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

by Logan Fox

  Cora’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Her memory served a vivid snapshot of her wedding day.

  Ash, raining from the sky.

  Blood, blooming on Javier’s shirt.

  And that exuberant joy that filled her when she watched life flicker from Javier’s black eyes.

  Cora flinched as if his words had churned up bad memories.

  Like when he’d burned down her poppy fields? She couldn’t know it was him. And there was no way in hell he was apologizing, either. Fuck — he’d been doing his goddamn job. What the hell would Fredericks have thought if—

  A whine blocked out the thought. He gave his head a hard shake, forcing his eyes wide to focus on the blurry road. Ahead, a traffic light turned orange. Instead of plowing through it like he usually would, he slowed and came to a stop.

  “Hand me that bag,” he said.

  Cora did as he asked, not making eye contact until their fingers brushed. Then her eyes darted to him, wide in surprise, and dropped an instant later.

  A cute pink suffused her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.

  He cracked open an energy drink, downed a quarter, and tipped in some vodka. When he handed the bag back to Cora, her eyes were twice the size.

  “Helps me focus,” he mumbled, putting the SUV into drive as he slid the can between his legs.

  He fumbled in the pocket of the unfamiliar outfit he wore, hunting for his cigarettes.

  Ronan King had been gracious at doling out clothes for him and Cora. He’d given Kane a checkered shirt, pale jeans, and a cowboy hat more at home in Texas than anywhere near the Mexican border. The shirt and jeans he’d kept. The cowboy hat he’d tossed back at Ronan with a laugh that made the Irish man’s smile slip into a scowl.

  No fucking wonder Ronan hadn’t been able to get an appointment with Benecio — he radiated racism like a nuke radiated… well, radiation.

  Cora wore a pale A-line dress that skimmed her waist and a pair of flat, golden sandals. It looked expensive, probably a Ralph Lauren or a Versace. Well, it was bound to catch Benecio’s attention; even if the man was a fucking queer, he’d be slathering over the designer’s work.

  Her hair was shorter than he remembered. But, when he managed a longer look as she turned to glance at Mallhaven Square and its puke-perfect courtyard, he realized she’d sheared it off where the flames had consumed it.

  It had been a few weeks — had she intentionally kept it that length? He’d preferred her longer hair.

  Kane turned his attention back to the road. He drove onto the freeway leading out of Mallhaven and settled back in his seat to prepare for the trip to the airstrip south of Fool’s Gold County.

  Despite the GPS, Owen had shown him a map with a detailed route of the trip he and Cora would be taking. It was basic as fuck, especially since the plane would be taking them straight to Tijuana.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said.

  Cora shifted in her seat, but said nothing in reply.

  Well, fuck; they had the rest of the trip to get to know each other.

  The airfield was deserted. Cora climbed hesitantly from the SUV. Kane strode ahead as if he knew where he was going, and there was no choice but to follow.

  She had to let Finn and Lars know she was okay. It was nine in the morning — if they hadn’t woken up already, they would any minute. The last thing she wanted was for them to worry about her, especially since she’d slipped from the house without leaving so much as a note.

  At least Kane and Bailey were alive. For now, anyway. That wouldn’t have been the case if she’d ignored Ronan’s summons.

  Would it?

  After everything that had happened, she doubted herself. Ronan seemed so desperate to strike a deal with this Benecio it was plausible he might have been more open to negotiation than she’d originally thought.

  Cora took a deep breath.

  Done is done.

  “You okay there?”

  Kane’s voice brought her back to the present like a whip crack. “I’m fine,” she said, unintentionally blurting out the words.

  He’d come to a stop ahead, turning back when she trailed by more than a yard.

  “You flown before?” he asked, seeming bemused by her sudden speech impediment.

  “No.” Then she looked down and frowned.

  That was a lie, wasn’t it? She had a vague memory about being in a helicopter, someone stroking her hair. But the plane looked so tiny. So fragile. Even the blur of the engine fans did nothing to dispel her sudden intense belief that the thing would come apart a thousand miles up, and that she’d be falling for minutes before she struck it and died.

  “It’s fun.” He grinned at her and raised his voice when the plane’s engines grumbled into life. “Here. Take my hand.”

  He stuck out a hand and, for the life of her, couldn’t think of a compelling reason to protest.

  So she took Kane’s hand.

  His touch was electric, and he looked up at her in that moment as if he’d felt it too. But he ushered her toward the small plane instead of saying anything.

  Maybe it had been her imagination.

  He guided her in ahead of him. The seat was hard under her ass, and the cabin felt so confined that her heart raced. Kane sat beside her, thigh brushing thigh, and reached over her to drag free a safety belt.

  Their faces were less than an inch apart when he clicked the belt into place, and he kept it close as he studied her with hooded eyes.

  His lips moved.

  Was he saying something? She could hear nothing but the roar of the engine. Kane grinned and wrestled a headset over her ears. The pads cushioned the noise, and she jerked when his voice flooded into her ears the moment after he’d put on a pair of his own.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, and he nodded, his grin widening.

