Hitched to the Don (Dark Twisted Love Book 3)

by Logan Fox

  “What?”

  “I’ve missed you,” he said.

  She blinked back unexpected tears. “You have?”

  He was sitting in the same armchair as on their last night at the villa. Cora blushed, and Finn let out a low, deep laugh. “What?”

  “That chair,” she murmured.

  He tipped his chin up, and beckoned her closer. She went to him, standing a foot away and staring down at him. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her down, urging her onto his lap. He brushed the ball of his thumb against her cheek. “I was wondering if you’d scar,” he said.

  She brought a hand to her face, and then pursed her lips at him. “It’s so ugly, isn’t it?”

  “You know who has scars?”

  She shrugged a little. He was so warm under her, so solid. She couldn’t believe how much she’d missed being close to him. His smell. The feel of his body. That pull, the one her body responded to on some animal level.

  “Warriors.” Finn reached up, and trailed his fingers along her shoulders. He found one of the ridges standing up on her back, and she flinched.

  She’d never realized that he’d noticed them. They’d faded with age—that had been over a decade ago—but in the right light, you could still see those crosshatches on her back.

  “Who did this?” Finn asked, his blue eyes so intent she couldn’t keep eye contact.

  Cora looked down, and toyed with the collar of Finn’s t-shirt. “One of the…one of the men that took us. My mom and sister.”

  Finn’s face darkened, and he rubbed his hands over the tops of her thighs. “When you’re safe,” he murmured, brushing hair away from her face, “When we’re out of this mess…” He cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll find them and bring them to you. And you can decide how much they suffer.” He scanned her face, as if watching for a response.

  Shit, she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him Zachary had been one of those men. That she’d recognized that disfigured hand at the airport hangar. How it had turned her spine into jelly and her brain into mush. But the words wouldn’t come. Perhaps because she knew Finn would get a murderous look in his eyes. He might even decide to go after Zachary now. And she needed him here. Needed his strength. His solidity. Because, damn it, if her life wasn’t teetering on the brink of some screwed up fantasy world where people could just move her around like a pawn without bothering to get her consent.

  She leaned closer, putting her forehead against his. “I can’t marry that—”

  “Won’t happen,” Finn growled.

  He grabbed her hips, yanking her up against him. “Finn—”

  “You’re mine, Cora.”

  The possessiveness in his voice made her body ache for him.

  “If anyone’s going to marry you, it’ll be me.”

  She pushed away from him, blinking in surprise. “Oh?” Her voice held a note of laughter, but her heart beat at a frenzied pace inside her chest. “So now you own me?”

  “Of course I do.” Finn slid a hand around the back of her neck, drawing her so close that she could feel his breath on her lips when he spoke. “You became mine at those hot springs. You belong to me, and I’ll do whatever I have to to make sure you stay mine.”

  “What about Lars?” she whispered, drawing back just enough so she could see his eyes. A shadow crossed them, but so briefly she could have imagined it.

  “I’m still thinking on that,” he murmured. “One thing at a time, okay?”

  “One thing at a time,” she agreed, brushing her lips against his.

  He groaned, and used the hand at the back of her neck to drive her mouth against his. Crushing her. Sending electricity sparking through her body. She grabbed his shoulders, squeezing his torso with her legs as her breath caught. He kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the nape of her neck. And then grazed his teeth over her throat and licked the hollow between her collarbones.

  Her bedroom door opened, and Lars strode in. “We’re going to be late,” he said dryly.

  Cora turned her head, giving him a small smile as Finn nuzzled her neck. “Coming.”

  “Already? Thought you had more stamina than that.” But there wasn’t a smile on Lars’s face when he said it.

  Finn sat forward, and she slid from his lap to a stand, straightening her clothes. He touched the small of her back, and his fingers retracted as if her skin had scalded him. “Where’s your gun?”

  She pointed to the dresser.

  “Wear it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cora murmured, rolling her eyes as she went to fetch it.

