Their Cartel Princess: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance Box Set

by Fox, Logan

  The dog came back to lick her arm, but her body was too heavy for her to move it away.

  Cora blinked. Blinked again.

  Dios mio, she didn’t need hallucinations on top of everything else right now.

  But no matter how much she blinked, the bloated face in front of her didn’t waver.

  What was Angel doing here?

  Had he been sent to mock her, to remind her of what an idiot she was? She was more than aware—the universe could piss off now and stop being such a fucking bully.

  A fly settled on the corpse beside her—on Angel’s temple.

  But it wasn’t Angel. This boy was younger, his face plumper. Or was that just because of the level of decomposition?

  Bile burnt the back of Cora’s throat, and she hurriedly turned her head back to face the dog. It looked up at her without slowing the warm licks it worked over her upper arm.

  “Good boy,” she said with a thick tongue.

  With monumental effort, she propped herself up on one elbow.

  There were two dogs: the white-furred one licking her arm, and another a few feet away. The other lay curled up on a small rug, watching her with dull, impassive eyes. Both dogs had scruffy fur, a hollowness in their eyes, and white rime around their noses.

  “Good boy.” Her voice made the white dog’s tail whisk happily, and briefly stayed its intense licking.

  Cora brought herself into a sit. Flies buzzed angrily around her, as if pissed that she’d disturbed them.

  The white dog stepped back, and its collar jangled softly. Cora stretched out a hand. She probably shouldn’t try and touch a strange dog, but any trace of fear had dissolved right alongside pain. She felt around the dog’s neck until the small badge bumped against her finger.

  “Lady,” she read with difficulty, having to blink and force her eyes to focus on the small writing. “Good girl, Lady.”

  Hearing its name, the dog promptly sat.

  Whisk, whisk went its tail against the bare wooden floors.

  “Lady,” Cora said, and attempted to stand.

  Surprisingly, she managed on the first go. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she had the feeling that the corpse on the bed had also sat up. Had also swung its legs over the side of the bed. Was also coming to a stand, leaning to one side.

  Cora stumbled forward a step, and would have fallen if she hadn’t made a mad grab and found the dog’s shoulder.

  “Good girl,” Cora mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut as the world tilted for a moment. “You’re a strong doggie,” she said, and her voice broke for a moment. “So strong.”

  The dog’s muscles moved under her fingers as she hobbled for a rectangle of dark light that had to be the room’s exit.

  Why was it so quiet?

  Where was the person who’d brought her here, the dogs’s master?

  She heard footsteps behind her. Soft, bare feet.

  Swallowing hard, Cora forced herself to go faster. She pushed away from the dog and found her balance, but Lady stuck to her side, giving her the odd lick as if encouraging her.

  Hey, look at you go! Just a few more steps. You can do it, human!

  The overwhelming smell was still burning wood—like a forest fire—but as she made her way down an endless passage, garlic and onion gradually replaced it.

  A beacon of light caught her eye, and Cora turned to it. A fireplace with a single, empty armchair. She stepped forward, but Lady blocked her way with an enthusiastic, sharp-toothed grin and a swishing tail.

  No, not that way. This way. Toward the food. Aren’t you hungry, human? I’m hungry.

  And, true enough, the dog licked at Cora’s bloody hand again, as if to reinforce the fact. The dog’s pronounced ribs and jutting hip bones suggested that Lady could eat a horse.

  Possibly, while it was still conscious.

  With Lady guiding her, Cora eventually made it into the dining room. A long wooden table, piled with dirty dishes, filled most of the room. She sat in the first available seat, glad at the respite. Walking was too difficult right now.

  Lady put her head in Cora’s lap, and Cora attempted to pat her. When the dog’s ears pricked up, and her tail began to swish with renewed enthusiasm, Cora looked up.

  El Lobo stood in the doorway.

  He wiped his hands on a dish cloth, and absently draped it over his shoulder as he walked toward her.

