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

by Logan Fox

  Even when he was inside her.

  “I’m not going to have another death on my conscience,” Cora said, stepping back when Finn advanced again.

  “I told you before, you had nothing to do with Gabriella—”

  “And my mother? My sister?” Cora hugged herself, blinking furiously. “What about them? What about my father?”

  “What are you on about?” Finn lunged around the island, grabbing her arm before she could slip away. “Cora, you’re not making—”

  She slapped him and then pulled her arm free.

  Bailey got to his feet. “Guys.”

  It took a few seconds, but Cora wrenched her head around to throw him a glare. “What?” she snapped.

  “I’ll go.”

  She stared, blinking owlishly. “Go where?”

  “To the guys that have Kane,” he said with a shrug.

  Fuck, wasn’t it obvious?

  “No,” Finn muttered. “None of us are going after him. He got himself into this—”

  “Enough.” Cora lifted a finger at Finn like a school teacher giving the kid in the back of her class a final warning.

  “If this guy wants to meet—fine, we’ll meet.” Bailey stepped forward, reaching tentatively for Cora. “But you stay here. I’ll go alone, or Lars or Finn can come with me. If you give us your permission to negotiate, then we’ll do that on your behalf. No one can expect the capo of a cartel to meet a drug supplier. It’s beneath you, Cora.”

  She watched him for the longest time until she slowly wrapped her arms around herself and puffed up her shoulders. “It is beneath me,” she said, her words running together as she glanced at Finn from under her lashes. “Which is why I’ll send you on my behalf.”

  Finn’s fist slammed into the marble top. Shockingly, no cracks appeared, although every plate, fork, and knife rattled.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” he murmured, heading out the kitchen.

  “You could have been part of this decision,” Cora called after him. “You chose not—”

  “Really?” Finn spun back to her. “You came in here, told us nothing was up for debate, but now I had a decision in the matter?” He stabbed a finger at her. “You’ve always done whatever the fuck you wanted, Cora. Didn’t matter how many people told you it was wrong, or stupid, or dangerous.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “You’re on your own.” He pointed at Bailey. “You two figure this out.”

  Cora practically bristled as Finn stormed from the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” she called after him, sticking her chin out. “Well I’m cutting you off until you come to your senses.”

  “Cutting him off?” Bailey asked, frowning.

  She looked at him, hugged herself a little harder, and sniffed. “Yeah. In fact, go take his clothes and put them in one of the guest bedrooms. He’s sleeping alone tonight.”

  And, with that, she left. Surprisingly, she didn’t hit her nose on the way out despite how she stuck it in the air.

  7

  Fuck Buddy

  Miraculously, Shayla arrived at Rhodium street five minutes to eight the next morning. She sat in her car, visor flipped down as she did a last-minute check on her makeup.

  She’d decided Will was full of shit when he’d made that last comment to her. Only queers didn’t like looking at a woman’s tits. Especially if they were as shapely as hers. She wore a peach colored, slim fitting dress that ended just above her knees and stilettos that gave her an extra inch of height. She’d braided her hair into a loose, messy plait that hung over one shoulder.

  Exchanging her massive handbag for a small purse which her cellphone barely fit into, Shayla drew a deep breath before climbing out the car.

  Mallhaven had been a bustle of small-town activity when she’d driven down Prospect Street earlier. Shops receiving deliveries, people out on their rounds, commuters heading to work. But there were only three cars on this road besides her Mustang, two parked. The third drove past her, the shadowy figure inside giving her an amiable wave as they passed.

  She frowned at them and then went to ring the bell.

  What she’d thought was an apartment block turned out to be the entirety of Ronan King’s house. The intercom had a single button, and someone suave answered it with a droning, “Yes?”

  “Uh, I’m here for a meeting with Ro—Mr. King.”

  “Name?”

  “Shayla. Shayla Doyle.”

  “Do come through.”