  Maybe she should just shoot Javier. She unclipped the Taurus’s magazine and checked to make sure there were bullets inside. She rubbed the ball of her thumb over the tip of the first bullet before ramming the magazine back inside the gun. When she turned, lifting her vest to slide the Taurus into her belt, Finn and Lars both shook their heads.

  What, were they psychic?

  “I won’t actually do it,” she mumbled.

  “No, you won’t,” Finn agreed, herding her out the door with his fingers to her spine. “Because it would be suicide.”

  Javier was at his usual spot at the head of the table. Neo, surprisingly, sat opposite him. Gabriella was to Javier’s left, Rodriguez to his right. Neither Ana nor Silvia were at the table, but a few of Javier’s other sicarios were. Conversation ground to a halt when Cora stepped onto the patio. She was wearing her shades—it was that or go blind—but still the feel of everyone’s eyes on her was unsettling enough that she missed a step. Finn caught her elbow and steered her forward until she steadied, and then released her just as quick. A blush heated her cheeks as she stopped beside the table.

  “Javier?” A breeze caught the myriad smells from the table and brought it to her. She almost retched, but fought down the urge. “I want to speak to—”

  “Sit, sit!” Javier waved toward three empty seats in the middle of the table. “First we eat, then we’ll talk.”

  She forced a swallow, throwing Finn a pleading look when he pulled out a chair for her. But his narrowed eyes were on Javier; he didn’t notice her discomfort. She sat and hurriedly snagged one of the servants to get her a cup of coffee.

  Coffee was still being poured into her cup when a chair scraped back. Cora turned to watch as Neo rose, tossed his napkin on his half-eaten plate of food and turned to leave.

  “Don’t be rude, Neo,” Javier called out. “Have breakfast with your fiancé.”

  Neo spun to Javier, mouth twisted. Then his eyes flickered to Cora, darting away almost immediately again. He gave his head a solemn shake, expression grim, and then left. The entertainment area’s glass door slammed behind him.

  “You’ll have to forgive my son, Elle,” Javier said. “He seems to have lost his manners in Europe.”

  “Can you blame him?” Gabriella snapped. “If he’d known any of this was coming—”

  Javier slammed his fist into the patio table. Conversation cut off as crockery and cutlery rattled. “His duty is to this family.”

  “You can’t force him to—”

  Javier moved like a striking snake. His knife clattered onto the table as he grabbed Gabriella’s throat in a hand. She kicked out in surprise, her arm slamming into her plate as she pressed against the table, spluttering and wheezing.

  Finn and Lars were both on their feet. Cora fumbled blindly, tugging their wrists to urge them into their seats again. Both came reluctantly. Javier didn’t seem to notice anyone except Gabriella in that moment. He leaned in, face a frozen mask empty of expression. “Strike two, Gabriella. Have you forgotten what I said I’ll do to you on the third strike?”

  Gabriella patted his wrist urgently, her mouth agape. But all that came out was a strangled sound.

  Javier released her, and then flicked his napkin out and lay it over his lap again. He took up his knife and fork, glancing down the table and seeming surprised that everyone was staring at him. “Beun provecho,” he said, gesturing with his knife. Gabriella flin
ched at the gesture, and Javier looked at her for a moment before turning to his food. “Go get yourself cleaned up,” he said, gesturing at her soiled arm. “Then come back and finish your breakfast.”

  When Gabriella stood, blood still suffused her cheeks. She was also wearing shades, but light caught on a tear that had made its way past those dark lenses. She sniffed, bringing a knuckle to her nose as she swung around. Her high heels click-clacked in an uneven tempo as she headed inside the villa.

  Silence fell over the patio table. Even Lars had stopped eating, despite the food piled on his plate. Javier ate for a few seconds longer and then looked up. “Something wrong with the food?” he asked, voice acid. His sicarios bent their heads and began wolfing down their food. Javier sat back in his seat and took a glass of orange juice, scanning everyone at the table as he took a sip. His eyes fell on Cora, and he cocked his head at her. “Hungover?”

