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

by Logan Fox

  Finn snatched his radio from his belt. “November, this is Mike, come in.”

  He pressed the edge of the radio against his forehead, pacing two steps before spinning around and pacing back the other way. Eventually, a crackle of static came back with a hesitant, “Yeah, it’s Neo.”

  Finn waited, but of course Neo didn’t know the first thing about call signs. “Where are you? Over.”

  “In the ballroom. Why?”

  “Can you see Cora anywhere?”

  “Can I or have I?”

  “Can. You.”

  “Uh…” Static. “No. Not from where I’m standing. Should I be looking for her?”

  Finn clenched his jaw, the radio creaking as he tightened his fingers around the plastic unit. “Yes,” he said. “Get word out; she’s gone missing.”

  “You sure?” Neo gave a short laugh. “She could be in the pisser.”

  No, Cora wasn’t powdering her fucking nose. She hadn’t slipped off to the bar. What he’d been dreading since the moment he’d walked into this fucking death trap had finally happened.

  Someone had taken her.

  “Tell you what,” came Neo’s voice over the radio. “I’ll radio up everyone and ask them to lock down. No one leaves until we’ve found her.”

  It might already be too late, but it was better than nothing.

  “Keep a look out for Ana, too. She was supposed to be with Cora.”

  “Sure. I’ll let you know if I find something,” Neo said. And then added a grim, “Over.”

  Finn let out a stale breath. He barged into the den, making Bailey flinch where he perched beside Lars’s motionless body on one of the leather sofas.

  “Leave him. We have to find her.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Drugged, not dead. He’ll survive.” It was harsh, but it was true. Lars was no stranger to amphetamines, psychoactives, or opiates. He probably hadn’t had more than one drink before being drugged, so there wasn’t any danger of whatever he’d been spiked with mixing with too much alcohol and causing issues with his respiratory system.

  Right now, Cora was their priority.

  Even as the flood of logical thoughts tore through his mind, Finn felt a pang of regret at having to close the door on Lars’s pale, unmoving body.

  Bailey was staring down the corridor when Finn came up behind him. He grabbed the man’s sleeve, swung him around, and backed him hard into the wall. He almost threw a punch too, but managed to keep himself in check. Bailey flinched as if he’d been expecting that blow too.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Finn spat.

  “I only took my eye off her for one second—”

  And then he did punch him, because his beast was baying for blood and it was that or explode with fury.

  Bailey grunted, but he took the shot in stride, turning his head back and sticking out his chin.

  As if he knew he’d deserved it.

  “Did you see anything that can help us? Was Ana with her?” Finn realized he still had a fist bunched in the front of Bailey’s button up shirt, and he tore it away with a grimace.

  Bailey staggered, caught himself against the wall, and touched his jaw as if it ached.

  Good. He hoped it hurt like hell for the next week.

  “It was just her. I was on my way back. But it was too loud—” Bailey lifted his radio “—I couldn’t hear you, man. I had to—”

  “That’s it?”

  Bailey drew a visible breath, and glanced down the corridor as if steeling himself. Then he looked back at Finn, and Finn’s skin began crawling like it was in a hurry to leave.

  He took a step forward, shoulders lifting, but Bailey put up his hands. “There was a guy. It looked like they were dancing, but I wasn’t sure. When I looked again, they were gone.”

  “A guy…” Finn repeated slowly. “Does this guy have a face? Hair? Clothes? Something we can use to fucking identity him with?”

  Bailey gave a hurried nod. “Long, dark hair. Wore a weird mask, like two sides of a coin. Posh clothes.”

  “That only describes like half the fucking men in here,” Finn said through his teeth. He grabbed Bailey’s shoulder, shoving the man in front of him as he headed down the corridor.

  “November, this is Mike. Come in.” His voice sounded strained. It was no surprise, his beast was foaming at the mouth.

  “Yeah?” came Neo’s reply.

