Their Cartel Princess: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance Box Set

by Fox, Logan

  Ronan slid his fingers down her smooth legs and hooked a finger behind one stiletto. She kicked it off, dropping more than an inch when they were both off.

  They were almost at eye level now, Shayla standing slightly taller than him. Not ideal, but better.

  Knackered as he was, this was turning into a fun game. Would Shayla be as predictable as he suspected, or would she surprise him before she slunk out of here like a whipped dog?

  “I’m married,” Ronan said casually as if they were discussing the weather.

  “I know,” Shayla replied.

  “And that doesn’t concern you?”

  “Should it?”

  “What if someone finds out?”

  She studied him. “Men have needs.” She extended a hand, draping it over his naked shoulder. “It’s understandable if one woman can’t meet them all.”

  Shayla wasn’t special. Any second now, she’d start undressing. Baring her breasts. Her underwear. Waiting for him to make the next move.

  Ronan unbuckled his pants, slid out the strip of leather, and folded it in half. Holding it by the buckle, he ran the loop over his other palm.

  Shayla’s eyes dropped and returned a touch wider than before.

  “You’re right,” he said, his voice so low it sounded like a growl. “For one, Darcy can’t stand pain.”

  Shayla took a step back before stiffening. A bright pink tongue came out to wet her lips. She blinked, looked speechless, and slowly began undressing.

  Certainly ambitious.

  Definitely attractive.

  But how determined was she to succeed?

  When she stood only in her underwear in front of him, he stepped aside and gestured to the bed. She went obediently, but hesitated after she’d slid her knees onto the mattress.

  He cracked his belt over his palm. The sound made Shayla jerk like a physical slap. She glanced at him over her shoulder, eyes wide with anticipation.

  “I… I don’t think—” she began, starting to slide off the bed again.

  “Oh no,” Ronan said, grabbing the scruff of her neck and forcing her onto the bed. “Decision’s been made, girl.”

  * * *

  Shayla’s heart hammered a frantic tempo against her breastbone and her pulse flickered in her fingertips where she gripped the Ronan’s dark coverlet. He released her neck and she shoved herself to all fours.

  He moved behind her, but she couldn’t bear to turn her head and watch.

  Something brushed her ass, and she flinched before she realized it was his hand. He tugged her lace thong an inch higher, exposing more of her ass.

  He touched her again, this time running his palm over her flank like he was stroking a horse. Again, and again — first one cheek, then the other.

  Christ, it shouldn’t have, but this was turning her on. The fact that it was Ronan King standing behind her helped. He had a trim body for someone his age. And those tattoos? Some had faded, some as bright as if he’d had them done a few months ago. Almost no part of his exposed flesh had been left untouched, except his neck and wrists.

  And, of course, she had no idea about the lower part of his body.

  Fingers dimpled her flesh, Ronan now massaging her. She licked her lips as she closed her eyes and lost herself to that relaxing sensation.

  The fingers disappeared.

  She let out a soft sigh, her head hanging between her arms.

  A hand gripped the back of her neck and shoved her face first onto the bed again. She struggled and tried to lie flat.

  Ronan tsked at her and used a hand in the curve of her hip to drag her ass up into the air again.

  “Are you comfortable?” It sounded as if his words came through a toothy smile.

  “No,” she replied in a strangled voice.

  “Good.”

  The first blow came from the flat of his hand. It struck her ass right on the fleshiest bit. She let out a surprised gasp. Her skin stung, sure, but it wasn’t as bad as—

  Another blow. This time, to the other side. Somehow, that one stung more.

  Again. She let out a small ‘ah’ that became louder the third time around.

  By the fourth round of slaps, she began struggling in earnest. Her ass burned like Ronan had spilled scalding water on it. The flesh beneath thumped with wave after wave of dry, hot heat.

  But the hand on the back of her neck kept her in place.

  “Ronan, please,” she managed, forcing the words through her constricted throat. “Please, I can’t—”

  “And here I thought y’had determination,” he said.

