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

by Logan Fox

“It’s kinda cute,” Lars commented from the passenger seat, his head turned to the window. “I could see myself retiring here.”

  The mountain range was much closer now. It encircled a valley in a semi-circle of sharp precipices, the upper slopes so steep that nothing grew there and consisting of a dark, gleaming rock. The mountains leveled out toward the valley where a small town nestled, a forest of firs and pines reared olive green, tangled, and impenetrable.

  It looked cozy enough, but getting lost in those forests would be the last mistake anyone ever made.

  “Okay, now we’re looking for Sluice Avenue.”

  “I see it,” Finn said.

  “Then take a left.”

  Further ahead, Prospect Street cut through the middle of what looked like a typical American town. Some facades looked old enough to be historical, but newer shopfronts crowded in beside them. A few cars stood parked on the roads. They stopped beside a man in a pickup loaded with produce.

  In Sluice Avenue, the lots weren’t that pretty anymore. They passed warehouses, a dive bar, and a junkyard before turning into Dredge Avenue.

  Finn parked their SUV a little up the road from their destination. Lars closed his laptop and slid it under the seat as they sat and stared at the warehouse.

  “Let’s go.” Finn climbed out, glancing around. A car drove by, but it parked at a grimy looking shopfront that sold automotive parts.

  “You don’t think we should stake it out a little?”

  Finn turned to Lars. His expression must have answered the question well enough because Lars hastily lifted his hands and came around the side of the SUV at a quick walk.

  They strode across the street to the warehouse. The man who’d parked at the adjacent property gave them a disinterested glance before going inside the automotive shop.

  “Open it,” Finn said, indicating toward the massive padlock on the roller door.

  Lars dug in his pocket, crouched, and got to work on the lock as Finn kept watch. The little town was so quiet, he doubted anyone would come past in the next five minutes.

  “Got it.” Lars grabbed the roller door. “You sure you want to—?”

  Finn bent, grasped the door, and wrenched it up. The squeal of rusting metal made his teeth clench it was so loud — but it wasn’t as if they’d planned to sneak in.

  The musty smell of stagnant water, pigeon shit, and dust rolled out in a wave. Lars made a face, but didn’t hesitate to follow Finn when he ducked and stepped inside.

  Some light came in from the entrance they stood at. A little more from the dirty windows encircling the massive building.

  Enough to make out a single chair, standing somewhat to one side.

  Empty. Well, nearly empty.

  “Fuck,” Finn muttered, striding toward it.

  “Milo, it could be—”

  But all it was, was a message.

  Bailey’s cellphone, blinking with the missed calls they’d made to it, neatly placed on the chair’s seat. A few ropes lay scattered on a floor stained with dried blood.

  Finn picked up the phone, and hurriedly handed it to Lars in case he crushed it in his hands. Instead, he slammed the tip of his boot into the chair, sending it tumbling back several yards away.

  Lars took a step back. Silent, wary.

  His chest grew tighter and tighter. He swallowed hard, doing his best to push back a sudden, swelling heat that wanted to envelope his entire body.

  No, not now. Cora needed him. He couldn’t…

  A hand touched his shoulder. “Milo. Look at me.”

  He pivoted jerkily to Lars. The man’s green eyes blazed with determination, the set of his mouth a grim line that looked so strange on a face that always wore a sarcastic smile.

  “We will find her.” Lars lifted his eyebrows. “Say it.”

  He bunched his jaw, irritation blooming, but then gave a curt nod. “We’ll find her.”

  “We will bring her back.”

  Finn briefly squeezed his eyes shut. Calm was returning to his body, but with monumental effort.

  “We’ll bring her back,” he parroted.

  Lars slid a hand behind Finn’s neck, squeezing him hard. Finn opened his eyes and felt the last of his rage trickle from him.

  “And then we’ll make those fuckers pay.”

  The automotive shop’s owner looked up in surprise at the jolly jingle as Lars and Milo walked inside. The place was neater inside than it had been out — perhaps it was to dissuade would-be thieves from breaking in for the petty cash.

