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

by Logan Fox

  “It’s perfect for our Day of the Dead theme,” Cora chimed in.

  Now the party had a theme? Jesus Christ.

  “They have parties there all the time. They can do the catering, the setup, everything!” Ana clapped her hands together. “See? I told you it’s perfect.”

  “What about the cocaine fountain?” Lars asked dryly, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “I mean, we gotta have one of those right?” He mimicked water shooting into the air from a spout. “Just…cocaine…like everywhere.”

  Ana let out a delightful little giggle at this, but Cora’s face had a certain stoniness to it when he glanced up the table for her approval.

  “Fine,” he muttered into his coffee cup. “We’ll just do a brick of weed in their party favors like everyone else.”

  This, at least, earned him a rueful smile from Cora, but then she turned back to Ana to discuss something dull enough that he tuned out after the words, ‘dance hall’ and ‘DJ’.

  He was halfway through his second helping when Cora’s lawyer, Nick, exited the villa and headed for their table.

  Lars pushed away the rest of his plate. “Jesus.”

  “He doesn’t seem that bad,” Finn said beside him. He was still busy with his first plate, but on his second cup of coffee for the morning.

  Bailey, it seemed, preferred to eat cereal. It shocked him there wasn’t a glass of goddamn milk to go with it.

  Well, he stroked dick like a champ, and that was good enough for Lars.

  Nick hesitated at the end of the table, as if unsure where he should sit. Cora waved him over, shooing Ana down one seat so Nick could sit at her left.

  “How did you sleep?” Cora asked, taking a sip of coffee as she addressed the lawyer.

  Nick bobbed his head. “Very well, thank you for asking.”

  “Good,” Cora said. She wore a strappy little yellow dress today, hair down and carefully arranged about her shoulders as if she was trying to hide the massive hickey Finn had given her last night. She ran her eyes down their side of the table. When she caught Lars’s eye, she gave him a small smile.

  Such an insignificant gesture shouldn’t have caused such a visceral response, but it did.

  Christ, his stomach got all full of butterflies and shit.

  He looked away, and found Ana watching him over the rim of her cup. She looked down, her blush deepening, and toyed with the food on her plate.

  Christ…

  “Nick,” Cora said, “you said if I needed funds, I could ask you, right?”

  “Of course,” Nick said, snatching back a hand that had been reaching for a muffin. “To an extent, obviously.”

  “How much?”

  The table went quiet. It might have been coincidence, of course, but if he was straining to hear what the lawyer’s response was, then every else would be too.

  “Uh…” Nick, master of suspense, poured himself a cup of coffee before replying. “One-fifty.”

  Cora snorted. “A hundred and fifty bucks?” But then her eyes darted to Lars’s side of the table. “I can’t do anything with that, can I?”

  He’d been taking a sip of his coffee, but the comedic concern etched between her dark eyebrows almost made coffee come out of his nose.

  Spluttering, he put his coffee cup down just as Nick gave a polite cough and said, “One hundred and fifty thousand, Ms. Rivera.”

  “Oh,” Cora said. But her expression didn’t change much. The girl didn’t know the value of money, did she? Then again, had she ever gone and bought something in a shop like a regular person? Had to contend with watching her bank account’s balance dropping digits?

  Cora glanced at Ana. “Would that work?”

  Ana shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to tone it down a little, but yeah.”

  “So no cocaine fountain then?” Lars said through a laugh.

  “It might sound like a lot,” Ana said, sticking her nose in the air and then blushing again, “but this is all very last minute. Everyone expects a little extra for the effort.”

  “And don’t forget danger pay,” Lars said, nudging Finn in the ribs. “Amiright?”

  Finn gave him a grudging smile.

  Holy fuck, what was wrong with him this morning? His chest felt too tight, his breath stilted. He drained the last of his coffee, pushed back his chair, and reconsidered leaving.

