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

by Logan Fox

  “Impressive,” Lars said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You an Olympic swimmer or something?”

  “Diver,” the man said in a tight voice, dropping the joint and grinding it out under a heel. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “Jesus, that’s some muscle memory you got.”

  The man laughed hard, sending smoke shooting from his mouth and nose. “Fuck!” He slammed a fist into his chest as he coughed.

  “Sorry, man,” Lars said through a laugh, clapping a hand on his back.

  “You trying to kill me?” the man said, but he could see a smile through the mask.

  “Hey, let’s get you checked in,” Lars said, guiding the man to the door. “These babies should have been shut already.” He slapped one of the doors on the way in.

  The man in front of him shuddered theatrically. “This place should have burned to the ground. Now that would have been a public service.”

  Lars laughed with him as they stepped through the metal detector, but his laugh cut off when the sensor triggered with a loud beep.

  “Whoa, hold up,” Lars said, grabbing the man’s sleeve.

  “What now?” His mask reflected one of the hallway lights, briefly blinding Lars.

  Fuck, he shouldn’t have smoked. That alarm had triggered every fucking nerve in his body.

  “You armed?” he asked, desperate to clear his clouding mind.

  “What do you think?” the man asked, a laugh in his voice. “I’m surrounded by fucking cartel.”

  Jesus fuck. Lars barely held his composure. He’d have been fine if he hadn’t smoked, but if this guy pulled a weapon on him, he doubted he’d react fast enough to disarm him.

  “Gotta take it, I’m ‘fraid,” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  “I was joking, man.” Dean flashed him a lewd grin. “But I think I know what’s gone and beeped.” He rummaged through the pocket of his two-piece suit. He wore a cape over the whole ensemble, but as an afterthought.

  He looked like a trend-setting billionaire, what with his shiny-as-fuck Oxfords and the luxurious shimmer of his midnight blue suit. Cuff links of pure ebony glittered in the light as he finally found what he was looking for and pulled it out.

  Lars almost pounced him when that hand came out of his pocket. The urge was so strong, he swayed where he stood. But the man wasn’t holding a weapon — he was holding a small gift box that fit the palm of his hand.

  “What the fuck’s that?” Lars asked. He knew, but his lizard-slow brain had run everything past middle-management first, and those pricks were high as fuck right now.

  “A gift. This is a birthday party, right? That lady capo or something?” Dean took a step back. “Shit, did I get that wrong?”

  “No, no.” Lars waved at him, and took the ribboned gift box. It looked way too complex for him to bind up again if he wanted to look inside.

  He held it to his ear and gently shook it. “What is it?”

  “Bracelet,” the man said, twisting his wrist and revealing a seventy-thousand dollar watch.

  Well, it fucking looked like it had cost seventy kay.

  “Christ, where’d you get that shit?” Dean asked, sticking his fingers under his mask as if he was touching his lips. “My mouth’s gone dry as fuck.”

  Lars laughed. He couldn’t help it. His mouth was just as dry. The gift box weighed near nothing, and the dull clatter from inside was concurrent with a chain scratching against the inside as he shook it.

  Paranoia. It happened to the best of men.

  “Let me lock up, and I’ll take you straight to the bar.”

  “Fuck, yes.” Dean grinned at him again. “Hey, I love your mask.”

  “Thanks, man,” Lars said, his mouth sliding into a wide smile. “Say, your boss…who’s he in the cartel?”

  “Ignatius?” Dean shrugged, looking away as he slid the gift box back in his pocket. “Middle management, I guess.”

  Lars spun back to him, one hand on the back of the back of the hotel door. “Middle management,” he murmured, pushing the door closed and locking it.

  He was forgetting something, wasn’t he?

  Dean grinned at him. “Man, I could really use a drink.”

  “Sure, sure,” Lars said, striding past the man to lead him deeper into the hotel.

  He remembered about five seconds later that he’d forgotten to cross out Dean’s name, but his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  Priorities — he could always come back later and scratch it out.