  There was a click from the steel-framed glass doors. She pushed on them and stepped into a cozy, well-lit foyer that reeked of orchids. Two planters stood beside either side of the entrance, and another two by the small reception desk.

  Was this a hotel or something?

  A man in a dark suit stood behind the counter, watching her walk inside.

  “Uh… Where do I—?”

  “Follow me please,” the man cut in effortlessly, taking lead as he turned off the foyer and headed for a sweeping staircase. There were more orchids in here — they dangled from trellises and filled the air with their intoxicating aroma with every step.

  The doorman — if that’s what he was — led her up the steps.

  So not a hotel then. Still just an enormous house. Or, perhaps just a very comfortable office. It was impossible to say. The doorman left her standing in the sitting room. Early morning light filtered through dozens of French pane windows along one wall, brightening the cream-and-gold room until it shone like heaven.

  Here, the orchids were pure white, their pots and trellises gold. Possibly even gold leaf, judging from the opulence dripping from every fixture.

  She expected Will, but instead, his brother Owen was the one to appear from the hallway.

  Dressed in a dark blue, three-piece hounds tooth suit, he could have been the owner of this place, instead of one of King’s underlings.

  “Right on time,” Owen said. He barely had an accent even though she knew he’d flown over the pond before Will even had. “Mr. King’s expecting you.”

  Her throat was dry, but she forced a swallow and urged herself after Owen on stiff legs. Thick carpeting swallowed their footsteps — and her heels — until she felt as if she was walking on very expensive cotton candy.

  The money this man must have, the power…

  Owen stood aside, gesturing her inside a large study furnished in chrome and glass. Only the carpets and thick, satin drapes held an old-world feel. There were no orchids in this room. Instead, all she smelled was strong coffee.

  A man stood beside a coffee pod machine on a marble countertop against one wall.

  She had a few seconds to look him over before he faced her.

  His suit was a light gray. He wore just his undershirt, his jacket hanging from the back of the executive chair behind his desk. Silver hair a shade lighter than the suit hung over his collar in open rebellion. It bore the subtle sheen of someone who used product that cost more than her entire makeup collection.

  King turned, caught sight of her, and gave her a wide, warm smile.

  Her insides became jelly.

  “Would you like a cuppa?” King cocked his head to the machine.

  It took precious seconds to cleave her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She hadn’t expected his accent to be so thick, his so amiable.

  “N-no. Thanks.”

  When had she lost the ability to speak? Her cheeks heated, and she averted her gaze from King’s friendly smile.

  And here she’d been terrified he was some harsh task master — someone who was all business and no pleasure.

  As soon as she could get herself under control, she made moves he’d be unable to resist.

  She waited until he had seated himself behind his desk before taking a seat in one of the chairs in front. And she swayed her hips on the way.

  King looked up from his cup, watched her approach, and that smile inched higher.

  Gotcha.

  Shayla slid into her chair, crossed her legs, and returned his grin. “Thank you for
seeing me,” she said. Thankfully, her voice was back to its smooth-as-silk drawl — not a trace of Brooklyn remained.

  King took a sip of coffee and gently set his cup on his desk before replying. “Will tells me ya know tha’ stook holed up in my warehouse?”

  Well, he didn’t mince words this guy, did he? She was glad — there was always precious little time for games in this line of work. Those that thought they could take their time found themselves stranded.

  “Kane Price,” she said, injecting as much authority into her tone as she could. “He happens to connected with an acquaintance of mine.”

  “Acquaintance,” King repeated. He touched a fingertip to the glass top of his desk and began a slow tap. “A lover?”

  Shayla swallowed and shifted in her chair. “He called me three weeks ago, wanting information on Price.”

  “A lover then,” King said, a secretive smile playing over his mouth. “Have a fall out with him?”

  What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Shayla looked away, hauling her composure up from the whimpering heap it had collapsed into, and rallied with a strangled, “Price claimed to be DEA. But the badge number he gave Ba—my contact, is a fake.”