  Milo headed straight for the counter, but Lars caught the sleeve of his jacket, halting him.

  Whether it had been intentional or not, Milo looked like something out a low budget action movie. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, boots any foreman would be proud to see his construction workers wearing. But it was the look in his eyes that made the worst impression — he glared icy blue murder at everything he looked at; a fuel pump, disk pads, even an innocuous bottle of brake fluid. They’d all wronged him by daring to exist in a world where his precious Cora was gone… and that didn’t fly.

  “Let me,” Lars murmured, risking turning to stone when Milo laid eyes on him. “You’re a bit… tense.”

  “Am I?” Milo grated. Then he rolled his shoulders as if he’d just heard himself and took a reluctant step aside.

  Lars gave him a gracious nod and went over to the counter.

  “What can I help you gentlemen with?” the owner asked, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious that they weren’t there for anything in least automotive related.

  “You know who owns the joint next door?” Lars asked, affecting his most good-natured smile. The car guy — his name badge read ‘Johnny’, and from the looks of him, it might even be his real name — frowned a little.

  “Sure. Who’s askin’?”

  Which came out more like, ‘Who’s axing.’ He almost laughed at the irony. After all, if they didn’t find Cora soon, he wouldn’t have to take a guess at who’d be the one wielding the ax.

  It would be Milo. Most fucking definitely Milo.

  “Just two dudes.” He glanced over his shoulder. Milo was spinning a turnstile filled with air fresheners as if about to select which one he’d interrogate next. “We’re not cops or anything.”

  Johnny snorted. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He leaned back on his stool, making it creak under him, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, it’s no secret. That there building’s owned by the mob.”

  Lars’s eyebrows shot up. “I see,” he said, stalling for time so his brain could restart with something useful to add. The best he could come up with was, “You wouldn’t happen to have an address, would you?”

  Johnny gave a two-packet-a-day laugh, which turned into an emphysema-like cough. “’Course.” He emphatically cleared his throat. “Rhodium Drive. Posh part of town. Motherfucker of a building. You can’t miss it.”

  It had to be a trap. Lars watched Johnny watching him, but couldn’t for the life of him see any indicators of deceit. Fuck, maybe this Johnny worked for the mafia, and he was telling the truth — happy to send Lars and Milo into the metaphorical jaws of a very literal death.

  “So… close by then?” Lars asked carefully.

  “’Bout a fifteen-minute drive.”

  “Depends on traffic, right?” But his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Nope. One thing Mallhaven ain’t got a lot of is traffic.” Johnny turned his head, coughed religiously, and then faced Lars again. “Drug dealers, pimps, cults, human traffickers, psychopaths… we got plenty of those.”

  Lars laughed. He stopped when Johnny didn’t join him.

  Milo looked up when he came near, putting down an air freshener that looked like a knock-off Christmas tree. “And?”

  “Oh, uh…” Lars took Milo by the elbow and led him outside.

  For a town housing nothing but psychos and criminals, it was pretty fucking cheery outside. He might even go as far as to say charming, if dormers were your thing.<
br />
  “So… the head of the Irish mafia lives up on Rhodium street. Place. Road.” He shook his head. “Whatever. In the posh part of town, verbatim.”

  Milo leaned a little closer, arms crossing his chest. “He told you that?”

  “Worst kept secret, apparently,” Lars said with a shrug as he headed for the SUV. “Or it could be a trap.”

  Milo got into the driver’s seat with a grunt of displeasure. “Gotta be a trap,” he murmured, half to himself.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised,” Lars said. He glanced in the rear-view mirror as Milo pulled into the street and caught sight of Johnny standing on the sidewalk.

  The man lit himself a cigarette and sent a friendly wave after them.

  Well, at least he hadn’t said anything about cartels. That would have sucked donkey balls.

