Hitched to the Don (Dark Twisted Love Book 3)

by Logan Fox

  “Uh…no, jefe.”

  “You have his badge number…” he said slowly. He tilted his glass until the wine was ready to spill out, and then twisted it the other way.

  Duncan sounded as if he was leaving. Zachary turned, setting his glass down with a crack. “Explain to me why the task I gave you seems so fucking difficult.”

  Duncan went pale. He was an American—another reason he didn’t like the man—but he’d been in an out of cartels his whole life. Plata o Plomo had been his home for more than five years already.

  Loyalty like that was rare.

  Loyalty like his two lieutenants? A sour taste filled his mouth. He’d kicked the little bitch that had taken Ailin from him, but had he had more time…

  She would have begged him to kill her, if only to end her pathetic suffering.

  Again.

  “Don, he’s not on the system. We went through two agents, and both said that badge number doesn’t exist.”

  Zachary fumbled behind him for his wine. He got to his feet, a touch unsteady, and made his way over to Duncan.

  “You’re telling me it’s a fake?”

  Duncan took a step back, and shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “And his description? You’ve sent that to your agents?”

  Duncan nodded quickly. “They say they’ve never seen him before. I’m trying to—”

  Zachary downed the last of his wine, watching Duncan as he did. Then he let the glass fall to the floor, where it shattered. Blue startled at the noise, but Lady had her head in her paws and didn’t seem perturbed in the least. She seemed to accept his foul mood as easily as the rest of the cartel. Blue…not so much. It seemed his master’s heavy footsteps and the constant smell of wine around him had put Blue on edge.

  “Try harder,” Zachary said as he passed the man. Duncan stood frozen, but gave his head a small dip. “And when you find him, bring him to me.”

  The hallway canted under his feet as he made his way to the room. His dogs followed him inside, Lady immediately making her way to the rug where she lay curled up at night. Blue began to pace the length of the room—as he often did these days.

  Zachary didn’t bother with the light. He hadn’t allowed Seraphina inside his room in days. He stumbled over clothes and shoes where they lay on the floor, eventually making his way to the bathroom.

  The mirror reflected a surreal painting that could not possibly have been his face. A gaunt face, dead eyes, and a slack mouth.

  That cunt had stolen them from him. She may have only put a bullet in one, but the men defending her had put a bullet in the other.

  She was the reason he drank enough to force himself into a dreamless sleep each night.

  She was the reason he smoked weed during the day, so his mind was too numb to replay memories he could no longer bear to watch.

  She was the reason he was willing to forgo everything…just to get his hands on her.

  He’d make her suffer.

  Make her scream.

  She’d beg him to end her…and then he’d just start all over again.

  Zachary retched, barely making it to the toilet bowl in time. He emptied his stomach of the little food he’d consumed today. What came out of his mouth was dyed red with wine.

  It looked like blood.

  It could possibly have been blood; his vision was too blurry for him to be sure.

  He rinsed his mouth, splashed water on his face, and stumbled to his bed.

  Lady yelped when he stood on her tail, but he barely registered the sound. The room spun slowly around him, as if the earth had been caught in his gravity.

  There was a still shape beside him in the bed.

  He didn’t blame Marco for playing dead; the boy probably wasn’t in the mood for a repeat of last night’s punishment.

  He’d had it coming; he’d refused every order Zachary had given him. Even the simple ones, like massaging his shoulders or smoothing lotion on his skin.

  Zachary slid an arm around Marco’s waist, drawing the boy closer. “Wake up,” he slurred. “Wake up, Angel.”

  No, not Angel. Angel was gone.

  “Marco…” he murmured into the boy’s hair. “Wake up.”

  But Marco didn’t wake.

  Zachary passed out seconds later, his arm still draped over Marco’s cold, stiff body.

  34

  Ten fucking Mississippis

  Lars kept a step behind Milo as they made their way back over the roof. His heart was still pounding like a bass drum in his chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Milo experience a flashback, or whatever the hell they called those PTSD psych sessions, but it was the most terrifying one he’d had to witness.

  He never wanted to see Milo’s eyes so blank again. It was as if he’d slipped into a catatonic state. But every muscle on his body had corded from his neck down. Hands in shaking fists. Lips white how his jaw bunched and his mouth thinned. And then he’d collapsed, Lars barely catching him in time. In that frantic moment, he’d been too close to that emotionless face, to those dead eyes.

  And he’d seen something so disturbing in the hollows of Finn’s dilated pupils that he’d almost pushed him away to try and escape.

  So he’d closed his eyes, counted ten fucking Mississippis, and only then dared to open them again.

  He should have panicked when Milo drew his gun. But the man only seemed interested in checking if he had ammunition; who he planned to take out was anyone’s guess.

  Luckily, neither of them had been on the list today.

  As they entered the stairwell, Lars heard the thud of shoes somewhere below them. Milo paused for a second, glancing up at him in question, and then hurried forward.

  These weren’t the only stairs that connected the ground floors with the second floor…but they were the closest to Cora’s room.