  Owen took the seat beside Shayla, setting down his own cup of coffee in front of him.

  Maybe she should have gotten a cup. It smelled so glorious, it was making her mouth water.

  “Sure ya don’t wanna cup?” King asked. Her eyes snapped back to him, and she realized she’d been watching Owen take a sip from his cup.

  Fuck — this is what happened when she didn’t get any sleep.

  Focus.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Shayla sat forward, straightening her spine. This pushed her breasts against the front of her dress, but Ronan didn’t notice.

  “Did Will tell ya why I have Mr. Price in my warehouse?”

  “No.” Shayla gave her lips a quick lick. “But I assume it has something to do with Rivera.”

  As with Will, there was nothing but a gut feeling leading her to think this Rivera — who she was sure was Cora — was important. It had been the way the light in Bailey’s eyes had changed when he’d spoken of her.

  And, just like Will, King did not indicate he even knew the name.

  Which was no coincidence.

  “What’s the name of your… acquaintance?” King laced the word with enough sarcasm he might just as well have said ‘fuck-buddy’.

  Shayla sat back in her seat. King wasn’t interested in her tits anyway, so why bother? No… King wanted intel. He wanted to know what she knew.

  He’d have to pay for it first, though.

  “I’ve been working for you for three years, Mr. King,” Shayla said. “I want—”

  “I know.”

  Her mouth was still open, ready with the remainder of the sentence. She snapped it closed. “Excuse me?”

  King got to his feet. He wasn’t a tall man — in fact, he probably only had an inch on her if she wasn’t in heels, but in that moment, he was a hulk. “Ya think I don’t know who pulls the trigger every time I sentence someone to die?”

  She gripped her hands together, feeling sweat building between them. Beside her, Owen took a leisurely sip of coffee, as if he was used to this shadow play of King’s.

  “Of course no—” she began.

  “The good book says our Lord notes the fall of every sparrow,” King said, ambling around the desk. “Why shouldn’t I know every move of every muppet working for me?”

  Had someone turned off the heating in the room? “I didn’t mean to offend you—”

  “This friend of yours.” King perched against the edge of the desk in front of her, his leg brushing hers. “Bring him.”

  “I… I can try to—”

  “You will bring him to me.” King leaned over, putting his face inches from hers. Cologne that hinted at steel and leather enveloped her, mingling with the decadent smell of coffee lingering on his lips. “Or you’ll regret having wasted my time.”

  King straightened and left the room. She didn’t know if he looked back because her entire body had frozen.

  After a few seconds had passed, Owen set down his empty coffee cup and let out a soft sigh. “Can you do it?” he asked. “Can you bring him here?”

  Shayla licked her lips. The room was suddenly too bright, the drapes so thick they suffocated the air. She hauled in a breath as she pushed herself to her feet and fiddled with her purse until she could bring herself to look at Owen.

  It was barely any better than facing off with King.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and then wondered why the fuck did.

  “For your sake, I hope that’s true.” Owen swept a hand to the door. “Or that’ll be the last promise you ever break.”

  8

  Ungrateful Wench

  “How much of a pussy-whipped bitch are you these days, if you have to ask permission to leave your house?”

  Bailey turned, frowning hard at Shayla as she sank onto the stool beside him.

  They were meeting at the same coffee shop as yesterday and in almost the same seats; if it hadn’t been for the pensioner flipping through his newspaper, Bailey would have been in the same spot. Instead, he kept a stool empty between him and the old man.

  Shayla twisted away from him as she tried to make eye contact with a barista as Bailey gave her a wary once-over from his seat.

  She looked dangerously sexy in her tight dress, killer heels, and more than enough makeup.

  “What did you find out?” Bailey asked, sitting forward on his stool. “He doesn’t have a record, does he?”

  “Christ, son, can I at least get a drink?”

