Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set

by Logan Fox

  This was—perhaps always had been—her war. She alone would fight it. Except…she’d decided to surrender, instead. She was clearly outnumbered. Her dignity seemed to pale in comparison to the energy it took to hold her position.

  So she was turning herself over to the enemy.

  She turned at the sound of the door, expecting Ana to have returned.

  But Javier stepped over the threshold.

  Cora’s stomach twisted so hard, she tasted bile. She hurriedly pressed her hands against her thighs, trying to stop them shaking.

  He wore a white tuxedo. His tie was rose-gold this time.

  But his uncanny resemblance to the Javier of her nightmare played havoc on her mind.

  He stopped a foot inside his room, a slow smile spreading on his face.

  “I never imagined you could look this breath-taking,” he said as he ambled closer. He spread his hands, making her flinch. “How could Antonio possibly have been responsible for something as beautiful as you?”

  Those strange words twisted around in her head. She frowned, and then blinked back tears.

  Her father.

  Her lips trembled, so she pressed them hard together.

  “Don’t worry, mi reinita,” Javier murmured. He stopped a few feet away from her. “It will be my honor to walk you down the aisle.”

  She spun away from him, studying her unsteady reflection as tears gathered on her lids.

  Javier came closer still, and she stiffened up as he stepped onto the dais behind her.

  Because of course the conceited El Guapo had to have a raised platform by his walk-in closet where he could study his immaculate reflection as he decided which of his designer suits he would look best in that day.

  She was surprised he didn’t have one of those dressing tables with the light bulbs all around it.

  He came up behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. Then he slid his hands up until his thumbs could brush the side of her neck.

  Her hair had been pinned up into an intricate arrangement studded with diamante clasps, baring her neck but for one stray ringlet that had refused to stay bound. Javier wound it around his fingers, studying her reflection as he moved her train away with the side of his foot and came up against her.

  Heat bloomed against her exposed back. As modest as it was in the front, the wedding dress dipped so low in the back that the dimple just above her cheeks was visible. It left the scars on her upper back exposed, but that hadn’t seemed to bother Javier.

  It didn’t bother her either.

  Ever since Ana had told her Finn and Lars were gone, she’d been dead inside.

  “I have a gift for you,” Javier murmured. “Two, in fact.”

  She started as something touched the middle of her back. Pressing her eyes closed, she tried to will away the feel of his knuckle as it ran up her spine. Something cold and slithery joined it a second later, before spilling over her shoulder.

  Her eyes popped open. They looked twice their size; the maid who’d been instructed to do her makeup had gone heavy on her eyeliner and mascara.

  Javier slid a necklace over her shoulder. It was dainty, but as cold as if he’d just taken it out of the freezer.

  She kept deathly still as he eased it around her neck. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as the tiny diamond dangling from the thin chain skittered over her skin before coming to rest just below her breastbone.

  Javier clasped it at the back of her neck, and smoothed the trailing chain down her back until where it stopped, between her shoulder blades.

  He slid his hand around her waist, gripping her tight for a moment.

  His breath tickled her skin when he murmured, “Perfect,” with his lips brushing her ear. He ran his hands to her back, and then down either side of her ass, cupping her.

  She rushed forward, breaking contact with him as she fisted her hands in her skirt.

  It had been a while since she’d called on Santa Muerte for anything; the price was always too high. But she had nothing left to lose, except her dignity. And there was surely precious little of that left anyway.

  So, with her insides twisted into a cold knot, and her heart beating hard and fast against her ribcage, she begged the Lady of Shadows to give her one last reprieve.

  She’d sacrifice anything—anything—if she could just be given one chance. If Santa Muerte gave her the strength and the means to kill Javier, she’d be forever in the saint’s debt. She’d pledge whatever was left of her miserable life to Santa Muerte.

  One chance in exchange for everything.

  How could anyone turn down a bargain like that?

  Annoyance flickered across Javier’s face when she opened her eyes. He stepped close again, grabbing her hips so tight that she had to clench her jaw not to cry out.

  “This is a game you cannot win,” Javier murmured into her ear. “Not against such a seasoned player as myself.”

  His utter confidence kindled a tiny spark of courage deep inside her.

  “I have Santa Muerte on my side,” she said. She spun around, tipping her head back to stare up at him. “She answers everyone’s prayers.”

  Javier smirked at her as he grabbed her chin in a hand. “And who do you think she’ll answer more readily to? A nobody like you… or me?”

  “She never turns anyone away,” Cora spat, tearing her chin free.

  He shook his head, and slid a hand inside his pocket. She tensed. Was he reaching for a weapon? But he tugged out an envelope. He held it up, waving it back and forth as he studied her. Then he pointed it down at her.

  “It wouldn’t be right to keep this from you, even if you are acting like a spoiled child.”

  Cora reached for the envelope with an unsteady hand. A jolt went through her when she touched it, just as Ana came through the bedroom door. The woman froze on the lintel, throwing Javier a worried look as she took in the scene. She had a bottle of champagne in one hand, and balanced a platter on the other.

  “Ana,” Cora called out. “Come here.”

