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

by Logan Fox

  “Yeah, that.”

  Cora began, “I have to—”

  “You don’t have to do anything.” Finn put the phone down again, grabbed the top of her arm, and began herding her out of the kitchen.

  “This is cartel business,” Cora said in a voice tight with fury. “I can’t—”

  “A cartel you left behind,” Finn reminded her.

  “He’s there because of me.” Golden eyes searched his, her voice shaking now.

  “No, he’s not.” Finn tightened his grip until Cora winced. “He’s there because he’s a fucking pig. He’d have arrested you, if we hadn’t given him Neo. If you hadn’t agreed to disband ECV.”

  “Then why did they send the video to me?”

  “They didn’t,” came Lars voice. Finn glanced at him. Lars had slumped onto a stool, the measure of tequila in front of him untouched. “They didn’t send it to you,” he repeated softly. “They sent it to me.”

  “It was meant for me,” Cora bit back.

  Lars and Cora stared at each other for long seconds. Lady moved a few feet away to go and lie on a nearby rug.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Lars murmured. “They sent it to me, Cora. They found you through me.”

  Her mouth opened a little, but she didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “It doesn’t matter how they found us,” Finn said, hoping to break the stare between Lars and Cora. “This doesn’t mean anything. Nothing changes, you hear me?”

  Cora spun to him. “We can’t leave him—”

  “So, you’re going to contact them?” Finn interrupted. “You’re willing to reveal yourself for the likes of Kane?”

  “He saved Lars’s life,” she whispered, incredulity writ large in her eyes. “How could you—?”

  “Fine, La Sombra.” Finn released Cora, and went around her. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised — putting yourself in danger is what you’re good at.”

  “Finn!” she called, but he was already halfway out the room.

  His skin felt too tight for his body, and warm as a result. He touched one of his burn scars—an irregular shape on the base of his wrist—and winced. It felt more sensitive than the rest of his skin, but only by a fraction.

  Probably more imagination than anything else.

  “They don’t know where we are,” Lars said behind him. “I mean, my profile doesn’t have a location. He can’t find us here.”

  Finn spoke right over him. “When has anything ever been that simple?” He stopped halfway up the stairs, glancing back at Lars.

  Cora and Bailey stepped out from the kitchen, both turning to look up at Finn.

  “Whenever someone wants Cora, you know they won’t stop until they have her.” Finn shrugged. “Or until they’re dead.”

  “Did you manage to eat something?” Bailey asked quietly behind her.

  Cora gave her head a small shake, tearing her eyes away from Finn as he and Lars headed for the master bedroom — no doubt to continue discussing the issue of Kane somewhere she couldn’t get involved.

  She looked at Bailey, but couldn’t for the life of her remember what he’d asked. “What?”

  “Food.” Bailey looked a little distressed that he had to repeat himself. He stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Have you eaten?”

  She stared wordlessly at him a slow, sullen fury oozed into her. “Somewhere out there—” she threw her arm to the side “—someone’s torturing Kane, and all you can think about is if I’ve eaten today?”

  “Cora, I just—”

  “I’m not a fucking child!” Cora dipped her shoulder to get away from Bailey’s touch. “Somehow, every man in this house has forgotten that.” She put a hand on her belly — it felt enormous, although she knew she was barely showing yet — and glared at him. “Just because I’m having a baby, doesn’t mean I’m suddenly incapable of eating, or riding, or making a goddamn decision about my own life!”

  “I never—” Bailey began, gray eyes wide and a deep crease between his eyebrows.

  But she turned away before he could finish. Better that than slapping him, like she felt such an intense urge to. This fucking pregnancy was turning her into a drama queen.

  She stomped through the manor, heading for the patio. A light drizzle fell outside, and she hesitated for a second before grabbing a coat from the rack beside the door. More for the cold than for the rain, of course.

  And it had nothing to do with Finn’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to keep dry. Like she was a box of cookies or something.