  18

  Dona Cora

  “They’re ready,” Finn murmured in Cora’s ear.

  Her skin prickled, both because of his sudden proximity and his announcement. She spun to him, doing her best to keep a smile pasted on her face so he wouldn’t notice her hands trembling.

  They’d converted the hotel’s ballroom into a mini club with a DJ stand at one end and a small bar at the other, and she and Finn had been about to step back onto the dance floor.

  Not that Finn danced. He stood a few feet away, scanning the crowds so intently that she could see more than a few nervous faces close by.

  She gave her hands a quick shake. Ana, who’d Finn had told to trail her like a puppy the whole night, noticed the gesture. “What’s wrong?” she asked above the music.

  “I have to go,” Cora said, leaning in so she didn’t have to shout.

  “Must I come with?” Ana asked.

  “No. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Or never, depending how the meeting went.

  Cora looked past Finn. “Where’re Lars and—?”

  “Bailey’s meeting us there,” Finn said. “Not sure about Lars—he’s not answering his radio.”

  “Is he okay?”

  Finn turned, guiding her ahead with fingers to the small of her back. “I’ll keep trying, soon as we’re out of this noise.”

  Noise.

  If she hadn’t been feeling so nervous, she’d have smiled. Apparently, she and Finn had radically different tastes in music. She loved feeling bass vibrating through her body.

  Finn seemed to tune it out.

  From what she’d understood, Ana had said the guest list was close to two hundred. But there were over two hundred people in the hotel.

  Maybe that had just been her guests, not Neo’s.

  “And Neo?” she asked, glancing at Finn over her shoulder.

  “He’s the one that radioed in.” Finn didn’t look happy about that. Then again, he hadn’t worn a smile since they’d left the villa.

  She walked a little faster, swaying dangerously in her stilettos. A dining hall with deteriorating chandeliers housed twenty intimate cocktail tables. A buffet spread against one wall, serving a steady stream of party goers with everything from caviar to veal. The music was a subtle, soothing jazz — a stark contrast to the frenetic, almost tribal bass she’d been listening to in the ballroom.

  They were just about to exit the dining hall when someone called out, “Princesa!” close enough—and loud enough—to make her flinch. She spun, and took a step back as a masked man hurtled toward her from the crowd. She was still standing there like a stunned rabbit when Finn appeared, hand out to block the person advancing on her with such determination.

  “Is me!” came a voice muffled by a mask. It looked like a caricature of the devil; a wide open curving mouth with a forked tongue carved onto the lower half of one cheek, sharply arched brows, a chisel of a nose, and a pair of sharp, twisted horns. The man grabbed the edge of his mask and lifted. “Miguel!”

  Cora’s shoulders drooped with relief.

  Finn stepped aside as Miguel came closer. The man took Cora’s hand. “May your birthday be blessed, Princesa,” Miguel murmured, and looked about to plant a kiss on the top of her hand when Finn gently urged him away.

  “We have somewhere to be, Miguel,” Finn said, briskly but not unkindly.

  “Si, si.” Miguel gave her a warm smile, and then slipped his mask
back on.

  “Enjoy the evening,” Cora said, giving him a smile before following Finn from the dining hall.

  Finn guided her up a short flight of stairs and down a wide passage. To the left, was the hotel’s front entrance, now sealed. To the right, the powder rooms and the den.

  As soon as they drew close, she could see Bailey’s silhouette. He had a foot up behind him on the wall, arms crossed as he stared at nothing.

  “You get a hold of Lars?” Bailey asked, as soon as they were within earshot.

  “Not yet.” Finn took in both sides of the passage with an intense stare, and then gave Bailey a pat on the shoulder. “You try reaching him for another few minutes, then come inside.”

  “Shouldn’t I—?”

  “We’re needed inside,” Finn said, and Bailey glanced down at Cora before giving him a quick nod.

  “Sure,” Bailey said, turning away from them as he unclipped his radio and held it to his mouth.