  He released her. She scrambled for the other side of the bed, but a hand caught her ankle and dragged her back. Her stomach thumped to the bed seconds before her legs slid off the side.

  Thank god - he was letting her leave.

  She’d been an idiot, coming here. He’d obviously taken offense and was punishing her for being so goddamn forward. It would serve her right—

  A band of leather struck her ass. She fell against the bed, her hips right against the edge.

  When she spun her head back to look at Ronan, he was wearing a small smile, and nothing else.

  His cock stood proud from a body marbled with ink.

  She’d been so shocked, she hadn’t even cried out. But when he raised his arm again, the belt dangling from his hand, she rushed to her feet.

  “Please, no!”

  His arm sank. He watched her, seeming too tall, too broad, in his nakedness. He gave his head a small toss, shaking silver hair from his eyes. “Some women can never meet their men’s needs.”

  Shayla’s skin prickled. She skimmed her fingertips over her rump. Where she’d expected pain, she only felt a heightened awareness. Her skin thrummed as if she’d been electrocuted.

  So this was what he needed? This was what Darcy couldn’t give him? No fucking wonder — who the fuck could put up with this abuse?

  But it wasn’t, was it? It was obvious it turned him on, but as soon as she’d begged him to stop, he softened. He could only be into it if she was.

  Ronan dropped the belt, went to the bedroom door, and flung it open.

  Shayla gathered up her clothes, wincing when they slid over her skin, and hurried out the door. It slammed shut behind her, and the sound made her pause mid-step, her eyes squeezing shut.

  When she opened them again, she saw a figure further down the hallway.

  Owen. Waiting, watching.

  Had he heard her gasps, the crack of the belt?

  She passed him with her head down and her eyes fixed on the carpet. There’d been no time to put her stilettos back on — they dangled from her fingers as she walked past Owen.

  She was nearly at the foot of the stairs when he spoke behind her.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” Owen said casually.

  Shayla hesitated and took a step before halting. Well, it was kinda fucking obvious, wasn’t it? And the funniest thing was, she was doing the walk of shame having nothing to be fucking ashamed about. Not if a few spanks could count.

  “It won’t work.” His voice was closer now. She glanced over her shoulder — he stood less than a yard away, studying her attentively. “You’re not strong enough.”

  He turned and walked down the hallway. Stopping outside Ronan’s room door, he knocked and let himself in.

  She clenched her teeth, swung around, and thumped down the stairs.

  Stronger stuff? Neither of them had seen anything yet.

  16

  Serious Shit

  “Milo. Milo!”

  Finn sat up in a rush. The tendrils of a strange dream evaporated from his mind as he focused on Lars’s face. His green eyes were wide, his skin a touch paler than usual.

  He glanced to the side, but he was alone in the bed.

  And the house felt empty.

  “She’s gone,” Finn said.

  Lars opened his mouth but gave a nod instead.

  “Fuck,” Finn muttered, getting out of bed. For o
nce, he didn’t even care that he wore only his briefs; his disfigured skin was the least of his worries. “How long?”

  “No idea. I was out cold.”

  “Yeah,” Finn said in a low rumble. “I’m guessing that was her plan.”

  “Her…? Come on, Milo. She didn’t…” But Lars’s voice trailed away. “Fucking hell, she did, didn’t she?”

  “Did she take a car?”

  “Not unless she had someone teach her how to drive it real quick,” Lars replied dryly.

  Shit, she couldn’t drive. None of them had shown her how yet; wise back when she had been in the habit of doing stupid things like this.

  Had he known it wouldn’t have helped one way or the other, he’d have taught her. Finn dragged jeans and a long-sleeved shirt from the closet. Clean underwear, socks.

  “So how did she—?” He cut off when he caught sight of Lars patting his pockets.

  “My phone.” Lars pressed his eyes closed.

  “How did she—?”