  20

  Those Eyes

  Kane approached the bronze SUV with caution, giving Ronan King an uneasy glance over his shoulder. The man stood there with his two lackeys, Owen and Will, as if they were seeing off good friends.

  He opened the door, climbed in, and watched Cora do the same.

  They stared at each other for a few seconds. A sharp rap to Kane’s window broke that intense scrutiny. He rolled it down and took the keys Owen handed him.

  “There’s money in the glove compartment. Enough to cover your stay,” Owen said. He pointed at the truck’s GPS. “It’s pre-programmed with the route to the airstrip. I suggest you follow it.”

  “And if we don’t?” Kane asked.

  “Then I sincerely hope you’ve already said your goodbyes.” Owen took a step back and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

  “Mercy,” Kane muttered, giving Cora a quick sideways glance. “These guys are all business, aren’t they?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Cora burst out.

  Kane reeled, twisting so suddenly to her that he cringed when pain speared through him from one of his bruised ribs. “Fuck, what?”

  “I should have come sooner,” she rattled off, golden eyes wide and soulful. “I didn’t know… I mean, they sent the video but… if I’d known—”

  “I can handle a beating,” Kane said.

  When her face flinched, he realized his words might have been a touch too acerbic.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” he said, putting the SUV into drive.

  It didn’t handle as well as his Jeep, but at least it was better than having to be driven.

  He hated being a passenger.

  The GPS came on and guided him to the freeway.

  He turned off the sound.

  Cora glanced at him. “What are you doing?”

  “I fucking hate these things,” he said. Jesus, but his head hurt. His ribs too. Fuck it — his entire body radiated a dull pain, and he was eager as all shit to get rid of it.

  “Check the glove for the cash,” he said.

  Cora’s mouth moved — fucking pretty one at that — before she darted forward and opened the compartment.

  “Uh…” She began counting the wad of notes.

  He turned from Rhodium into Bedrock — it had to be one of the main arterials from the looks of the signboard.

  The single glance he’d taken at the GPS before silencing it had shown him Rhodium drive was in a place called Mallhaven. Mercy, what a depressingly pretty place the town was. If you took the American dream, simmered it for a few centuries, and spread the reduction all over some breathtaking scenery… Welcome to Mallhaven.

  They passed two guys walking along the side street headed toward the back of Ronan’s mansion, but with the sun in his eyes that was about all he could see.

  “Ten?” Cora finally said, looking up as he turned and headed the other way.

  “Bucks?” he asked through a snort.

  “Hundred.”

  “Mercy,” he said, slumping back in his seat.

  He turned into Prospect Street and found what he’d been looking for a few minutes later. He parked outside a convenience store and held out his hand. “Give me a fifty.”

  Cora shelled out a bill and handed it to him. He snagged her fingers with the bill, turning and looking her square in the eyes.

  She writhed in her seat as if frantic to look away but incapable.

  “You want something?”

  She swallowed.

  “A soda, some jerky…?”

  Relief flooded her face. “No… thanks.” The words came out quivering.

  “Suit yourself.”

  He kicked open the SUV’s door and got out. Bright morning light beamed on him as he made his way to the store. He glanced at the parked truck before he went inside and saw Cora’s silhouette against the windshield before the door blocked out the sight.

  He hadn’t remembered her being so damn gorgeous. Those eyes. That neck. Her hair.

  He shook the thoughts from a mind filled with sticky cobwebs and gave the cashier a big fucking smile.

  “Pack of twenties, and a pint of vodka.”

  While the kid got his order, he got a six pack of energy drinks from the back.

  Old habits died hard.

  21

  One Rhodium Drive

  Number One Rhodium Drive looked as impenetrable as Fort Knox. The multi-level building had only a front entrance — and no opening windows on the lower floor.

  “Let’s try the back,” Lars murmured, and Finn gave a slow nod. They kept to the trees as much as possible, moving along the opposite side of the street in case anyone happened to look out of the windows and spot them.

  Did Ronan King even know what they looked like?