  Finn twisted her to face him, and studied her face for a moment. Then he tucked a stray curl behind one ear, adjusted her veil so it hung behind her back, and gave her a grim smile.

  “Don’t let them rattle you,” he murmured. “Remember, you are La Sombra, capo of the El Calacas Vivo cartel. You don’t take instruction from anyone.”

  “Except you,” she said quietly, running her hand down his chest.

  Despite how stiff he stood in his suit, it looked amazing on him. No longer rough-hewn rock, but polished granite. He’d shaved, had a haircut, and his cologne enveloped her in a comforting cloud of wood and leather.

  “Time to go,” Finn said, and opened the door.

  The den was as subtly lit as the rest of the hotel. Here, most of the leather furniture glistened — in remarkable shape, and recently cleaned. But the walls were in as bad a state of repair as the rest of the hotel.

  It made for a strange backdrop—ruined book shelves, deteriorating wall hangings, and faded wallpaper—for the five men seated around the room.

  Six, if you counted Neo, but he stood close to a ruined side table leaning precariously against the wall.

  The men rose when she stepped into the room. She almost missed a step, but turned it into an awkward pause mid-step instead.

  Two arm chairs faced the odd assortment of sofas and settees the men sat down in.

  One for her, one for Neo.

  She took the closest one, not trusting her legs to carry her another step.

  Neo walked past her, trailing expensive and cloying aftershave in his wake. He wore a dark red cloak, and a black suit that shimmered red when the light caught it.

  It reminded her of her wedding dress, and that gave her a small spike of courage.

  “Evening, she said, as Neo was still busy sitting. “Would you care to introduce yourselves?”

  The men hesitated. An African American furthest to the right spoke up first. “Jamie,” he said, and didn’t seem to want to offer anything more than that.

  The man next to him—mixed race, but she was sure he had either Latino or Cuban blood in him—spoke up next. “Cesar.”

  Beside him, a man who was clearly Mexican said, “Tomás.”

  That left her with two Caucasian males. They bore a strong resemblance to each other; cousins perhaps, since the one had dark eyes and the other light.

  “Victor,” the dark eyed man said. Then he pointed to the man beside him. “This is Owen.”

  She nodded, hoping to hell she would remember their names. She opened her mouth to introduce herself—manners, right?—but Neo cut her off.

  “I am Neo Martin, capo of ECV. This is Eleodora Rivera, my wife.”

  Heat cascaded over Cora’s face. She tried to suppress a furious blush but failed.

  “And capo of El Calacas Vivo,” she added, hating how unsteady her voice sounded. The urge to throw a scowl in Neo’s direction made her tighten her fingers on her chair’s armrests.

  Victor’s eyes fixed on her. “So you’re both capo.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyway.

  She licked her lips, but again Neo spoke before she could.

  “My father promised you a shipment of heroin,” he said. “But the poppy fields were destroyed last week. I’m not sure when we’ll have another shipment ready, but it could be a few months.”

  Cora pressed her lips closed. What the hell else was there to say?

  The air stirred, sending a waft of fragrance to her. Finn was standing right behind her. His presence cast an aura of strength over her.

  She sat forward, crossing her legs. This drew all five the men’s gazes. Victor and Cesar even had the audacity to give her a lingering once-over before focusing on her face again.

  She’d been planning on using ‘we’ and ‘our’ to include Neo in everything she said. But after the stunt he’d just pulled insinuating she was nothing but his arm candy, that would not fly anymore.

  “I understand you have commitments on your end,” she said. Shockingly, her voice came out steady and calm. Light, even. As if she was talking about the change in season. “Which is why I will endeavor to replace your shipment within the week.”

  And then, just as she’d felt Finn’s reassuring presence, she felt a wave of tension flowing over her from him.

  No, this hadn’t been part of the plan. But if she didn’t show these men—whoever the hell they thought they were—that she was in control, then she’d never be in control.

  It was a man’s world, and she was a girl, looking the part in her costume and face paint.