  The woman must have heard the panic in her voice; she came hesitantly closer.

  “Is that food?” Cora asked, waving her closer as she stepped away from Javier, “I’m starving.”

  Her voice cracked with how hard she tried to keep it cheery. She tossed the envelope on a nearby footstool and grabbed Ana’s hand, leading her away from the dais.

  “Your dress!” Ana protested, handing Cora the champagne bottle and trying to lift the train of her dress with one hand while she balanced the platter on the other.

  “Leave it,” Cora said.

  Ana rose in a snap, glancing between her and Javier. Cora perched on the edge of a nearby sofa, and tore the wrapper off the top of the champagne bottle.

  “You should read the letter,” Javier said, as he made for the door. He turned to stare at her, and gave her a cold smile. “It’s from your father.”

  57

  Too late for breakfast

  “…jefe?”

  Finn shifted, forcing open scratchy eyes. The instant his gaze settled on the bright orange Lamborghini a few yards away, he pushed himself into a sit. He’d been sleeping on Neo’s sofa, and a quick scan showed him Lars was still out.

  Noon-day light streamed in from the windows.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, washing his hands over his face.

  The guard at the door had his radio in his hand and a frown on his face. He caught sight of Finn sitting up, but didn’t seem interested in him at the moment.

  The guard spoke tersely into his radio, a ramble of Spanish Finn couldn’t even begin to understand.

  “Lars.”

  The man shifted a little, but didn’t wake.

  Finn stuck out his foot, nudging Lars’s leg until the man turned unfocused eyes on him. He closed one eye, squinted at Finn with the other, and reluctantly pushed himself up. “Little late for breakfast, isn’t it?” he muttered, scratching at his ribs.

  Finn stared pointedly at the guard, and then back
at Lars, until Lars turned his head. And then Lars straightened hurriedly, throwing Finn a worried look.

  Where the fuck was Neo?

  The guard let his hand hang by his side, his frown deepening as he shifted his weight. He saw them staring at him, and scowled. But the expression slid from his face a second later.

  “What’s happening, my man?” Lars asked, stretching his arm over his head and pulling at his elbow like he was warming up for a race.

  “Quiet.” The guard turned his gaze away, but the grip on both his assault rifle and the hand held radio tightened noticeably.

  “Hey, not to be all needy and shit,” Lars said, “But I kinda need to piss.”

  “Hold it,” the guard said.

  Lars ran a hand over the leather sofa under him. “Be a pity to stain this nice—”

  The guard let out an irritated growl, and set his radio on the top of a nearby speaker. He dug around in his Kevlar vest and came out holding two ready-to-go cable-tie handcuffs.

  “Ah, man…come on,” Lars said. “How am I supposed to hold my dick?”

  “You sit like the whiny bitch you are,” the guard muttered.

  Lars laughed and threw Finn a quick smile, cocking his head at the guard as the man tightened his arms behind his back.

  Finn couldn’t find the energy to smile back.

  Then he came up to Finn to handcuff him too. Finn perched on the edge of the sofa, taking his time to shuffle around as if he was still trying to wake up.

  But in the time it had taken him to turn around and for the guard to slip the plastic cuffs over his wrist, Lars had yanked his bound arms under his ass and had them in front of him.

  The man had such long arms, he didn’t even make it look difficult.

  As the guard drew the cable ties tight around Finn’s wrist, Lars looped his bound arms around the man’s neck and tugged.

  The guard cried out in surprise, and tried driving his elbow into Lars’s stomach. But Lars climbed backward over the sofa, and yanked the struggling guard after him.

  Wedged between the sofa’s headrest and the plastic cuffs, the guard began struggling furiously as his face turned from red to purple.

  It took Finn a little longer to wriggle his hands out in front of him—and he knew he’d have sore muscles in his shoulders for a week—before he could grab the guard’s rifle and aim it at him.

  It would bring too much attention for him to shoot it, but it made the guard stop struggling.

  He passed out a second later.

  Lars hopped back over the couch and went to work tying him up, using another pair of plastic cuffs he found in the man’s vest. Then Lars started stripping him down as Finn grabbed the handheld radio and shoved it in his pocket. It had been quiet after their guard had spoken into it, but he was sure there was a reply coming.

  “Whaddya think?” Lars asked, making Finn turn to him. “Closet?”

  He shook his head, scanning the room. Then he pointed to the Lamborghini.

  “Trunk.”

  58

  Drink

  Ana had Cora’s envelope in her hands. She held it edge-to-edge between her fingers, as if she didn’t want to get her fingerprints on it.

  Cora took a long swallow of champagne. “Put it down,” she said.

  “But…don’t you want to read it?” Ana said quietly. “He said it’s from your—”

  “Put it down!”

  Ana reluctantly slid the envelope onto the table. She hesitated, and then took up her own glass, but she only sipped from it.

  “Drink,” Cora snapped.

  So Ana drank.

  Cora could still feel Javier’s hands on her.

  She’d thought it had been a threat…but now she understood it as a promise. He was waiting, biding his time like a spider in its web…until she’d been ensnared so tightly that she would be incapable of escaping.

  Unable to fight.

  Unable to break free.