  The day had turned dark with sunlight incapable of penetrating the leaden blanket of clouds that pressed suffocatingly low to the earth.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Had Bailey followed her? She didn’t turn to see. If she did, he’d see the tears filling her eyes.

  Damn hormones. Furious one second, downright blubbering the next.

  Bailey perhaps decided he shouldn’t interrupt her because, after a pause, his footsteps retreated.

  She stepped out from under the patio’s roof, lifting her head to the sky. Rain pattered on her skin, mingling with the tears she let streak down her face.

  It had been so unexpected. Nothing could have prepared her for that video, nearly a month after she’d last seen Kane.

  She’d thought that would be the end of whatever strange pull the man had on her. An attraction she’d never admit to Finn or Lars or Bailey, something she thought had developed because of the events surrounding her birthday last year.

  But that clip kept repeating in her mind. His eyes, flashing murder at whoever held the camera. A face that should have been filled with pain, but instead showed only rage.

  They were right, of course — her men. But not for the reasons they thought. She couldn’t rescue Kane because that meant coming in contact with him. And that would be the end of her. She’d snapped free of whatever spell he’d cast on her, but if she saw him in person again…

  She blinked hard, forcing rain and tears from her eyes. When she brought her head down, a dark blur made her turn. There, partly hidden in the midnight shadow beneath a trellis overflowing with jasmine, stood Santa Muerte.

  Cora’s lips thinned. “Go away!” she yelled, hugging herself hard.

  The robed skeleton watched her impassively, dark cloak blending with the shadows.

  How much did Cora owe her by now? How many times had the saint saved her life or that of her men?

  Santa Muerte always collected her price, but she had nothing to give.

  Cora forced her eyes away from the waiting shadows, shivering for a moment before she hurried back inside.

  3

  Mad Guap

  Bailey parked his Ducati outside Aroma Therapy, a cozy bistro in downtown Phoenix. He unbuckled his helmet, glancing around as he took it off, and swiped a hand through his hair.

  What car did Shayla drive? Was she here already? He eased his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

  No messages.

  No missed calls.

  No one at Swan Manor had noticed he was gone.

  He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, and pushed inside the small bistro. The aroma of ground coffee beans filled the air as did a low hum of conversation. It was busy— surprising for a random weekday afternoon — but he found who he was looking for a moment later.

  Shayla Doyle sat at the long bar counter, an empty stool beside her. She faced him as if she’d watched him enter.

  Bailey lightly cleared his throat as he stepped closer. He had no fucking clue why his stomach was all twisted and shit. It could have been because he hadn’t told Cora and the guys about this meeting, or because it had been so long since he’d last seen Shayla in person.

  “Hey, kid,” Shayla said, her mouth spreading in a wide smile as she slid off her stool. She spread her arms, enveloping him in a hug before he could step and avoid her touch.

  Perfume reminiscent of cotton candy and lilies rose from her. Bailey hurriedly ended the hug, si
tting on the stool and setting his helmet on the counter.

  Shayla’s liquid brown eyes studied him for a moment before she hopped onto her seat. She put her chin on her palm, her smile wide enough to show teeth.

  “You’re looking mad good,” she said, a Brooklyn accent lingering over her words. “Coffee, or something a little stronger?”

  “Coffee’s fine.” Bailey cleared his throat again because his words came out too tight and mangled into incomprehension.

  Shayla snapped her fingers at the barista behind the bar and rattled off an order.

  She still remembered how he liked his coffee.

  Bangles clattered as she lifted a hand, twisting her wrist to take in his brand name jeans, leather jacket, and signature shirt. He’d never paid attention to what Cora had paid for his threads, but Shayla had.

  “Looks like you fell right into the guap, son. You win the lottery or something?”

  “Or something,” Bailey murmured. “Thanks for meeting me. I know it was last minute—”

  “For you, babe, anything.” Shayla grinned at him again and turned to accept her latte from the barista. “You’re paying though,” she said, running a critical eye over his clothes again.