  She regretted everything now. This party, this location. She’d have had more control if she’d worn modest clothes, no makeup, perhaps her hair up in a tail.

  Well fuck that.

  “A week, you say?” Victor turned an ambivalent smile to her. He had unremarkable features, but a tattoo kept peeking from the front of his button-up shirt where the first two buttons had been undone. A quick glance toward Owen showed that he also had a tattoo on his chest. Hidden, but what were the chances it was different to Victor’s?

  “You’re not part of ECV, are you?” Cora asked, shifting her eyes from Victor to Owen. Owen—apparently a mute—didn’t even acknowledge the question.

  Victor’s smile grew. It was too wide now, like he was laughing in his head and could barely control his mirth. “I see you picked a smart one,” he said, glancing at Neo. “Unlucky you.”

  “Neo didn’t pick me,” Cora said, enunciating every word with care. It made her think of the way Javier had spoken, but maybe that’s what she needed now.

  She rose to her feet, hoping the extra height would give her some advantage.

  It did; all five the men looked unhappy with having to crane their heads back to look at her.

  “Sit down,” Neo said from beside her. Fingers brushed her wrist, but she twisted her hand away before he could get a grip.

  The door opened. She didn’t turn to it, but she knew it was Bailey coming inside.

  Where was Lars?

  She couldn’t think on that—she wouldn’t allow herself to. She had to focus on the here and now.

  “One week,” she said, staring straight at Victor.

  If he wasn’t part of their cartel, then he would be the hardest to control. And he seemed to be the alpha between the two.

  But then she caught the slightest hesitation from Victor. It was nothing more than a shift of his feet, but it was as if he was waiting for something.

  Beside him, Owen held his hands casually in his lap. His thumbs had been pressed together to form a steeple, but now he lay them side by side.

  “Javier already took our money.” Victor sat forward in his chair, but didn’t stand. “Our shipment should have been delivered today.” Victor cocked his head at her. “We’re not leaving here without it.”

  “Do you want your money back?” Cora asked, but not of Victor…she turned her head a fraction and directed the question straight to Owen.

  If it surprised him, he didn’t show it. In fact, he c
ould have been a robot in a human suit for the amount of emotion he displayed.

  Victor snapped his fingers at Cora. “Hey, you talk to me, girl.”

  Cora lifted a hand, knowing both Finn and Bailey would have surged forward at the man’s blatant show of disrespect.

  The air in the room changed. Of the five men in front of her, everyone except Owen suddenly looked edgier than they had five seconds ago.

  “We can give you your money back,” Neo said from behind her, making her grind her teeth. “But it’ll take a few days—”

  Owen got to his feet.

  His eyes were level with hers when he spoke, and he faint traces of an Irish accent. “One point five,” he said. And then added, “By tomorrow.”

  “But you only paid one mill!” Neo yelled behind her. She put up her hand, but he didn’t obey her like Finn and Bailey. He pushed past her, almost sending her sprawling, and came right up in Owen’s face. “Why the fuck are you asking for another five hundred?”

  Owen hadn’t moved. He studied Neo for a moment, and then slowly ran his hands down the front of his suit. “For the inconvenience.”

  Then he stepped around Neo, gave Cora a small nod, and left the room with Victor in tow.

  She felt dizzy, and not just because Neo had almost sent her flying. Sinking back in her chair, she turned back to the three men. “You will have what you need within a week.”

  They watched her for a few seconds, eyes darting from her to Neo. Behind her, no doubt to Finn and Lars. And then, one by one, they nodded, rose, and left.

  Neo spun to her as soon as the door closed behind Jamie. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  She looked up at him, moving only her eyes. “Who are they?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Victor and Owen. Who are they?”

  Neo’s mouth moved for a moment, and then he sagged a little. “I’m not sure. I think Javier’s partner sent them.” And then his mouth slid into a tight line, as if he regretted saying that.

  “My father?” she asked, frowning. “Why would he—”

  “Not him,” Neo cut in irritably. “But from what Cesar said—”