thoughts of her: the statue of Santa Muerte — the one she’d been so hell bent on getting rid of, the smell of coffee, sunsets.

  Gabriella’d loved sunsets.

  During their trip to France, those few times they’d been together before twilight, she’s insisted they sit on a balcony in sight of the sunset. She wouldn’t say a word as she watched the sky’s magnificent performance; margarita in one hand and a long, thin cigarette in the other.

  Javier hadn’t known she’d smoked.

  Maybe he hadn’t even known she’d been a coke fiend; their marriage had one of convenience.

  It was ironic; Javier despised the concept of arranged marriages since his parents had forced him into one with Gabriella, but he’d still made it Neo’s fate.

  In the grander scheme of things, his father had most likely understood the importance of something so archaic. The need to create a bond. To force someone’s hand.

  Nothing in this godforsaken place reminded him of the waste of skin that was Javier Martin.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Lars said, glancing back at him. “Guess you don’t take after that delightful father of yours.”

  Neo gritted his teeth. “Got a lot on my mind.”

  They headed toward one of the villa’s conference rooms. Javier rarely had meetings on site, but obviously he’d made sure the villa had three conference rooms included in the plans in case he ever changed his mind.

  This room was one of the smaller ones. Inside, several chairs encircled a long rectangle of a table. A larger swivel chair sat at the head of the table, behind which an aquarium filled with vacant-eyed fish swimming idly from one end of the tank to the other.

  Cora sat in that chair. The big guy, Milo, stood behind her with his hands gripped in front of him, legs wide and shoulders relaxed.

  A guard’s pose.

  Santino’s presence was even more welcome now as the atmosphere thickened with anticipation when he stepped inside.

  What the hell were they waiting for?

  “What?” he asked.

  Cora wore a slim-fitting black dress, her color of choice after the wedding. Her hair was loose instead of pulled back from her face. Her lips a touch darker than usual.

  Did that mean something?

  He could read a player on a soccer field as easily a large-print children’s book, but this? He’d left politics and that crap to his mother. She’d been able to tell from a single glance if a girl was into him or not. Whether someone was straight, gay, bi, or confused past the point of modern terminology. Whether they had money, were pretending to have money, or weren’t bothered either way.

  But she wouldn’t be able to tell him anything anymore, thanks to the bitch staring at him with eyes the color of dead fall leaves.

  Cora sat forward and put her hands on the table in front of her. The ruby on her marriage finger gleamed at him like a wink from a plague-infested eye.

  Why was she still wearing the ring? Was that supposed to mean something too?

  “We have to decide the way forward for our cartel.”

  One of the new guys—a muscular guy that wore vests to show off his tattoos—pulled back a chair beside Cora.

  Her right hand.

  Neo snorted, ignoring the chair. “We? We don’t have to decide anything.”

  “Of course we do. Our poppies are gone,” Cora said. “Are we going to plant more? How long do they take until they’re ready? Javier mentioned something about dealers. Do they know we have no product? Should we sell something else in the meantime?”

  “Something else?” he repeated slowly. He let out a bark of a laugh. “You don’t have a fucking clue about any of this, do you?”

  “And you do?” she snapped back.

  “More than you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “We decide on everything together. We make plans together.” She waved a regal hand toward the chair. “Please sit.”

  “You’re capo in name, that’s it.” He took a few steps forward, hesitating when this made the giant behind Cora stiffen his shoulders. Neo stabbed a thumb against his own chest. “I’m his son.”

  Cora spread her fingers on the table’s surface. Her eyes were unflinching as she studied him from across the room. “Javier announced us both in front of the cartel.”

  “You’re forgetting…I’m also your husband,” Neo said, striding forward and falling into the seat beside her. He leaned forward, putting his fingertips on the table and moving them towards her. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  There was the tiniest flicker in her eyes, but that could have meant anything.

  She had to realize not only did an arranged marriage hold weight in Mexico, but that husbands always had more power than their wives. In fact, she should have been all subservient and shit to him. That Javier had made her capo didn’t change her gender. It didn’t change her rights. As long as they remained married, her vote hardly counted at all.

  Movement made Neo turn his head; Santino leaned against the closest wall, a toothpick dangling from his mouth like he was an extra in a western movie.

  “Which is why you’re going to Mexico to annul our marriage.” Cora sat forward, which made the two men in Neo’s sights tense even more. She dropped her voice. “Neither of us wanted this, Neo.”

  He’d had a lot of time to think things through the past few days. He’d even spoken to Javier’s lawyer about it — for the brief few moments he’d been able to get hold of him on the phone. The jerk was ghosting him, and he figured it was because he was scrambling to make sense of Javier’s finances befor
e presenting it to Neo.

  But his conclusion about their arranged marriage had been the polar opposite of Cora’s.

  “You’re wrong.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Our marriage is the only thing Javier ever got right in his miserable life.”

  Cora’s eyes went wide. For a moment, she looked like the frightened little girl she was. Not yet twenty-one and dressing up in her mother’s clothes so she could pretend to be a woman.

  Resolution filled those eyes, filming her irises with golden frost.

  “Your father was a despicable human being!” she spat, thumping the table with a small fist. “He should have died in his mother’s womb! He should have—”

  Milo stepped forward, laying a hand on Cora’s shoulder. She immediately shrugged him off, but then sat back and dragged her flattened hands over the table with her. She took a visible breath that pressed her breasts hard into her dress’s bust.