  “Sure,” he said, fishing a note out of his wallet and handing it to the barista. “Keep the change,” he said. He caught the slightest narrowing of Shayla’s eyes as he faced her again, but it was gone before he could be sure.

  “So, I’m guessing this isn’t a catch up sesh. What you need?”

  Bailey touched his cup, but the coffee was too hot to drink. He toyed with his spoon for a moment before catching Shayla’s eyes again.

  “Remember that guy I asked you to look up last year?”

  “Yeah,” Shayla said with a nod as she blew on the surface of her latte. He got a whiff of hazelnut as he shuffled closer to her so he didn’t have to raise his voice.

  “Did you ever find out anything?”

  “Not really.” Shayla shrugged. “But I also never heard from you again, so I didn’t think you needed the info that bad anymore.”

  “I need it, Shay. Bad.”

  Shayla chuckled. She’d always loved tormenting him by turning every second phrase of his into something dirty or provocative.

  “Easy there. I’ll get you what you want. I’ll see my guy this weekend maybe, ask him—”

  “I need it sooner than that.”

  Shayla turned away from him, something in the coffee shop maybe catching her eye. Bailey grabbed her wrist, got a handful of bangles, and tugged her until she was staring at him again.

  “I need it today.”

  “Today?” Shayla frowned at him. She twisted her hand, holding him instead. “It’s past two. I can’t—”

  “Please, Shay. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death.”

  Shayla’s dark eyes widened as she put down her latte. “Bailey… did something happen? Tell me.”

  That familiar concern in her voice flashed through him like nostalgic whiplash. He held her hand, and that felt familiar too. But then he jerked away, shoving his hands between his legs and swallowing hard.

  “I just need the info, Shay. Do you still have everything I gave you?”

  “Yeah. His name and description. That badge number you gave me was a fake. But I told you that, right?”

  Despite the warmth inside the coffee shop, icy air slid over Bailey’s face and neck. He rubbed the back of his neck, mind scrambling.

  “You didn’t… I never…”

  “Didn’t I call you?” Shayla looked away again, and he resisted the urge to touch her to get her attention back to him. “I could have sworn—”

  “What do you mean, it’s a fake?”

  “It doesn’t exist. It’s a fake badge.”

  “He’s not DEA?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “But…” Bailey’s voice faltered. “I need to know who the fuck he is, Shay.”

  “Why? Who is he to you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I remember anything that could get you in a tizzy like this.”

  Bailey glanced away, steeling himself. Shayla had been his confidant as much as he’d been hers back when they were on the streets together. With a single look, they could convey pages of information to each other.

  “He’s… a friend of mine,” Bailey said grudgingly. “Someone… he’s gotten himself into some big trouble.”

  “A friend you’re keeping tabs on?” Shayla asked, letting out a derisive snort. “Some friend.”

  “Okay, a friend of a friend. I won’t lie, I don’t like the guy one bit.”

  “Now that’s the Bailey I know.” Shayla rubbed her hands together conspiratorially with a clatter of bangles. “What kind of trouble?”

  Bailey let out a soft sigh, rubbing his eyelids. “He got himself kidnapped by the Irish mafia.”

  “The—” Shayla cut off with a strangled sound. She took a hurried sip of her latte before speaking again. “Fucking hell. What they want him for?”

  “They’re… using him as leverage.” Bailey swiped his tongue over his lips. “Look, I just need to know how he fits into all of this. He said he was DEA, and it turns out he’s not. If he’s lying about that, I need to know what else he’s lying about. My friend’s life might be at stake.”

  Shayla was quiet for a moment, those brown eyes of hers studying him for the longest time. She began to nod.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. “Hey… uh… my place is a few minutes’ drive from here. If you want, we could—”

  “I’m seeing someone, Shay,” Bailey cut in. The words were harder to say than he’d thought. He made to stand. “I should go.”