  Every cell in her body wanted to flee, but instead she just watched him approach. Her lips moved, trying to yell for help, but not a sound left her.

  “I see you’ve met Lady,” Zachary said.

  Maybe it was just the light in the room that painted such dark smudges under his eyes, but he looked tired.

  Her mind raced back to the bloated body on the bed.

  No, it wasn’t just the light.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  As if he’d been speaking to it and not Cora, Lady let out a low bark. Zachary’s eyes darted to it, and he tsked the animal under his breath. Then his gaze was back on Cora.

  “No,” she said. Her voice sounded like it came from far away. A hollow echo.

  Zachary waved a hand at the dirty dishes, the unswept floor, the stained carpet. “My apologies for the state of the place—I had to fire my employees.”

  “Oh.” The voice was hers, but she definitely wasn’t in control of it. If she had be, she’d be screaming at this calm, tired man to let her go. To tell her what he wanted with her.

  But she already knew.

  She wasn’t bound—which meant he was comfortable in the knowledge that she couldn’t run away. They’d driven far, but they were probably still in America. Did that mean he was confident no one would find her?

  A tear slid down her face, but both the salty liquid and the cheek it trailed down belonged to someone else.

  “All of them?” she asked.

  “They weren’t performing, you understand?” Zachary said, coming closer. He wore a button up shirt with beige-colored slacks. The shirt’s long sleeves had been rolled up to mid-arm. The skin of his left arm was disfigured with the marbled scars of burn marks. The right had been bound with a bandage, now stained with blood.

  So she had cut him. Not that it mattered. Nothing she ever did mattered. She was weak, and pathetic. An idiot who’d assumed she was untouchable. Unbreakable.

  “That’s sad,” her robot voice said.

  “It is,” Zachary agreed, with a bob of his head. Then, through a sigh, “It really is. But, at least we have some privacy.”

  Was that why he’d brought her here? To fill this large, empty house? Maybe he was lonely, despite his two dogs. Despite the body in the bed.

  “Who’s sleeping?” she said.

  “What?” Zachary came to a stop a foot away from her and tilted his head, as if confused by the question.

  “In the bed.” Why couldn’t she stop talking? She didn’t want to know who was in the bed. She wanted to call for help. Make a run for it.

  Would her men ever find her? Had Zachary left a clue that would help them track her down?

  But, judging from Zachary’s newly pressed clothes, the careful parting of his brown hair, the intent way he studied her…

  El Lobo didn’t make mistakes. El Lobo didn’t leave clues for others to find.

  “Is Marco still sleeping?” Zachary asked with a laugh in his voice. “That boy…he loves to lie in.”

  “He sure does.”

  The surrealism of the moment drenched her mind like anesthetic. Here she was, having a polite conversation about a dead body with her kidnapper. And, worst of all, they were both pretending he was still alive.

  “Is he going to join us?” she asked. “For dinner?”

  “No.” Zachary’s voice dropped a little. “I don’t think he’ll feel up to it.”

  “Okay.”

  A nose pushed into Cora’s palm, and she looked down. Lady began licking her hand again. The dog had gotten most of the blood off her except a little by her cuticles—drippin
g red popsicle—and the crease of her thumb.

  She heard a scraping noise, and when she looked up, Zachary was inches away, having taken a seat beside her.

  A normal person would have screamed.

  She just blinked at him and asked, “When are you going to kill me?”

  28

  Masquerade

  Finn emerged on the first floor of the hotel, fighting a sneeze. It was dusty up here, and mold clung to every particle of air that made it into his nose and lungs. Santino waited outside a door a few yards down the hallway, facing Finn and Bailey as they came closer. Neo’s lieutenant gave Finn a nod before opening the door and standing aside so they could enter.

  It was a husk of a room; bare and peeling walls, debris congregating in the corners, a rickety chair in the middle of the otherwise empty space.

  A man sat on the chair, arms and legs cable-tied to the wood. He wasn’t wearing a gag, but from the tight set of his wide mouth, he didn’t plan on speaking any time soon.