  “Possible suspect: long dark hair, two-faced mask, suit. He was dancing with Cora. Over.”

  “Dark hair?”

  Finn’s skin tightened. “Yes. Over.”

  There was a long moment of staticky noise. “Think we got him, Milo.”

  “And Cora?”

  He wasn’t surprised when Neo said, “No. He’s alone.”

  But he hadn’t come alone. There was obviously a team at work here tonight. Someone to distract Cora, someone else to take her away. Three, four other people. Maybe more. Lookouts, and guards, and muscle.

  And every single one of them had slipped past him. Past Lars. Past Bailey.

  Finn turned and swung his hand hard into the wall. Pain burst through his knuckles and tore up his arm. His beast bellowed, and then hunkered down.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  “Where is he?” Finn asked Neo, not bothering with call signs anymore.

  A burst of static, and then, “We’ve taken him to the first floor. Second door on the left.”

  “I thought they’d sealed the first floor?” Bailey said, and Finn jerked at the man’s voice so close to him.

  His beast growled unpleasantly, but at least it wasn’t snapping and trying to take out Bailey’s eyes with its teeth.

  “Apparently not. We all fuck up,” Finn said roughly, pushing past Bailey as he headed for the stairwell leading to the first floor. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Some more than others.”

  27

  Her Dark Lover

  A hard thump and a noisy rattle tore Cora from the void of sleep. She waited for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t.

  Darkness surrounded her. Shrouded her. Embraced her like a lover.

  She dipped out of consciousness, waking up when her world shifted and something bumped softly against her body. She blinked hard and tried to wipe at her eyes, but her hands were bound behind her back. Her heart—already racing from such a rude awakening—began thumping in her chest.

  When she tried to open her mouth, she couldn’t.

  It had been taped closed.

  She lay on her side, her floor shifting ceaselessly under her.

  A car. She was in a trunk.

  No. Dios mio, no!

  Her breath grew frantic, rushing hard and fast out of her nose, and it bounced back almost immediately.

  A very narrow trunk…or were there other things in here with her?

  Another thump. This one sent her spilling forward, and she knocked heads with someone else.

  Violent panic coursed through her. The duct tape muffled her scream as she kicked back from whoever it was that lay in front of her.

  Now she could smell sweat in the air—and it wasn’t hers. Then, a hint of cologne.

  A streak of light painted the inside of the trunk through one side of the ill-fitting lid. Like a photocopier’s scanner, it drew a white light down the trunk space. It moved so fast, all she had was a split second’s worth of illumination.

  Cora squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down a wail. With her mouth closed, the smells in the trunk became stronger.

  The metallic stench of blood. The beefy stink of urine.

  Another strobe of light passed over her eyelids. They had to be driving down a freeway—somewhere with street lamps set at regular intervals.

  It took another three lights before she could will herself to open her eyes.

  When the next street lamp passed overhead, she was afforded a glaringly fast view of Miguel’s dead face, inches from hers.

  Mouth slack.

  Dry eyes wid
e and staring.

  Black-dried blood painting his chin and throat. He’d been stripped to his vest and boxers.

  Cora let out another muffled scream, and tried moving back from the dead body. Her bare arm came away from the carpet with a squelch.

  Blood.

  She whimpered, squeezed her eyes shut again.

  Por favor, Santa Muerte — don’t let me have a fucking heart attack. The way her heart raced, she was sure whoever opened the trunk—whenever they opened it—would find two dead bodies.

  When she could breathe again, Cora opened her eyes.

  There was one last strobe of light, then the car turned a sharp left and rapidly decelerated. She had barely enough time to drag her knees up, managing to keep one futile inch between her body and Miguel’s as the drop in velocity sent her tumbling forward.

  Panting through her nose, Cora squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the sight of Miguel’s dead face so close to hers.

  The vehicle rattled alarmingly as the road grew rougher.

  Gravel?

  The air became scented with dry dust, and she coughed.

  Dirt.