  “So that’s it?” she said through a bitter laugh. “It’s been five fucking years, and you don’t even have the decency to sit for ten minutes and have a cuppa coffee with me?” Her accent came on stronger, and she seemed irritated by the fact, jangling her bangles as she looked away from him.

  Shame rolled through Bailey in a thick, cloying wave. The shock on Shayla’s face was real enough, although he knew she could affect a lot of emotions through will alone. She loved manipulating people, but that didn’t make any easier to avoid her carefully spun traps.

  “I’m sorry. Things are… Things are a bit fucked up right now,” Bailey said, hesitating before perching on the edge of the seat again. He hadn’t even touched his coffee. Surely, he could have one cup and then go?

  His phone hadn’t vibrated. No one was looking for him yet.

  He pushed away the sour thought and took up his coffee. It was rich but its bitterness didn’t sit well on his tongue.

  “So, who is she?” Shayla’s hand darted out, flicking the collar of his leather jacket. It would probably take weeks for its strong leather smell to dissipate. She wore brand name clothes too — and conspicuously. Always had, even when she hadn’t been able to afford them. Back then, she’d steal them if she had to just to make sure she was kitted out in expensive threads.

  “Her name’s Cora,” he said, the words slipping out so fast he failed to hide his own shock when he heard them hanging in the air.

  “Cora,” Shayla repeated, tasting the name on her tongue. She sipped at her latte, her eyes never leaving Bailey’s. The longer she maintained eye contact, the more he shifted in his chair.

  “So that’s who you are now? A kept man running errands for his girlfriend?”

  He wanted to say Cora was more than his girlfriend, but that would take too much explaining. This line of conversation made him uncomfortable.

  “How long will it take you to get some intel on this guy?” Bailey asked.

  Shayla shook her head. “I could get you a real job. One that pays.” She glanced at his clothes. “You won’t even have to slum it or anything, Scrooge.”

  “Shay—”

  “She some old biddy you have to sleep with once a week to get your allowance?”

  Irritation swelled inside Bailey, but it fizzled
before it could transform into anger. Shayla was baiting him on purpose. He wasn’t playing according to her rules, and she always punished him for that.

  Hindsight made such a clear picture of the past. He’d been so madly in love with Shayla, he’d never once doubted her intentions.

  “You got a good job then? Something steady?”

  “Oh, it’s steady, all right,” Shayla said, amusement wringing her words. “And pays well.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Like you care,” she said, but too flippantly for him not to notice. She shrugged, setting her empty glass down and pushing it aside. “Serious, son. I’m talking mad guap. And the work’s not half bad.”

  “Who you working for?”

  She smiled at him, coy as the time she’d asked him if he was still a virgin. God, that had been over twelve years ago. He’d been sixteen, Shayla three years younger.

  “If I told you, I’d have ta kill ya,” she said through a laugh. “But think about it, ‘kay?”

  Shayla twisted to the side, slipping the strap of her Dolce & Gabbana handbag over her shoulder as she stood. She cocked her head at him. “You’re looking good, B. Give me a call in the morning, I’ll see what I can scrounge up about your mystery man.”

  She darted forward and pressed her mouth to his.

  He should have recoiled. That’s what people did. But the primordial part of his brain — the one where Shayla had been imprinted like a cattle brand — found no need to retract from her warm lips.

  Bailey’s hands lifted, but she broke off the kiss before he could push her away. She touched a thumb to his bottom lip, gave him a cheeky smile, and fluttered fingertips at him as she headed out the coffee shop.

  His heart kicked against his chest and began pounding.

  He let his head sink into his hand, elbow propped against the counter top, as he tried desperately to rid himself of the taste of Shayla’s hazelnut latte.

  Shayla sat in her candy-glazed mustang where she’d parked it on the other side of the street, her eyes on Bailey as he left the restaurant and mounted his bike. He revved it and pulled away with barely a glance over his shoulder.