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

by Logan Fox

  “Princesa!”

  Zachary paused before turning, ensuring that the movement looked natural.

  There, a few yards away, stood a young woman with a painted face, a tall block of a man, and a third, more diminutive figure.

  He was too far away to hear the rest of the exchange, but he saw the man in the devil mask clutch the woman’s hand reverentially before the beast beside her stepped in. Then the two of them swept up the stairs and disappeared into a passageway.

  He’d recognized both the woman and the hulking man beside her.

  One had killed Ailin. The other, Rodrigo.

  Eleodora Rivera and her bodyguard. One of two, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Where the hell was Duncan?

  Zachary slipped his phone from his shirt pocket and made a quick call. It was the seventh of the evening to the same number, and it harbored the same results.

  This is Duncan. You know what to do.

  Zachary strode back the way he’d come, glancing down the passage. Much further down the hall, Eleodora and her bodyguard were conversing with a third man. Neither looked in his direction as he turned and headed for the front door.

  He spotted the guest registry, where the third of Eleodora’s clutch of bodyguards had left it; oh, yes, he’d recognized the pretty man who’d ushered him inside.

  The man hadn’t recognized him though. Ignatius had been dull enough to circumvent suspicion.

  Most of the names in the register had been struck through, but Dean—Ignatius’s plus one—hadn’t.

  So it was confirmed; something had happened to Duncan. Zachary was on his own.

  Zachary tapped the register with a finger, glancing at the hotel’s front door and then back to the curtains that led deeper into the hotel.

  She was so close, he could almost sense her presence. But, if he chose to go forward with his plan, it could mean exposing himself to ECV. Of all the guests here, he could safely assume that at least half were loyal to the new capos.

  Dean had been crucial to his plan. A necessary distraction. Now he had to get close to Eleodora without her suspecting him…and he had no idea who she would allow entry into her inner circle of bodyguards. Would the plan he’d set up with Martin’s son still work out in his favor? He still had his copy of the hotel’s front door key—he could use it now and leave without being detected.

  And without Eleodora.

  Zachary hissed out a breath and strode back through the curtains, intent on one last look through the crowd in case Duncan had somehow gotten inside.

  In the yard of darkness between the curtain and the steps leading into the dining hall, Zachary bumped shoulders with someone.

  “Lo promito,” the man said, his voice indicating he was already a few steps past Zachary.

  He recognized that voice. He’d heard it only a few minutes ago.

  “Por favor,” Zachary called back, turning around to the man.

  “Que?”

  “Uh…” Zachary attempted a fumbled phrase in Spanish, and then laughed at himself. “Bathroom? Restroom?”

  “Si, si,” the man said, solidifying into a shadow that walked past Zachary. “I show you,” the man said.

  Just before he faced forward, light from the passage they headed into caught on the man’s mask.

  Zachary returned the devil’s leering grin with a smile. “Mucho gracias,” he murmured.

  21

  Wanna party?

  They’d almost arrived at the ballroom when Cora heard Finn murmur, “You get a hold of Lars?” behind her back.

  Her skin prickled with unease. She turned, staring at Bailey as he and Finn slowed.

  Bailey shook his head. “Should we be worried?”

  “Yes,” Finn said. “He should have been here by now.”

  “Maybe he saw us leaving the den,” Bailey said, turning to scan the crowd. “Thought the meeting was over.”

  “No.” Finn glanced at Cora, and she could see the concern in his eyes.

  She stepped closer, laying a hand on his chest. “Go. Bailey will stay with me.”

  “I can’t leave—” Finn began.

  “I said go.” Cora intensified her gaze, willing Finn to listen to her.

  It worked. That, or he was really worried about Lars. He grabbed Bailey’s arm, turning him around. “You don’t let her leave your sight.” He unclipped Bailey’s radio from his belt and thumped it into the man’s chest as he moved past. “And keep checking in.”

  “Sure,” Bailey said, but Finn was already moving through the crowd. Or, more accurately, the crowd was moving around him like a river around a partly-submerged boulder.

  “Come on,” Cora said, tugging at the sleeve of Bailey’s suit. “Let’s go dance.”

  It was that, or stand here worrying until Finn came back. And her stomach was already queasy with wondering where the hell Lars had disappeared to.

  Maybe he was in the bathroom. Bad caviar or something. The meeting had only lasted like ten minutes—

  The thought cut off, eviscerated by the feel of someone’s eyes on her.

  Cora spun around, searching the crowd. Everyone wore a mask, making it impossible to tell who was merely facing in her direction, and whose eyes were fixed on her.

  She shrugged her shoulders, walking a little faster.

  “What’s the rush?” Bailey called, grasping her wrist so she’d slow down.

  “I want to dance,” she called back, knowing she sounded like a petulant child, but not caring.

  It wasn’t that the gaze had been unsettling; quite the opposite. It reminded her of how she felt every time she dreamed about that man in the restaurant. The one who’d sketched her.

  The—quite possibly—DEA agent.

  “Hey, did you speak to your guy yet?” Cora asked, halting on the edge of the dance floor.

  Music thumped around them. Bailey ducked his head, putting his mouth by her ear as he yelled, “What?”