  He came level with Finn as they reached the villa’s second level. Movement caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the villa’s sprawling central garden. He caught sight of the back of a man wearing a dark hoodie as he hurried through the garden.

  Lars snagged Milo’s sleeve. “That’s him,” he whispered. “That’s Gabriella’s CI.”

  Milo found where he was pointing, and leaned over the banister. Then he surged toward the stairwell, as if determined to catch up with him.

  After what he’d seen and heard on the roof, Lars doubted it was to shake the fucker’s hand.

  “Milo, wait. You can’t just—”

  But he was already halfway down the stairs, boots thundering on each step as he hurried to catch up to the guy in the garden.

  “Fuck,” Lars muttered, sighing as he made after Milo. But then a door opened down the hallway.

  Cora’s door.

  Lars turned back, his sudden frown deepening as Javier stepped out of Cora’s room and started down the hallway for the stairs.

  He was alone. And wearing a particularly self-satisfied smile. Lars felt frozen to the spot as Javier walked closer, running a hand through his thick black hair as if concerned it had become disarrayed.

  From what?

  Lars glanced toward the garden. Milo trotted down the path after the man in the hoodie.

  Fuck it. Right now, he was more worried about what El fucking Guapo had been doing in Cora’s room. Milo could look after himself. If anything, he should be worried for the guy in the black hoodie.

  Lars pasted a smile on his face and met Javier a few yards from the stairs. The man had his hands in the pockets of his linen suit, head dipped down as he smiled at himself.

  “Hola,” Lars called out.

  Javier looked up, mild surprise on his face when he saw Lars. “Evening,” he said, his smile inching up.

  “Probably the first time I’ve ever seen you alone,” Lars said. “Got some staff shortages?”

  Javier laughed, but it held a forced edge to it. “Not at all.” Then he tossed his head, glancing back the way he’d come as he passed Lars in the hallway. “Cora and I w
ere discussing wedding arrangements.”

  Like hell they were. Lars tried not to let his smile turn into a grimace, but luckily Javier was already taking his smug ass down the stairs.

  The closer Lars got to Cora’s door, the faster he moved. When he reached it, it was at a run. He tore open the door, scanned the room, and found her on the edge of the bed with mussed up hair and slumped shoulders.

  The run here had already set his heart racing, but now it pounded in his throat like it wanted out.

  Fuck—who’d he been kidding? He could be as blasé about it as he wanted; Cora and her diamond cooch had found her way into a desolate part of his psyche; abandoned after the fire that had raged through it all those years ago. She’d found her way in and cracked a window, letting a single ray of sunshine gleam through the ashes of hope floating in the air.

  Slipping inside Cora’s bedroom, he peeked out the door before quietly closing it behind him.

  And then he locked it, just in case.

  35

  No

  The guy had too much of a lead on him. By the time Finn reached the end of the garden, the man in black was gone. Finn chose one of the closest archways. It led him to the kitchens, which bustled with preparations for dinner. The smell of onions and roasting meat filled the humid air, as did the chatter of more than a dozen people He pushed through some of the staff, ignoring the trail of Spanish curses that followed him, but he couldn’t see the man anywhere.

  He grabbed the closest maid—a middle-aged Mexican woman with shadows under her eyes—and snapped, “Did you see a man come through here?”

  Her response was a weary “¿Que?”

  Finn pushed her away as he headed back the way he’d come.

  He never did find the man in black, but a few minutes later he almost ran headlong into Gabriella. She looked far from the glamorous woman who’d slid out of that silver SUV earlier yesterday. Or the woman who’d been sitting prim and proper beside Javier before he choked her with his hand.

  Her hair was gathered into a messy ponytail high on the back of her head. Her face clean of make up. She wore a plain, long-sleeved dress, one that barely skimmed her curves.

  She hurtled around the corner, and if he hadn’t caught her arms, he’d have bowled her over. Gabriella made a surprised sound, and tore herself free the instant she found her balance.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped, smoothing her hands over her dress.

  “Running into you,” Finn said. He glanced around, saw no one in sight, and caught hold of her elbow.

  She tried pulling free, but he held on. “Let go!”

  “We have to talk.”

  “We most certainly do not.” Gabriella grabbed his fingers, trying to peel them from her skin. “Let me go!”

  “In a bit,” he said calmly. Nearby, a small greenhouse beckoned. So many plants bustled inside—some ornamental creepers to beautify the entrance and exit—that it would make a good place to speak to someone without being seen.

  Strange how many hidey-holes a villa like this had. It was as if Javier had asked the architect to make sure there were enough clandestine meeting places when he was drawing up the plans.

  As soon as he’d urged her inside and shut the door behind them, he released her. She rubbed furiously at her arm. He’d expected a scowl, but instead she studied him with dark, calculating eyes as her plump mouth pulled into a line.

  “So talk,” she said, before he could open his mouth.

  “Can you help Cora get out of here?”

  Gabriella’s eyebrow cocked up. “I like a man who gets straight to the point,” she said. Although her fingers still lingered where he’d grabbed her, she no longer rubbed at her skin. “Who spoke to you?”

  “Can you help or not?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “No.”

  Finn frowned at her. And then he realized what she was doing. “Your secret meeting wasn’t all that secret.”