  “Because she kept going on about Bailey, and I was sick of it. I mean, if he’s sleeping around, then we’ll find out eventually and boot his ass to the curb. But she was downright fucking obsessing about it yesterday.”

  Finn paused, hand on the bathroom’s door handle. “He’s not back yet?”

  “Now you’re starting with this shit?” Lars threw his hands up. “I think we have bigger things to worry about than—”

  “You’re right.” Finn shoved open the door and went to empty his bladder, yelling at Lars over his shoulder. “Bailey isn’t off seeing someone. He got himself involved in this somehow.”

  Lars came into the bathroom behind him. “What makes you think that?”

  “He’s been suspicious of Kane since we first met. Now Kane pops up, and Cora has to decide if she’s willing to risk her safety for him? What do you think Bailey’s gonna do?”

  “Bailey’s gonna go and dig up some dirt,” Lars said quietly. “Make sure she has no reason to go after Kane.”

  “Except, for some reason, he thinks he’s got it covered. So he doesn’t tell us. He just goes off by himself like a fucking idiot.”

  He caught Lars shifting uncomfortably in the doorway as he rushed to the sink to wash his hands. He paused, staring hard at Lars’s reflection in the mirror above the vanity. “Lars.”

  The man looked up, hesitated, and dropped his gaze. “I may… or may not… have had a certain discussion with Bailey…”

  “Jesus, what did you do?” Finn spun around, stripping and dressing as fast as he could while glaring at Lars.

  “He was going on about how he betrayed Cora, and felt useless around here, and he didn’t fit in…”

  “So you told him to go and sniff around the Irish fucking mafia?” Finn bellowed.

  Lars’s jaw bunched, and he finally looked up. Remorse vied with the defiance in his eyes. “I told him to grow a pair and do something nice for her. He obviously took it—”

  Finn pushed past Lars, headed for the bedroom door. “Jesus.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “We’ve gotta track that phone of yours. You still have that find service activated?”

  “Yeah,” Lars said grumpily. “Christ, I need coffee. I can’t even think straight.”

  “Coffee isn’t your problem, Lars,” Finn said in a low growl. He glanced at the man over his shoulder. “Next time, use your fucking brain before you go around giving other people advice.”

  Lars flinched at the words, his lips going into a thin line. He stopped walking and was still standing there in the hallway by the time Finn shoved open the study door.

  17

  Scream my name

  The sun was setting, but a pall of smoke turned the light gloomy around Javier’s Texan compound. Black and gray ash floated through the air like dirty snow, clinging to her eyelashes and hair.

  Cora’s dress swirled around her ankles as she strode up the aisle.

  Milo, Lars, and Bailey stood to one side, resplendent in their golden tuxedos. To the other side, Sylvia and Ana.

  Where was Gabriella?

  Her hand lay on someone’s arm — Javier? — but she couldn’t turn her head to look. The altar trapped her gaze.

  She had no control over her body. It seemed she was just along for the ride.

  Instead of the wedding march, the only sound was someone humming a song. She should have been able to recognize it, but she couldn’t.

  In the middle of the altar where Neo was supposed to be, sat Kane. He was in the same chair she’d seen in the video, not bound this time, and stark naked. Naked and gleaming with sweat. His long hair dangled in wet ribbons over his eyes.

  His smile grew the closer she came. The humming grew louder. Ash choked the air, nearly obscuring the altar.

  “Did you miss me?” Kane asked, voice low and sensuous. “Because I missed you, Eleodora.”

  He threw his head back as he laughed, cords standing proud on his neck. His head snapped forward again, and he wore an entirely different expression.

  As if he was an entirely different person.

  The humming stopped abruptly. She took the first step, then the second.

  The man who’d been walking her down the aisle gripped her wrist, turning her to face him so he could kiss her in blessing. Her father’s face, although lined with age, shone with pride and joy.

  “Who’s the lucky groom?” her father asked, his smile growing rigid. He waved a hand at Kane, and she shook her head. A blush formed on her cheeks, warm even through the dream. “One of them?” Tony asked, sweeping his hand toward her three men.