  After what could have been anything from a few minutes to an hour of driving, she was now headed down a dirt road.

  Panic consumed her mind, but she forced it down with iron will. This wasn’t the time for screaming or passing out like a stupid girl. Even though that’s exactly what she was; a stupid fucking girl.

  She’d been so convinced of this fool-proof plan. Finn had tried to warn her, and she’d ignored him.

  Wriggling furiously, Cora tried to slide her bound hands out from behind her back, a surprisingly difficult task in the trunk’s confined space. She kept bumping heads with Miguel—not that he complained—until she eventually got her arms out. Her shoulders burned how she’d pulled her muscles, but at least her hands were free.

  She used the knuckle of her thumb to feel down the front of her dress, and let out a relieved huff through her nose when she touched the handle of the cheese knife.

  It took a few minutes to get it out; what with her hands being bound. She used it to saw away awkwardly at the rope around her wrists.

  She had to get out. Had to get free.

  She might be alive for the moment, but she had no doubt that she’d be dead in the next few hours. Miguel’s corpse, the remoteness of whatever location she was being taken too…

  It could mean nothing else.

  The car slowed, and then stopped. Cora paused, straining for a sound. Footsteps headed for the trunk.

  Cora sawed frantically at the ropes with her tiny knife, hopeless tears pricking at her eyes.

  When the trunk opened, Cora was ready. She lunged out with her knife, slashing wildly. The tiny blade snagged on something, but then a hard blow knocked it from her hand. There was only time to see a moonlit silhouette before a fist crashed into her face.

  A confusing mix of sensations tore through her. The smell of charring wood was strong in her nose. Cool night air stroked her skin like a jealous lover. The sticky blood gluing the crook of her arm came apart. And a jolt of pain speared into her head from her jaw, rattling her teeth.

  Then, darkness bled into her vision. Her body went limp as a high-pitched whine tore through her ears. Hands clutched her, dragged her from the trunk, and left her laying in the dirt.

  Something stabbed into the side of her neck, a pinprick of pain that bled icy fire into her veins.

  Noah.

  She was at the farmhouse again.

  But…it wasn’t day time, it was night. And this wasn’t Noah—not unless that abomination of a man had come back from the dead.

  Suffocating clouds embraced her, warm and absolute. She was on her feet, and then on her back. Strong arms supported her. The world bobbed and swayed as the person walked with her in their arms, seemingly forever.

  She cracked open her eyes. A full moon swayed above her. Stars left tracers of light in the sky with each bouncing step.

  Crunch.

  Crunch.

  Crunch.

  Thump.

  Boots sounded on wooden floorboards, and a dark ceiling blocked out the moon.

  A door creaked.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Then softer sounds — boots on a carpet, maybe. Snuffling noises.

  A cold nose touched the back of her hand where it dangled down. A tongue licked her fingers. Warm. Wet. It began nibbling, not piercing her flesh, but as if searching for something.

  “No.” The voice echoed dully in her head.

  That warm muzzle with its cold nose disappeared.

  A firm surface under her. Her support disappeared, and she realized she was alone. Her eyes had closed, but she forced them open to a sliver.

  Blurry walls and a circle of yellow light came into view. She let her head roll to the side when a cold nose pressed to her arm.

  A dog, pale fur and dark eyes, watched her with the intensity only dogs could muster. It snuffled against her arm, leaving a trail of cool moisture over her skin as it worked its way down to her hand. There, it began licking her again.

  It was licking blood from her skin.

  Blood she’d gotten on herself when she’d shimmied her hands out from under her in the trunk. Long licks warmed the back of her wrist, stinging where the ropes had cut into her flesh.

  There was a buzz in the air. Jerky, sporadic. Dark spots zipped across her vision as little nibbles worked their way over the back of her hand. The dog’s tongue tickled the sensitive web of skin between her fingers.

  More nibbles to her knuckles…and then a tentative bite to one finger.