  “What if she isn’t in there?” Lars asked as they made their way to the back of the building.

  “Then I’ll make whoever owns this heap of junk tell me where the fuck they are keeping her.”

  Lars pursed his lips and nodded as if he wasn’t so much agreeing on Finn’s definition of a heap of junk as the plan.

  “Shit. Incoming,” Lars muttered, flattening himself behind the trunk of a massive oak tree.

  Finn just froze — he wore dark clothing on the regular, and he was covered with dappled shade. There was no way a passerby would see him if he kept still.

  A bronze SUV sped down the road. Behind its tinted windows, the driver was nothing but a dark smudge, and there was no passenger to be seen. Finn tracked the vehicle with his eyes, only daring to breathe once it turned the corner.

  The back of the house had a sloped driveway that led to a basement entrance. A narrow alleyway ending in a metal door ran alongside it. A delivery entrance, basement parking, and an off-loading bay. One of those might be the easiest way in, short of scaling the walls and trying to get in through a window.

  “You still have those binoculars in the car?” Finn asked, casually scanning the windows as they walked past the house without slowing.

  “’Course. How else am I supposed to watch ladies undressing from the street?”

  “Then let’s go get them.” He looked around, trying to spot the best place for them to park while they were staking out the house. There was a steep slope on the northern side of Rhodium Drive, and what looked to be a small park. Not the best vantage point, but the least suspicious. At least they could see some windows and keep an eye on the comings-and-goings of the staff via the back.

  Fuck it — it was better than nothing. Better than hoping Cora would come back to him by some twist of fate.

  Especially since he knew Fate to be a conniving bitch.

  22

  Focus

  “Get a fucking grip,” Cora murmured to herself. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them hard into her lap.

  It didn’t help.

  Her body felt live-wired and as conducive as copper.

  It was his smell. His presence. It filled the SUV’s cab in a thick, intoxicating miasma that she breathed and tasted and felt all at the same time.

  She blamed last night’s dream. A dream triggered by seeing him for the first time in a month. A
s much as she’d tried to hide it, he hypnotized her.

  Movement caught her eye. She looked up, watching Kane approach with a bag in his hands.

  Time slowed. It actually fucking slowed.

  He sauntered through invisible molasses, freshly washed hair gleaming in the sunlight where it flopped over his forehead. A cigarette dangled from his crooked slash of his mouth.

  His slim, tall body moved with sensual grace. A leopard, out for a stroll but still capable of intense violence, should it spot prey or competitor.

  A plume of smoke trailed behind him as he exhaled, and then the car door was open and noise filled the cab as he slid inside, the brown paper bag rustling in the sudden silence.

  “There’s water in there, if you want.” Kane’s deep voice trembled through her. He gave her a quick scan. “You okay there, sweetheart?”

  “Yeah,” she managed, after swallowing hard. “I’m fine.”

  He wound down his window, exhaling out through the opening before turning to her. His knee went up, pressing against the steering wheel and transforming that crowded space between him and the wheel into a place where he could lounge.

  “You gotta stay on top of this,” he said. He pulled hard at the cigarette, aiming the smoke out the window before facing her again. “That Benecio guy will eat you for breakfast if you let him.”

  Of course - Kane had phoned and arranged an appointment on La Sombra’s behalf. After they’d sent her to her room like a girl who’d stayed up after her bedtime.

  “Did he sound keen?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Kane said with a shrug. He took another long drag, briefly closing his eyes as if he’d been too long denied a cigarette, and then held in the smoke as he replied. “Farmers want to sell their produce.”

  “He’s a farmer?” Heroin came from poppies, at least. That meant someone had to grow them.

  “I doubt it.” Kane took a last drag from his cigarette before tossing it from the window. “If he’s from the Guerrero mountains like Ronan claims, then he probably has a contingent of farmers growing for him. He’s a middle man — he deals with supply and demand and holds off the army when they go up in those mountains to burn down the poppy fields.”