  “Your guy!” Cora let out a frustrated growl and tugged Bailey into one of the small alcoves dotting the ballroom, sliding into the faded velvet booth.

  “And now?” Bailey asked, sliding in beside her.

  “Your guy. The one who has connections in the DEA.” Cora gripped Bailey’s hand, squeezing it. “Did you speak to him?”

  Bailey cleared his throat. “Her, actually.”

  Cora blinked, her chin moving back an inch. “I thought you said it was a guy?”

  “I, uh…I’m still waiting to hear back,” Bailey said.

  She tilted her head. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” She searched his face, but he looked away. “Bailey?”

  Instead of answering her, he took out his radio and checked in with Finn.

  No sight of Lars yet.

  “Bailey, it’s okay,” Cora said, trying to lighten her voice. “I don’t care if it’s a—”

  “Let’s dance,” Bailey cut in. He turned to the crowd, and then grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the booth. “I think I see Ana!”

  He dragged her onto the dance floor, and maneuvered through the crowd until he stepped aside and tugged Cora up alongside Ana.

  The girl was oblivious; she had her arms around a man’s waist, the two of them dancing close, eyes shut and bodies glued together.

  Cora watched for a few seconds, and then had to look away.

  Damn, that was just what she needed. She turned to Bailey, and bumped into his chest. Laughing, she grabbed him to keep her balance, and he drew her flush against him.

  The track booming through the ballroom’s impressive sound system switched to something hard and primal.

  Bailey dipped his hips, gripping her tight against him, and began moving to the rhythm.

  She had no idea he could dance so well. Cora grinned up at him, her hands on the back of his neck as their bodies moved fluidly against each other, matching each heavy thump of bass pounding through the speakers.

  Bailey slid his hands down her back, grabbing her ass and forc
ing her harder against him. Then he ducked his head for a kiss.

  She surfaced minutes later, when an angry warble came through on Bailey’s radio. They extracted themselves from their passionate embrace, Bailey taking a step back, and then holding up a finger to her. “Be back in a sec,” he said. “You stay with Ana.” Then he worked his way out through the crowd.

  Cora watched him go. But when she turned, Ana’s blond head was moving away from her.

  “Ana!” The bass vibrated through her as she took a few hurried steps after Ana. But, a few seconds later, the crowd had closed over the woman.

  Even wearing stilettos, Cora wasn’t tall enough to see over the crowd.

  “Shit,” she muttered, spinning back to see if Bailey was headed back yet.

  A shiver broke out over her skin. It could have been her cooling sweat—the dance and Bailey’s kiss must have ratcheted up her core temperature by several degrees—but somehow she knew it wasn’t.

  Eyes were on her again.

  Familiar eyes.

  Cora spun around, gaze darting furiously from face to face.

  She shouldn’t be here. Not alone, not like this. If she moved to the outside of the frantic, dancing crowd, then she’d find Bailey and she could stick with him. Or even Ana.

  Damn it, she hated being scared.

  Inhaling a deep breath, she pushed back her shoulders. Then she closed her eyes, and began to dance.

  She’d only just lost herself in the tribal thump-thump-thump of a new track when something brushed her bare arms.

  Flinching, Cora’s eyes popped open.

  No one was watching her.

  She pivoted on her heels and would have toppled over as she lost her balance had it not been for the stranger standing behind her, ready to catch her.

  Cora staggered, found her balance, and completely failed to pull herself free from the man who’d steadied her.

  He wore a fanciful mask that covered his whole face, one half happy, the other sad. The eye slits cast deep shadows over his eyes.

  She heard a noise come from him. Had he said something? It was impossible to tell; just as little of his mouth was visible under the mask.

  “Did you say something?” she yelled.

  He leaned closer, the cool surface of his mask brushing her cheek as he spoke into her ear.

  “I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said.

  His voice sent a tremble through her. It was rich and sonorous, arrogant almost.

  She turned slightly toward him, putting her mouth by his ear. “You didn’t,” came her immediate reply.

  She caught a whiff of his spicy cologne.

  His hair was long, dark and shaggy.

  Just like the man’s from the restaurant.

  Or had his been brown?

  It was too dark in here, in the ballroom. What light there was bounced around the crowd like a playful puppy, spinning and dancing on everyone’s faces when they turned to cheer on the DJ.

  But when the man’s eyes returned from their slow inspection of her body, a jolt went through her.

  It was him, the man who’d been haunting her dreams the past few days.

  And, suddenly, those erotic memories didn’t feel as tantalizing anymore.

  22

  Kane isn’t able

  There was no mistaking the golden eyes staring up at him. This close, despite the low light on the dance floor, Kane could see flecks of honey and bronze in her irises.

  He’d been concerned that he’d been trailing the wrong bodyguards when he’d spotted the two men escorting a much smaller, petite girl between them from the hotel passage through the dining hall. But, even though he’d kept to the shadows, merging effortlessly with a clutch of party guests, when the largest of the two bodyguards had looked his way, he’d seemed to sense Kane’s presence. Once, he’d almost looked straight at Kane, but a passing waiter hoisting a tray of champagne flutes had crossed their path at just the right moment.