  “I lost my appetite,” she said through her teeth, pushing away her empty plate. “Can we talk now?”

  Javier studied her for a moment, and then shoved his plate away with enough force to send it clattering against one of the serving dishes. “Of course. You have questions.” He dabbed his napkin against his lips and stood. Cora rose, Finn and Lars a second behind her. Javier waved at them, shaking his head. “No. Just you and me.”

  “They go where I go,” Cora said, her hands curling into fists. “These—” she lifted a hand to either side “—are my lieutenants. A capo needs lieutenants.”

  Where there’d been a hush before, there was utter silence now. Some of Javier’s sicarios had frozen in place, forks near their mouths or coffee cups half-raised to puckered lips.

  Anticipation made the air sticky.

  Javier nodded so hard that a lock of hair fell over his forehead. He smoothed it back with a smile. “By all means, follow me,” he said. For once, his voice didn’t drip with smugness.

  Cora found herself smiling as she followed Javier into the villa. Murmured conversations wafted after them, but she only heard one phrase clearly enough to understand it.

  La Sombra.

  The Shadow.

  It made goosebumps break out over her skin, and she rubbed her arms furiously as the cool of the villa closed over her.

  15

  A pair of kids, fucking

  The phone was a dead end, just like Dr. Ford had promised it would be. Kane took a long drag of his cigarette, pulling it deep into his lungs as he waited for the traffic light to change in his favor. He was headed toward the address Zachary had given the vet. Whether he’d find anything useful remained to be seen.

  He wore a bluetooth earpiece linked with the phone he’d slid into its holder in the Jeep’s console. It showed an active call, but there was nothing except ambiance coming through. If he strained to hear, he could make out the vague tattoo of distant barking.

  Ford hadn’t called anyone. Kane had no idea if he was even in his office still. From the look on that vet’s face, he’d already been buying airplane tickets to somewhere third world and off the grid.

  It gave him a small stab of satisfaction knowing he’d inconvenienced Zachary into having to find a new vet for his dogs.

  Kane turned to blow a stream of smoke from his window, and caught the eye of the pretty blond in the car next to him. She held his gaze, gave him a resigned smile, and lifted her hands from the steering wheel as if to say, ‘intersections, amiright?’

  He grinned back at her, tipped an imaginary hat, and pulled off as the traffic light flicked to green.

  She stopped beside him at the next intersection—it was a fact that if you caught one, you caught them all—and this time her smile had become adorably coy. She was driving one of those mini coopers, the ones that looked sportier than they were. Pressing a button on her steering wheel, she wound down the passenger-side window.

  “We’re going to catch them all, aren’t we?” she called out, flashing white teeth at him.

  “Seems that way,” Kane replied. He flicked his cigarette from the window and squinted through the windshield. He was about a block away from his destination…and there was no better disguise than a complete stranger.

  “Hey, you busy?” he asked.

  The woman looked away for a moment, biting down on her bottom lip. The traffic light changed, but neither of them pulled away.

  The roads of down-town Terlingua were pretty deserted but, as he waited for her response, a car appeared in his rear view mirror.

  “Sort of,” she answered, scrunching up her nose when she looked back at him.

  “Come have a drink,” Kane called out. “I’m just around the corner.” Then he pulled away, making sure not to drive too fast.

  The car that had been driving in the woman’s lane indicated and changed lanes, leaning on the hooter as he passed. She threw it the finger, and then took off, indicating and changing to Kane’s lane.

  She stuck a slim hand from the window and wriggled her fingers at him.

  His lips curled up in a smile as he ran his fingers through his hair and indicated to turn into Zachary’s road. It would take several verifiable miracles for him to believe in shit like luck and destiny…but he suddenly had a fucking good feeling about today.

  Kane already had his audio amplifier hooked up and pointed toward the neat duplex by the time the blond pulled up behind him. He set the device to record, and got out, bringing his cigarettes with him.