  Gabriella’s eyes went wide before she narrowed them to furious slits. The inside of her cheek moved as if she was biting on it, and then she shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He took a step forward, looming over the woman as much as he could. She was much taller than Cora; almost as tall as Javier, in fact. But he still had at least an inch on her, and he used it. If she was taken aback by him, she didn’t show it.

  Then again, she’d probably had decades of practice with Javier.

  “Cut the shit,” he murmured. “Cora wants out. You want her out. Why don’t we all just find a way to make that happen?”

  She spent another few moments studying him, and then glanced around the greenhouse. “Not here. Meet me on the patio in ten minutes.”

  “You want to go to a less secluded place?”

  Gabriella gave him a humorless smile. “Make sure you’re wearing a swimsuit.”

  36

  We'll teach you

  Cora looked up at a sound. Lars stood in her doorway, eyebrows drawn close and body stiff. Her chest grew tight as he strode up to her, one quick glance taking in the room before settling back on her.

  “What did he do?” he said, crouching in front of her.

  She looked away. “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “’Fess up, bunny.”

  Her eyes met his. “I got what I deserved.”

  Lars ran his eyes over her, his gaze snapping back with a raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call what you’re wearing slutty.”

  She blinked at him. “Slutty? What—”

  Did he think Javier had…assaulted her? Her skin went cold at the thought. “No, that’s not—I tried to shoot him. He…he took my gun away.”

  Lars came to his feet and then sank down beside her on the bed as he let out a low whistle. “And after he took your gun away?” Lars ran a gentle hand down her head.

  She jerked at the touch, and reached up to feel her hair. It was a crow’s nest back there where Javier had grabbed it in a fist. She let out a short, harsh laugh, and went over to the dresser. Her gaze went to Lars’s reflection in the mirror as she began brushing out her hair.

  “Javier doesn’t like it when I’m stubborn,” she said.

  Lars rose and came over to her. He took the brush from her, urged her into the dressing table’s chair, and used his long fingers to untangle her hair, the brush between his teeth.

  His silence drew words from her like a magnet drew iron filings.

  “He brought up the wedding again after he saw this.” She held up her hand, showing Lars the ring stuck on her finger. “Told him to go fuck himself.”

  Lars lifted an eyebrow, but his eyes were on her hair as he began brushing out the knots.

  “I have to go see him tomorrow. Says he has a surprise for me.” Cora crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in the chair, eyes on Lars’s reflection. “I’m so sick of his surprises and his plans.” Her eyes went to the door before she reached back and caught hold of Lars’s wrists. “What happened with Finn? Did you guys figure something out?”

  Lars shook himself free, turned her head to face the mirror, and carried on brushing her hair as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She let out a big sigh, and touched her chin where Javier had gripped her so hard.

  No one in her life seemed to be who they claimed. Javier, Angel, Miguel. Bailey…?

  “Have you ever been betrayed, Lars?”

  That made him stop. He set the brush down on the table and ran his hands over her smooth hair. The touch made her skin break out in goosebumps, and her chest went tight all over again.

  “He will never betray you,” Lars said. “If my life was worth anything, I’d bet it on that fact.”

  She’d never heard him speaking so seriously. She spun in the chair, staring up at him as her skin grew cold. “I wasn’t talking about Finn.”

  He moved to the side of her chair, and went to his knees in front of her. He touched her chin with the knuckle of his curled finger, lifting her face up so t
heir eyes were level. “This is the part where I tell you that life will get easier.” His gaze tracked her eyes, her mouth. “It won’t. Not for you. Not now. You’ve got some hectic shit coming your way, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  Her eyes brimmed at that, but she blinked back the tears before they flooded over her eyelashes. “How? How am I supposed to do that? Everyone just expects me to adapt, but I have no idea how.”

  “Then we’ll teach you,” Lars murmured, smiling at her as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

  “What do you know about being a capo?”

  “Nothing,” came his instant reply. “But I know a fuckload about guns. And I could charm the skirt off the First Lady. Not that I’d want to, but I could. Useful skills.”

  She smiled at that and let out a huff of air. “Guns and charm can only get me so far.”

  “Then you should ask what Milo can teach you. You’d be surprised.”

  He made her mouth tingle as he ran his thumb over her lip again. She grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stop.

  “How can I stand up to Javier?”

  Lars’s eyebrows twitched. A slow smile spread on his lips. He reached behind him and drew out his pistol. “Rule number one…” he said as he handed her the weapon. “Always carry a spare.”

  37

  Double Shot

  The patio had a small changing room on one side. Of course, since the villa was owned by a billionaire drug lord, it came with swimming costumes in various sizes, just like Finn’s closet up in his room. He looked for the loosest pair of trunks he could find, and grimaced down at himself before trudging out of the changing room.

  Gabriella was nowhere to be seen. With his luck, she’d sent him here as a ruse and had probably locked herself up in her room. Ana and Silvia were on the terrace, both looking as if they’d fallen asleep on the pair of loungers. A pair of half-empty cocktail glasses sat on the table between them, so they might even have passed out.