  His to do with…whatever he wanted.

  Her saliva turned bitter, and she swallowed down more champagne to wash it away.

  Ana had brought a platter of sweet treats, some cheese. Cora reached for it, and Ana let out a relieved sigh.

  But she wasn’t going for the food.

  She snagged the small cheese knife from the platter and studied it for a long moment. Then she put it down again and slunk back in the armchair.

  “How long have I got?” Cora asked.

  Ana glanced at her wrist watch. “Two hours.”

  Cora emptied her champagne glass and twirled it around. “Got anything stronger than this?”

  59

  A First

  They were almost at Cora’s room when Bailey came out of the stairwell. They both froze, Milo’s hair practically standing on edge like a dog who’s just spotted competition.

  Lars laid a hand on his chest and took a step forward, beckoning Bailey.

  The man hesitated, glanced around, and then strode up to them with intent.

  “Inside,” Lars said, trying to open Cora’s door.

  It was locked.

  “Well that’s a first,” he muttered. He scanned the gardens below and then hurried down the hall. “Move it, you two. If someone sees us…” he left the threat dangling, and that was enough to get Milo moving.

  They followed him into his and Finn’s room, and he hurriedly locked the door behind them.

  As soon as he turned around, Bailey and Milo were already facing each other, both with their hands in fists.

  “Priorities, guys,” Lars said, stepping between them. “I think we can all agree that first order of business is finding Cora, yeah?”

  The two men reluctantly stood down, Milo giving Lars a long-suffering stare and Bailey shaking his head. “Cora’s fine. But we have to find Gabby. Without her—”

  “Cora’s fine?” Milo cut in, the same time Lars said, “She’s missing?”

  Bailey frowned first at Milo and then at him. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “We…uh…” Lars waved his hands around. “We’ve been kinda busy.”

  Bailey frowned at him and then Finn. “You didn’t hear about the tracker?”

  “Seriously, man,” Lars said, “assume we know nothing.”

  “Javier found a tracker on Gabby’s car.”

  Lars let out a low whistle, and Milo stiffened his shoulders again. “Shit, that can’t be great. What’s…I mean, is it another cartel or something?”

  Bailey shrugged. “I don’t know. But he took Gabby with him to ‘talk’”—he put the word in air quotes— “and I haven’t been able to find her since.”

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday, just after they got back from shopping.”

  “And Cora?” Milo asked, stepping around Lars. “Where is she?”

  Another shrug from Bailey. “She’s fine. There wasn’t even a concussion.”

  “A concussion?” Milo asked, tilting his head to the side as he took another step toward Bailey.

  “You didn’t hear?” Bailey asked, hurriedly lifted his hands and took a step back.

  “Nothing, guy,” Lars said. “We’ve heard shit about dick.”

  Bailey began rattling off. “She was drunk, okay? When she got back. Fucking pissed. She threw up in the bushes and then…I don’t know…I guess she just passed out.”

  “And they’re telling you that’s how she hit her head?” Milo said around a snarl. “How fucking retarded—”

  “I was there!” Bailey cut in with a furious yell.

  Milo surged forward, but Lars managed to catch his sleeve and tug him to the side before he could land a punch on Bailey.

  “Guys!”

  Milo shook him off, but at least he put away his snarl.

  Holy hell, would these two never simmer down? He got that there was a weird kind of alpha male struggle going on between them, but why the hell didn’t Bailey just accept the fact that he’d have to stand down eventually? There was no out-alphaing Milo, not by a long
shot.

  “I tried to grab her, but…it wasn’t a bad knock. The doctor came to look at her and said she’d probably have hurt herself more if she hadn’t been drunk.”

  “And then what?” Lars asked, stepping in front of Milo so the man would be forced to break eye contact with Bailey. “Is she in her room?”

  “No, of course not. She’s busy getting ready.”

  Lars stared pointedly at the man. Bailey’s eyes widened.

  “Shit…the, uh…the wedding…” Bailey looked away, his lips scrunching together as if he was chewing at them. When he spoke again, it was with obvious reluctance. “It’s happening at sunset.”

  60

  Beautiful

  Cora was standing on the dais again when Ana came back, smoothing her hands over the wedding dress’s skirt.

  She turned, and Ana came up the stairs at a job. She still wore her sun dress, but she had a clothing bag over one arm and a pair of high heeled shoes snagged in her fingers. She wore a devilish grin, and stopped a foot away from Cora, practically shivering with excitement.

  “What?” Cora asked, hoping Ana wasn’t going to drag her dress out of the bag and start going off about it. She could appreciate pretty things as much as the next girl, but the closest she could come to enthusing over clothing was to call something ‘nice.’

  Her wedding dress could probably have won awards—was there such a thing?—but at the most, it was pretty. Pretty, and suffocating, and sickening.

  “Help me out of this,” Cora said, sliding the dress from her left shoulder.

  “First…” Ana held out a hand, palm up. “Look what I found.”

  Two pale pink pills rested on Ana’s palm. They were almost the same shade as her dress. Both had a small symbol stamped onto them—a sugar skull. “One of the guys was keeping them for Día de los Muertos.”