  The woman came to meet him, taking a step back when he didn’t stop walking. He wanted them as far out of the range of his amplifier as possible—any audio he might record from that house would be drowned out by their voices if it caught them too.

  The woman had a slightly embarrassed smile on her mouth. “I don’t normally do this…” she began, looking around and then hugging herself as if she felt incredibly exposed.

  Not surprising; she wore a denim mini and a tank top with the American flag picked out in sequins. The wind whipped at her hair, and she smoothed it away from her face with a tentative smile.

  “A drink at ten in the morning?” Kane asked easily, leaning his ass against his Jeep as he shook out a cigarette for himself. “When did you turn into your grandmother?”

  The woman let out a shocked laugh, and then put her hand up as she giggled.

  He offered the pack to her, and she hesitated before taking one. She leaned close so he could light it for her, and he caught a hint of vanilla and cherries from her hair.

  “Simon,” Kane said, extending a hand.

  The girl gripped it with a warm, smooth hand. “Brenna.”

  “Your parents hippies or something?” he asked as he took a drag on his cigarette.

  Movement caught his eye. He darted a look toward the duplex, and saw a shadow moving in the window. He couldn’t give a fuck if one of Zachary’s men saw him—with his hair up in a tiny knot at the back of his head, and his glasses back on, he looked more like a hipster than a DEA agent. He’d gone all out this morning to solidify the look; his jeans were the just the right amount of ironically torn, his over sized button-up shirt could have belonged to his grandfather, and his designer sandals were gratuitously 100% vegan.

  Which was probably why republican Brenna was squeezing her legs together as if just being this close to him was making her wet.

  She let out a dainty plume of smoke, pursed plump lips, and then laughed again. “So which one’s yours?” she asked, turning to inspect the house they had parked in front of. Kane gave it a quick glance, too.

  It was obviously empty—the houses around here were neat, but too cheap for the luxury of a stay-at-home mom. Both parents would be at work, the kids at school. In a neighborhood like this, it was doubtful more than a handful of the households could afford a maid. And, even then, not a full time housekeeper.

  The house had a porch with a love seat on it. Someone’s coffee mug stood on the small table nearby.

  It would have to do.

  He reached across and caught hold of Brenna’s wrist
. She started, and turned sky-blue eyes to him in surprise. He cocked his head, and led her up the stairs and onto the porch.

  “’Kay if we sit out here until we done smoking?” he asked. “My brother’s allergic to this shit.” He took his cigarette from his mouth, lifting it a little.

  “Oh, sure.” Brenna sat carefully on the love seat, leaning back and lifting her legs so it could swing. Kane watched her for a long moment, taking a drag on his cigarette, and then turned and sat beside her.

  They were sitting directly opposite Zachary’s house. A tree partially obscured the top right window of the duplex, but the movement he’d seen had been on the bottom floor.

  “So you stay with your brother?” Brenna asked.

  “Poor sod. Girlfriend kicked him out about a week ago.” Kane stretched an arm, sliding it around the back of the love seat. “Told him he could shack up with me for a few days until he got his shit sorted out.”

  “That was nice of you,” Brenna said, practically squirming.

  “I love sitting out here,” he said, grinding his cigarette out under his heel. “Especially in the middle of the day.”

  “You don’t work?” Brenna asked, her voice slightly unsteady. She began looking around, as if taking in the wall so badly in need of a new coat of paint, the grass just a little too long, the hole in the wooden fence.

  “I work from home most days,” Kane said. He laid a hand on her leg, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I’m an architect.”

  Her eyes widened a little at this, and her attention fixed back on him. “Wow…that must be exciting.”

  “I love it, but it’s not exactly motorcross.”

  She let out a delightful little laugh, and relaxed back into the love seat. “So you can look at buildings and know like, what age they’re from and stuff?”

  “Of course,” he lied.

  She glanced across the road. And then she pointed. “What’s that one?”

  Sonofafuckingbitch.

  Ice flashed over his skin. He hurriedly snagged her wrist, tugged her hand down, and settled it over the mound in his jeans.