  Neo stepped out of the patio doors, sunglasses shielding his eyes. But there was nothing to be done with the swagger. If Neo hadn’t been wearing three-quarter shorts and some soccer team’s sports shirt, he’d have been the spitting image of Javier.

  “Am I too late?”

  “Not at all,” Cora said, sending a gracious wave his way. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Lars almost put a crick in his neck how he swung to look at Cora.

  Had he fucked his way into Oz last night? Or had he kicked the bucket mid-orgasm and this was some fucked up mirror world?

  “I hope you have some good news for me,” Neo said, taking his seat at the other head of the table, opposite Cora. Sylvia trailed him, and she sat to one side while Santino took the seat beside Bailey, but he just carried on crunching through his bowl of cereal.

  “We’re throwing a party.”

  Neo paused with a hand halfway to a jug of orange juice. “A party,” he repeated, scanning everyone at the table as if trying to figure out if this was some kind of warped practical joke.

  Why wouldn’t the bastard take off his glasses? It was impossible to get anything from him with those black squares hiding his eyes.

  Lars sat forward, elbows on the table, and tried to stare a hole through Neo’s shades.

  The man didn’t notice.

  “It’s neutral territory,” Cora said, lifting her hands and counting off each point on a finger. “There’ll be tons of people around, and we’ll be wearing masks.”

  Neo should have burst out laughing. God, hearing Cora say all of that, he almost did. But all the guy did was pour himself a glass of orange juice and — possibly — watch Cora while he drank half of it in a few big gulps.

  “That sounds good,” he said.

  It was incredibly fucking difficult not to laugh. Lars pressed his lips into a line, and turned to Finn. “Are you going to object anytime in the near future?”

  Finn gave a single-shouldered shrug. “I would, but you took that power away from us.”

  Lars’s eyes flew wide open. “What?”

  Another shrug. Finn studied the lawyer opposite them as he poured himself another cup of coffee. “She makes the rules out here, remember?”

  “Hey!” Lars whispered irately as he poked Milo with his finger. “I was trying to help. Things were getting all fucking naff and shit. I didn’t mean we should let her run wild with every brain dead idea that—”

  “I’m sorry, Lars,” Cora cut him off. “Is there something you want to say?”

  Lars turned. A thick, anticipatory hush had fallen over the table. “This is a stupid fucking idea.”

  Cora laced her fingers together, resting her chin on her knuckles. “Which part?”

  “All of it,” he said, sweeping a hand over the table. “You’re going to be surrounded by hundreds of people, some of them you apparently owe a massive shipment of drugs to.”

  “It’s only the dealers that know about it,” she countered coolly.

  “And you trust all of them? They watched you murder—” And then he cut off, because he’d become acutely aware of eyes on him.

  Neo. Silent, but so obviously staring despite his sunglasses that Lars could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

  “What I mean is,” he said through a sigh, “There’s no way the three of us can secure a place like that.”

  “I can add ten men to the roster,” Neo said. “All highly trained and a hundred percent loyal to the cartel.”

  Lars swung to look at Neo.

  “To our cartel,” Neo added.

  The way he put emphasis on that word made Lars’s ski
n crawl. He heard Finn shift in his chair beside him, and knew it had irked him too.

  “What’s to stop another cartel finding out?” Lars snapped. “We’ll be sitting ducks out there.”

  “Which is why everyone’s wearing masks,” Cora said, drawing his eye. “Ana says there’s a separate room we can use to meet with the dealers. And they’ll be escorted off the property as soon as we’ve discussed everything.”

  “Someone burned down your entire poppy plantation,” Lars said, trying to lower his voice and failing. “How’s that different from taking out a few hundred people at a party?”

  “Your concern is touching,” Neo said, “but we’ll have everything under control.”

  “Concern?” Lars repeated, laughing as he turned to face Neo. “I’m not concerned. I’m fucking shit scared the wrong people rock up at this party of yours. I mean, how—?”

  “We’ll have a guest list,” Cora piped up. “If they’re not on the list, they don’t get in.”