  “This him?” Neo asked, pointing a limp hand in the man’s direction.

  “Bailey?” Finn glanced at Bailey over his shoulder.

  Gray eyes narrowed, and then Bailey moved his gaze to Finn and gave him a curt nod. Finn lunged forward, drew back an arm, and caught the guy a solid punch to his jaw.

  Beside the crack of knuckles against bone, there was no other sound in the room.

  Fuck; he’d expected at least a grunt of pain.

  Instead, the man straightened his head and grinned at Finn with a Hollywood smile that lit up his eyes.

  “You search him?” Finn asked, hand already diving inside the man’s suit.

  “Didn’t want to touch him until you got here,” Neo said immediately. “You hear anything about Cora yet?”

  Finn shook his head. “You?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know how they could have gotten her out. Front’s still locked.”

  “And the back, by the kitchen?”

  “That doesn’t go anywhere, does it? I mean, you’d have to climb a fence to—”

  “You think a fucking fence is going to stop someone?” Bailey snapped from behind him.

  “Listen—” Neo began.

  “Enough!” Finn straightened, sharing a glare between the two of them. “You two, out.”

  Both Bailey and Neo’s eyebrows shot up.

  “But—” Bailey said.

  “Now.” It came out as a low growl. Either that or the look on his face was enough to convince both men that they’d be safer outside than in here with him.

  His beast purred appreciatively, eager to sink its claws into the man tied up in the chair without witnesses to interrupt.

  Which was exactly why Finn wouldn’t allow himself a second punch.

  A second would lead to a third, a third to a fourth…and what good would a corpse be to him?

  As soon as the door closed behind Neo and Bailey, Finn went to work searching the man. This brought their faces close together. The man made no attempt to hide how he scanned Finn’s features, and Finn didn’t bother looking away. His beast grew more and more restless the longer they maintained eye contact, as if unhappy with the slowly building apprehension tainting the air.

  “What’s your name?” Finn asked.

  “Peter.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  A flash of what could have been surprise glittered over the man’s dark eyes. His lips slowly curved into a smile. “Peter,” he said again, slower this time.

  “Fine, Peter.” His fingers touched something, and he pulled it out a second later. A bag of small white pills. “What are these?”

  “Rohypnol,” Peter replied cheerily.

  Finn’s heart gave a slow, hard thump against his breast bone. “You drugged her?”

  Peter’s eyes were bright, intelligent, and wrong. Finn’s beast sniffed at the air, and recoiled.

  Those weren’t the eyes of a sane man.

  “She was drugged,” Peter said, “But not by me.”

  Finn closed his hands over the package. “And Lars?”

  “Who?”

  “Tall, blond guy.” A sneer found its way onto Finn’s mouth. “You two could have done a fucking photo shoot together?”

  “Oh, him?” Peter’s eyes gleamed. “Yeah, that was me.”

  Calm. Focus. Fucking zen.

  A corpse would be no good to him.

  “Where is she?” he spoke carefully, but couldn’t help the way his words shook.

  Peter studied him for a second. “Don’t know. Someone took her.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know. We were all wearing masks.”

  “You’re not alone?”

  “Everyone at the party,” the man corrected. Then his gaze slid away from Finn, studying the room, the gaping windows, the moon hanging in the sky. It was the sole source of illumination in the room, but it was bright enough that it did a spectacular job of highlighting the man’s features. “But, also, I’m not alone.”

  A blow torch of irritation flowered inside Finn’s chest. He grabbed Peter’s throat, giving it a warning squeeze while he tried to ignore the howl of his beast.

  “How many?”

  “An entire SWAT team.”

  Finn studied him for a second. “You’re lying.”

  Those eyes gave away nothing. “There’s a pocket hidden in the lining of my jacket. Right along the inner seam. Has all the proof you need.”

  Finn didn’t break eye contact as his hand darted inside the man’s jacket. He felt along the lining until his fingers touched a reinforced seam. He slid his hand inside and touched metal.