  And he’d made sure he wasn’t in the same spot by the time the waiter had walked past.

  When the second bodyguard had emerged from the crowd, walkie-talkie close to his mouth and brow furrowed as he tried to communicate through the noise, Kane had spotted his chance to get close to the girl they’d been escorting.

  Now, drinking in the sight of her, a wave of narcissistic arrogance flowed through him.

  Of course it had been her. He was destined to find her tonight. She was his golden ticket back to the job he loved. The one he excelled at.

  Her pretty little face would be all over the news before Friday. Cartel leader arrested. El Calacas Vivo destroyed. Agent Kane Price, leading the investigation into the drug smuggling charges levied against—

  He leaned closer to the girl, putting his mouth by her ear. “I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Her upper body jerked back from him, but her feet were still planted to the floor. She extracted her arms from his grip—much the pity—and blinked up at him. “You…you didn’t,” she said.

  It was an obvious lie, although she did try to hide it by pushing back her shoulders and meeting his gaze without flinching.

  Her face was intricately painted, but the paint around her mouth looked a little smudged.

  Naughty girl.

  Her outfit seemed designed to entice and tease—from the tightly-cinched waist to the bustier that gave her breasts a deeper than natural cleavage.

  Cappuccino skin and raspberry lips. Hair the color of night.

  And those dazzling golden eyes that had caught his attention the moment she’d looked up at him at the restaurant in Marfa.

  Her gaze darted over his mask, as if trying to place him, but someone like her wouldn’t remember a nobody like him. A random patron of the same restaurant—what was it, over a week ago? Oh no, she could look all she wanted, but he—

  “I know you,” she said, raising her voice over the music.

  Sonofabitch.

  He leaned closer again, and this time she didn’t lean away at all. “I doubt it,” he said to her. “I’d have remembered someone as breath taking as you.”

  At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw her breasts hitch as she drew a sharp breath. Her smell came to him then; something soft and feminine, yet fresh. Lavender and lemon, perhaps.

  “Do you dance?” he asked, his mouth still by her ear. He very much wanted to brush his lips over her ear, but that would mean he’d have to take off his mask. And he liked the way she studied him, frustrated that she couldn’t see past that barrier.

  “I’m waiting for someone,” she said, and then took a step back.

  But he wasn’t planning on letting her out of his grasp. Not now, not ever.

  His options were clear: he could take the DEA badge out of his pocket, flash it in her direction, and lead her off the dance floor. Or, he could see how much she would confess to when she thought him just another of her blind followers.

  His fingers twitched. He had a pair of handcuffs in his suit, too. He could make sure they were nice and snug around her wrists.

  But the game of cat and mouse he’d been playing the whole evening had aroused a sense mischief in him. How long before she realized he wasn’t on her side?

  Fredericks had told him more than once that he should stop putting the cart before the horse.

  This time, he’d weigh his options before acting. He’d try and get as much intel from her as possible without arousing her suspicion.

  From the way she’d been kissing that bodyguard of hers, he already knew how to grease the wheels.

  “But I recognize you,” he said, stepping forward so he could bring his mouth to her ear again.

  Again her chest hitched.

  “You’re the new capo, aren’t you?” he murmured into her ear as the DJ’s track dipped in anticipation of a break.

  She took a hurried step back, which gave him just enough room to fall to one knee. When he looked up, her eyes had transformed in
to golden saucers.

  He drew out the gift box, flourishing it to her like a knight to a queen.

  Eleodora grasped his wrist, trying to tug him to his feet. “What are you doing?” she whispered, glancing around wildly.

  “Happy birthday, Eleodora,” Kane said airily, proffering the gift.

  “Get up, get up!” She tugged hard, sending the gift box to the floor. Shock flickered over her painted features. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Then she was the one on her knees, hunting through a sea of legs for the gift box that had bounced away.

  Kane rose to his feet, chin on his chest as he watched her hunting around on the floor.

  It was exactly where the capo of a cartel belonged — on her fucking knees, begging for mercy.

  23

  Moon dust

  Finn had radioed almost every person on the cartel’s guard roster. No one had seen Lars. The only place left to check was the kitchen. He moved past a steady stream of waiters — some with crates of alcohol to restock the bars, others bearing trays of bite-sized desserts.

  As soon as he crossed the threshold, he ripped off his mask so he could better scan the interior.

  The kitchen looked like a kicked over ant nest. Penguin-suited staff bustled across his field of view, an impossible din of shouts and clashing crockery filling the air.

  He grabbed the first person who wasn’t moving past him at full tilt, and pulled her to the side.

  “You seen someone wearing one of these?” he yelled over the noise as he hoisted his mask for the woman to see. “Tall, blond hair?”

  She gave a quick nod. “Outside,” she yelled back, pointing across the kitchen.

  Thank fuck.

  Finn snatched his radio from his belt, lifting it to his lips. “Bravo, this is Mike, come in.”

  He held the radio to his ear as he attempted to navigate his way through the kitchen without getting a pan, tray, knife or elbow in his stomach.

  The saying, ‘bull in a china shop’ suddenly carried so much more significance to him.