  “Yeah?” Lars’s neck was getting sore how he had to keep looking from one capo to the other. Why the fuck couldn’t they have sat next to each other? “And how difficult would it be to bribe the goon at the door?”

  Cora’s mouth went tight, but there was something mischievous on those plump lips. “I don’t know, Lars, you tell me? What’ll it take to bribe you?”

  He sat back in his chair.

  Defeat.

  He’d just been demoted to a fucking door guy, a glorified strong arm.

  He tapped his finger along the side of his plate, watching Cora for a long moment before he spoke again.

  “Well played, La Sombra,” he murmured, pushing back his chair. “Well played.”

  He took two steps to the villa’s entrance and then turned back. He stabbed a finger in Cora’s direction. “You’d better make sure you’re wearing a fucking Kevlar vest under your costume tonight.” He swiped his hand through the air. “You may feel invincible, but a bullet’s still going to make you bleed.”

  14

  Sock and Buskin

  “Buenos dias, jefe.”

  Kane sat up in his bed amid a creak of springs. He’d been staring at the ceiling, waiting for nine o clock so he could call Captain Fredericks and find out what the hell his problem was.

  He swung his legs over the bed, raking fingers through his hair as he sat on the chair and nudged the laptop to face him.

  Sound waves bounced over the laptop’s screen.

  “Nah, I’m awake.”

  Duncan. English.

  Hispanic male, age 35-40, smoker

  The guy from Zachary West’s safehouse. One of his cartel members. High enough in rank to have direct access to the capo. Kane shook a cigarette free from the box and lit it as he turned up the laptop’s volume.

  “When, tonight?”

  God, this was infuriating. What was Zachary telling him?

  Kane flipped open his notepad, dragging hard on his cigarette as he held his pencil poised to write.

  “Yeah, I know it. It’s just off the interstate, ain’t it?”

  Kane scribbled into his notebook.

  “I’ll go over there soon as they open and pick something out. Should I get something specific?”

  What the hell were they talking about? Kane’s hand trembled as he waited for Duncan to speak again.

  “Well, if it’s Day of the Dead, would a skull work? Anything? Gotcha.”

  It had to be a code. A pretty fucking good one, too. Luckily this was all recorded. He could go back once this call had ended and try and decipher their conversation.

  “I’ll see what they have.”

  Another hard drag. Kane found a half-empty can and drained it.

  “Six-thirty. Got it. You expecting trouble?”

  Kane drew a dot, and spiraled outward in concentric circles as he waited for something significant to be said.

  He’d replaced the listening device with a fresh one a few days ago. It was sound activated, so it didn’t spend the entire day recording. But he might have to replace the battery sometime today.

  It sounded like Duncan had an errand to run, which meant Kane could look around the safehouse if Duncan would not be there.

  “ECV? Whose party?”

  Duncan laughed.

  “That chica’s only twenty? Fuck, what were they thinking when they made her capo?”

  Kane’s pencil stopped.

  “Got it, jefe. See you tonight.”

  The shark-tooth wave forms on his laptop’s monitor flat-lined. Kane waited, hoping Duncan would mutter, but that never happened. A few household sounds loud enough to activate the listening device — the slam of a trash can lid, a thump like someone stamping their feet in their boots, the squeal of a window being closed — and then quiet.

  Duncan was on the move.

  Kane opened an internet browser window, and logged into the portal that allowed him to track Duncan’s car.

  It was a pity Zachary West hired such idiots to work for him. Then again, good help was scarce when you were hiring criminals.

  The man’s garage door had been closed, but not locked and, the same night Kane had gone to replace the listening device, he’d also planted a tracker on Duncan’s car.

  The man had gone nowhere of interest — MacDonald’s didn’t count — since then. But now he headed in a different direction.

  Duncan stopped a few minutes later. Kane looked up the address in Google Maps, and zoomed in to street view, rotating until he was facing the building where Duncan had parked.

  A costume shop.