  It didn’t hurt, not like it should have, but Cora flinched her hand and slowly drew it away.

  “No,” she tried, but it came out in a garbled moan.

  The dog followed her hand. Licked, licked, bit.

  “No!” This time, she heard the panicked word hanging in the air, all proper like. She jerked away her hand, and for a second something snagged around her wrist.

  A rope.

  Was she still bound?

  But no—it was something thinner. Something that gave with a small snap a second later.

  The dog drew back, dark eyes watching her over the edge of the bed.

  Waiting…just waiting for her to fall asleep.

  Cora forced her eyes open as far as they would go. More light poured over her retinas, turning a once-blurry room into full focus. It had a rustic feel to it; stone walls and colorful wall hangings. But minimalistic, austere almost.

  She turned her head, staring at the ceiling. The light didn’t come from there—it came from the right. So she let her head roll to the other side.

  The dog came back to lick her arm, but her body was too heavy for her to move it away.

  Cora blinked. Blinked again.

  Dios mio, she didn’t need hallucinations on top of everything else right now.

  But no matter how much she blinked, the bloated face in front of her didn’t waver.

  What was Angel doing here?

  Had he been sent to mock her, to remind her of what an idiot she was? She was more than aware—the universe could piss off now and stop being such a fucking bully.

  A fly settled on the corpse beside her—on Angel’s temple.

  But it wasn’t Angel. This boy was younger, his face plumper. Or was that just because of the level of decomposition?

  Bile burnt the back of Cora’s throat, and she hurriedly turned her head back to face the dog. It looked up at her without slowing the warm licks it worked over her upper arm.

  “Good boy,” she said with a thick tongue.

  With monumental effort, she propped herself up on one elbow.

  There were two dogs: the white-furred one licking her arm, and another a few feet away. The other lay curled up on a small rug, watching her with dull, impassive eyes. Both dogs had scruffy fur, a hollowness in their eyes, and white rime around their noses.

  �
�Good boy.” Her voice made the white dog’s tail whisk happily, and briefly stayed its intense licking.

  Cora brought herself into a sit. Flies buzzed angrily around her, as if pissed that she’d disturbed them.

  The white dog stepped back, and its collar jangled softly. Cora stretched out a hand. She probably shouldn’t try and touch a strange dog, but any trace of fear had dissolved right alongside pain. She felt around the dog’s neck until the small badge bumped against her finger.

  “Lady,” she read with difficulty, having to blink and force her eyes to focus on the small writing. “Good girl, Lady.”

  Hearing its name, the dog promptly sat.

  Whisk, whisk went its tail against the bare wooden floors.

  “Lady,” Cora said, and attempted to stand.

  Surprisingly, she managed on the first go. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she had the feeling that the corpse on the bed had also sat up. Had also swung its legs over the side of the bed. Was also coming to a stand, leaning to one side.

  Cora stumbled forward a step, and would have fallen if she hadn’t made a mad grab and found the dog’s shoulder.

  “Good girl,” Cora mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut as the world tilted for a moment. “You’re a strong doggie,” she said, and her voice broke for a moment. “So strong.”

  The dog’s muscles moved under her fingers as she hobbled for a rectangle of dark light that had to be the room’s exit.

  Why was it so quiet?

  Where was the person who’d brought her here, the dogs’s master?

  She heard footsteps behind her. Soft, bare feet.

  Swallowing hard, Cora forced herself to go faster. She pushed away from the dog and found her balance, but Lady stuck to her side, giving her the odd lick as if encouraging her.

  Hey, look at you go! Just a few more steps. You can do it, human!

  The overwhelming smell was still burning wood—like a forest fire—but as she made her way down an endless passage, garlic and onion gradually replaced it.

  A beacon of light caught her eye, and Cora turned to it. A fireplace with a single, empty armchair. She stepped forward, but Lady blocked her way with an enthusiastic, sharp-toothed grin and a swishing tail.