  Again, she shook her head.

  Her father laughed, but it sounded strained. “Then who, mi corazon? Who are you marrying today?”

  “Me!”

  She spun on her heel. Her chest constricted as Javier walked down the aisle. His tuxedo gleamed despite the smudges of burned poppy ash smudging the fabric. That wide smile glittered even though bloodstained. And the mess that was his eye still managed a macabre wink in her direction, weeping optic fluid and gunk down his cheek.

  Cora screamed. Her father grabbed her shoulders, pecking both her cheeks. “A fine match, daughter,” he said quietly as she trembled in his arms. “A fine match indeed.”

  “No, Papa, please!” her voice was breathless, and her struggles as pathetic as a newly born kitten. Javier took the stairs, shaking Tony’s hand as he took his place in front of Kane.

  Tony took Javier’s hand, pressing Cora’s fingers into his palm and giving them both a shake. Tears glittered in his eyes as he looked first at Javier, then at her.

  I trust you will find it in your heart to forgive me for what I’ve done to you.

  “Let’s get on with this!” Kane snapped. Her gaze flew to him, and he grinned at her. His chair was positioned where the priest should have been, and he spread his arms as if welcoming the congregation to a Sunday sermon.

  “We are gathered here today to bear witness of the union between La Sombra and El Guapo.”

  A hush of muted voices swept over Cora. She turned to face Javier. He took both her hands, toying with the ruby around her finger as he grinned at her. The slits in his throat gaped like hungry mouths at her, dribbles of coagulating blood trickling down to stain his once pristine shirt.

  “If there is anyone who believes these two should not—”

  “I object!”

  Cora turned startled eyes on Kane. He’d interrupted himself, his face back to that twisted, near demonic expression he’d worn on the video she’d seen earlier today. Aware of pain, but welcoming it like a cherished friend.

  Kane shot to his feet, slender body corded with muscles. Erect, dripping sweat, grinning as he fought through his pain.

  “You’re mine, you cartel whore. You hear me? Mine!”

  He grabbed her arms, ripping her away from Javier. Then he spun her around, hiking up her skirts to her hips. She screamed, tried to kick, and struggled furiously until she slipped f
ree.

  “Where you going?” Kane rasped, reaching for her. She ran headlong into Milo, gripping the front of his tuxedo.

  “Help me!” she yelled, staring into his eyes.

  His face was carved from ice. He took her hands, pulled her free, and held her back. Lars came to her side, mouth twisted in a sulk, and grabbed the sleeve of her dress. He ripped it down as Bailey came to her other side, eyes downcast, and a frown on his forehead.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously. “Why are you—?”

  Bailey yanked down her other sleeve, and after a futile struggle, her dress lay by her ankles.

  Cora screamed, tugging and pulling to get her arms free from Finn’s grip. Lars grabbed her one hip, Bailey the other.

  A fourth set of hands trailed down her back before gently cupping her ass.

  Warmth flowed over her back—a body flush with hers. Damp with sweat, the flesh radiating heat.

  And still naked. Kane’s cock pressed against her entrance as he brought his lips to her ear.

  “Simon says, scream my name, bitch.”

  18

  Unworthy

  Bailey sat staring out the window of his guest room in Mallhaven. Ironic; he was as much a guest as Ronan was a fucking businessman.

  He could have blamed Shayla. But, while she’d been implicit, he had only his own stupidity to thank for still trusting her as if they were street kids. They’d never have betrayed each other.

  Fuck. The time he’d been busted for possession… had that been her ratting him out to the cops in self-defense. He’d spent a year in juvie at the age of seventeen.

  That was when he’d decided to go straight and narrow. At least, as much as someone with his past could. He’d become a bodyguard, eventually ending up on Javier Martin’s radar. Javier had not only chosen him because he was young; he also didn’t have any affiliation with other cartels, or mobs.

  And now he was neck deep in both.