  Strange and stranger.

  Kane pulled the tab free and made it a little smaller, opening a new tab to the side so he could monitor the man’s movements while he browsed one of his favorite online stores. Spies-r-us was the most infantile name they could have come up with, but fuck did they have some decent equipment on their digital shelves.

  It didn’t take Kane long to find what he was looking for. As always, the gadget shop’s vast selection of equipment impressed him.

  He went to check out, and fumbled in the pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of his chair until he found the hooker’s credit card.

  Mindy…had that been her name? The card belonged to M Decker, so it possible.

  A hooker using her real name.

  What a shame.

  She had been pretty, if thick as a two-by-four. And he’d been right — she’d been waiting for her pimp to collect his money. There’d been over three grand on her, and two credit cards. This one looked brand new, so he hoped there was credit on it.

  Kane placed his order, and smiled when it went through without a hitch. Same day delivery cost extra, but it was worth the ten bucks.

  He had a birthday party to attend tonight. He wasn’t planning on arriving empty-handed.

  Kane tipped his can of energy drink against his lips and took a long sip. He couldn’t taste the vodka inside it anymore, just like he couldn’t taste his cigarette when he dragged at it.

  Life had lost its flavor again.

  After placing the online order earlier today, he’d decided against calling Fredericks. After all, he might have even more compelling evidence in the next few days.

  He’d expected the lengthy email he’d sent to Agent Fredericks at the Albuquerque office to trigger a response. Even if it was just to tell him to hand over his case file and get back to being suspended.

  But nothing.

  Sonofabitch hadn’t even bothered to read his mail. And he’d know; didn’t matter if Fredericks declined to send a read receipt — Kane used sales software that embedded a tiny, invisible image into the email that could be tracked when it was downloaded, which happened as soon as someone opened the email.

  No…Fredericks had to be off sick (not that he knew the man to ever have gone off sick) or dead. Because who the fuck could have resisted his subject line of:

  I’m bringing down the ECV Cartel. You want in?

  Maybe he’d been too arrog
ant.

  Kane took a drag of his cigarette, and scraped away the edges of the cherry against the butts in his ashtray until only the embers burned bright.

  It had been spectacular, setting that poppy field alight. He’d kept his drone in sight of the plumes of pale smoke until he’d almost risked it not returning to him before the battery failed.

  No one had investigated.

  Perhaps there were other fields, but he doubted it; the one he’d razed had been vast.

  Why hadn’t Fredericks responded to his request yet? He’d have liked two SWAT teams with him tonight when he followed Duncan to the party. If Fredericks responded in the next hour, he could have ECV—

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Kane glanced up, took a long drag from his cigarette, and wedged it between thirty of its fallen brethren.

  He ducked his head to look through the peep hole, and smiled.

  “DHL—” the delivery man began as Kane opened the door.

  “Thanks, bro,” Kane said as he grinned at the delivery man. “That was fast.”

  “Yeah,” the man said, sounding disgruntled. “Until they decide a drone could do my job better.” He handed Kane an electronic signing pad, and then a large, flat envelope that bumped up in the middle.

  Kane’s smile lasted only as long as the door stayed open. Then it flashed into a thin line as he took the envelope back the motel room’s crowded table. He swept aside a few bottles of energy drink with the side of his arm, clearing a space large enough to set the envelope down.

  Then he lit a fresh cigarette, drained the rest of his can, and carefully opened the package.

  Inside was a wrapped box. He drew it out, unwrapped it, and levered open the lid. A black charm bracelet glittered like the scales of an ebony snake. Beside it, wedged into a foam cushion, was a charm.

  The box was large — almost too large. But when he lifted the cushion out, he saw it had to be to accommodate the USB charger and the separate 8 gig memory card that sold with the bracelet.

  He took the charm out, and laid it on his palm. A grinning skull stared back at him, tiny ruby eyes glistening. He hooked the charm onto the bracelet, and let the black chain slither through his fingers.