  His cup was empty already. He’d been so eager to hear from her, he’d come right away.

  Instead of arriving early, she’d rocked up a quarter of an hour late.

  He waited, practically steaming, until her latte arrived. She blew on it, sent a coy smile his way, and then burst out laughing.

  “Okay, okay! Je-sus. You look like you’re gonna explode.” Her teeth flashed as she grinned at him around a chuckle. Bangles clattered as she reached for his hand, but he tugged it away before she could touch him.

  “So, I got news.”

  “Tell me.”

  She cocked her head. “In a bit.”

  “Stop fucking around, Shay.”

  Her eyes flared a little, and he turned away from her in case his irritation would give her some kind of satisfaction. The way she carried on, it was giving her a goddamn clit boner.

  “Another coffee,” he barked out when a barista came in earshot. The girl gave him a curt nod and dashed away to get his order.

  “So, this Kane fella,” Shayla said, pausing to take another sip. “How close is he to your girl?”

  “He’s not,” Bailey said, and then hesitated. He had no reason not to trust Shayla — they had, after all, been thick as thieves back in the day — but there was something too intense about her this morning.

  Then again, maybe he was projecting his sense of urgency onto her. It would be just like him, doing that.

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said, accepting his new cup of coffee with a grim smile. “Why? What does it matter?”

  “I’m worried.” Shayla took a noisy sip of her latte. “This dude’s trouble.”

  Bailey’s heart squeezed in his chest.

  Fucking knew it.

  He thumped the counter with his fist and then glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. The old man gave him a small frown over his newspaper, but no one else paid him any attention.

  “What? What is it?” Bailey leaned close to Shayla. “He has a record, doesn’t he?”

  Someone claiming to be a DEA agent when he wasn’t had to be hiding something. And the only thing that made sense to Bailey was something as sinister as a criminal record.

  But what had he been charged with? Theft? Armed robbery?

  Murder…?

  “Relax.” Shayla studied him for a second and
then looked away to sip at her drink. “Look, I might have something for you. But you’re going to have to trust me on this.” She looked back at him, eyes wide. “Can you do that?”

  He wrapped his fingers around his coffee, glancing down.

  No. He didn’t trust her. As fucked up as it was, for whatever reason… he couldn’t trust her.

  “Of course,” he said, meeting her eyes and wishing his voice didn’t sound so unsteady. “How could you even ask me that?”

  It took everything he had to hold her gaze. He couldn’t even blink, and he wondered if she could pick up on the lie. Fuck, were liars supposed to blink or not?

  “Good. I’m glad.” Shayla nodded. A grin came out of nowhere, beaming at him until he felt his own lips perk up. “You’re gonna have to get some time off from your woman though. Can a pussy whipped bitch like you handle something that?”

  “Time off?”

  “We’re going on a little drive.”

  “Where?”

  Shayla put her latte down hard enough to rattle the spoon in her saucer. When she spoke again, she directed her words straight forward instead of turning to Bailey.

  “And here you just told me you trusted me.”

  A chill worked its way into Bailey’s fingertips, despite how hard he gripped the porcelain cup. “I do.”

  “Then fucking trust me,” Shayla snapped, eyes wild when they touched on him again. “I’ll have you back before supper. Tell your momma she can tuck you into bed tonight.”

  Shayla’s eyes glared the challenge at him. It put his back up, but at the same time, it made him realize how long it had been since he’d seen this girl.

  A woman now. So different, but just the same.

  “Can you tell me where we’re going at least?”

  Shayla grinned around her cup as she drained the rest of her drink. “I could,” she said, using a fingertip to wipe foam from her lip. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

  The smell of hay and horses hung heavy in the air when Lars entered Swan Manor’s stables. He spotted Cora by one of the horse’s stalls and grimaced a little as he moved closer. It wasn’t that he didn’t like horses, or stables, but there was always a lingering hint of manure in the air, no matter how clean the straw.