  The DEA badge felt too heavy in his palm when he drew it out.

  Finn looked up at Peter again.

  Long dark hair, dark eyes.

  “You put the tracker on Gabriella’s truck,”

  Finn said.

  It wasn’t a question, but Peter cocked his head and drew his brows together. “Was that her name?”

  Fuck.

  The DEA, just as Bailey had suspected. It wasn’t a surprise, of course. If the DEA had caught wind of Javier’s announcement, they’d have been eager to try and locate ECV’s new capos. Especially those that didn’t have as much experience in laying low as their veteran forerunner, Javier.

  But how the fuck had they found out about this place?

  Finn slowly turned to the door. Then he glanced back at Peter. “How’d you find out about this party?”

  “One of the guests,” Peter said innocently, his smile never shifting.

  “Who?”

  Peter studied him for a moment before giving a small shrug. “Zachary West.”

  Finn’s face prickled hot and cold as blood drained from it. “Fuck,” he muttered urgently, squeezing the badge so hard that it cut into his palm as he ran for the door.

  When he flung it open, Bailey’s lifeless body toppled into the room.

  29

  Not today

  The clink of cutlery against porcelain forced Cora’s eyes open. She blinked a few times before she could focus on what had made the noise.

  She had a plate in front of her. A piece of steak, bloody-rare, oozed pinkish blood onto the pale porcelain. Tiny little red roses flecked with gold rimmed the plate. Someone had a knife and fork over her plate, and they were sawing away a small slice of fillet.

  “Open,” came a voice beside her.

  Cora lifted her head. Her eyes widened at the sight of Zachary, sitting beside her at a long dining room table.

  Her mouth fell open, and he slid the piece of meat past her lips. His attention was solely on her lips until she closed her mouth around the fork. Then he sat back, arms resting against the edge of the table as he gave her a warm smile.

  There was a warm, heavy weight on her feet. When she tried to move them, she felt it breathing.

  Lady.

  Memories popped into her mind like bubbles from a drowning body snapping open on the surface of a stagnant lake.

&
nbsp; The party.

  A car.

  Miguel in the trunk.

  Blood and a knife.

  Smoke in the air.

  Someone undressing her.

  Flies. A body.

  New clothes.

  Stale perfume and sweat.

  Lick, lick, lick.

  Dinner. Dirty plates. Zachary’s smile under shadowed eyes.

  Not today. That had been his answer to her question.

  Not today.

  But today was almost over, wasn’t it?

  Cora looked down. She could remember the events her memory provided…all except the undressing and the new clothes.

  She wore a satin blouse, cream with pearl buttons. A tight skirt that sat just above her knees. When she moved her head, hair didn’t brush her shoulders, but sat heavy and tight on her head.

  The scrape of metal against porcelain wrenched her head up. She watched Zachary slice another bite of beef and bring it to her mouth.

  She ate; chewing, but not tasting.

  “Do you like it?” Zachary asked. His eyes moved over her outfit. “It looks good on you.”

  She couldn’t maintain eye contact, so she looked over the dirty table again. Enough dishes for a full house, but emptiness pushed in around them like fog.

  Whoever was controlling her mouth asked, “Where is everyone?”

  The slightest flinch on Zachary’s face. Irritation? Confusion? “I had to let them go. They weren’t performing their duties.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “Don’t worry.” Zachary’s gaze bore into her. “We’re not staying long.”

  The weight on her feet stretched and let out a long sigh before going limp.

  She didn’t want more meat. She didn’t want Zachary to feed her. She wanted out of here, away from him, back with her men.

  If they’d ever take her back. They didn’t deserve a failure like her. She’d put them through hell, and still expected them to follow her.

  She’d never be a leader. How could she expect them to follow her?

  Her hand thumped down on the plate, rattling cutlery. The dog resting on her feet jerked up.

  “You don’t like it?” Zachary asked, a frown on his face.