  He faced the pilot. “How long, mate?”

  “A few hours.”

  Kane gave the man a pat on the shoulder and turned back to her. “Hear that? This’ll be over before you know it.”

  But a few hours wasn’t the blink of an eye. It seemed an eternity, and she’d be stuck in the air the whole time, unable to bail out if she chose to.

  That was what scared her the most — she had no power over what happened next.

  Kane must have sensed something in her; he leaned over to her and whispered conspiratorially, “What color’s your underwear?”

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked into speechlessness. But his eyes drew at her.

  As did gravity, a moment later, when the plane taxied down the runway. When it eventually rose into the sky, the entire craft began rattling.

  Her stomach remained on the ground — which was perfectly understandable since that’s where she’d been her entire life — leaving her weightless and nauseous a few thousand feet above sea level.

  A hand closed over hers where she clung to Kane, squeezing her.

  “Black? Pink? White?” Kane asked.

  His voice drew her from whatever colossal well she’d been drowning in. She fixed her gaze on his eyes, taking in every detail of his hazel irises. The green, the flecks of brown and gold, the ring of black encircling everything.

  Her ears whined at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, clamping Kane’s hand. He was here, he was calm, he wasn’t freaking out. That should have been enough to talk her down… but it wasn’t. All she could concentrate on was the sensation of being so far above the ground that her mind rebelled at the very thought.

  “Black,” she blurted out, eyes still shut.

  Fingers touched her knee, but just the thought of opening her eyes made her want to puke.

  “Lace?” Kane enquired, in a carnal voice. Perhaps it was the low octave of his voice, perhaps the way he stroked her knee with his thumb.

  “Yes.”

  “Open,” Kane murmured.

  She realized, even though he spoke low, she heard him clear as day through the headset.

 
Did that mean the pilot and co-pilot could hear her too?

  She blushed a deep crimson.

  Kane must have seen because he caught a hold of her chin and tipped her head so she was forced to look up at him. If the pilots were listening, they didn’t seem interested — both stared straight ahead. Perhaps Kane knew a way for just the two of them to speak, without—

  “Open.”

  If she’d had any doubts the crew heard her, Kane’s command annihilated it. She shook her head until Kane applied a gentle pressure to her chin.

  Apparently, her legs weren’t under her control anymore. Her thighs parted as she stared at Kane, unable to look away.

  Not wanting him to.

  He stared back at her just as intensely. She must have looked ridiculous in her headset, but he looked like he’d been born in a cockpit, especially wearing that faded denim jacket.

  Kane’s fingers paused less than an inch away from her underwear, his arm hiking up her dress to mid-thigh.

  “Warm,” he said.

  He’d taken his torturous time so it was no surprise that, when he stroked his fingertip over her underwear, she could feel how wet she’d become.

  “Wet,” he added, the twitch of his lips letting her know just how intrigued that made him.

  God, her cheeks blazed.

  “Did you think about me?” he asked, his fingertip caressing her clit through her silky underwear.

  Snapshots of the erotic dreams she’d had of him flickered through her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but he must have already seen her answer.

  “Only bad things, I hope.”

  She shuddered as he pressed his knuckle against her slit, still guarded by the slip of damp fabric.

  The plane banked, and her stomach twisted. She shuddered, squeezing hard at Kane’s hand. She still clung to him, their clasped hands a few inches away from where he touched her.

  He drew aside her underwear with his thumb and traced a circle over her clit. Soft, then hard, then soft again.

  Her eyes flew open when his breath touched on her face. He was so close; his eyes filled her world as he stroked and stroked and stroked her.

  So slow, her body ached.

  He raked nails over her hip bone as he tugged at her underwear.

  She lifted her hips an inch, letting him drag the black, lacy panties down her legs. He left her underwear on the floor of the plane and dragged his fingertips up the inside of her legs.

  “Wider,” he murmured.

  She spread her legs for him. He leaned closer still, pressing his lips to her jaw, her chin. She tried dipping her head to catch him in a kiss, but he began massaging her clit.

  A surprised, “Ah,” slipped out.

  “My, how fucking wet you are,” Kane said. Was it the headset making his voice sound so deep and sultry? Her eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep them open while he forced coruscating waves of pleasure through her with every slow stroke of that bundle of nerves nestled between her legs. “I’m starting to think you like me a little, Cora.”

  A little? That was an understatement. Her body yearned for him. If she wasn’t in the back of a plane — and fuck, in a few minutes, that might not even matter anymore — she’d be riding him like a carousel horse.

  “Please,” she whispered, even though she had no idea what she was asking.

  Did she want him to end her suffering? To fuck her? To kiss her?

  He did neither. Kane pressed his palm over her pussy and dragged her lower in her seat. Her eyes flickered open when cool air touched her. He’d hiked her dress up to her hips, and was staring down at her as he brought her to a slow, deliberate climax.

  She wrestled her hand free of his and grabbed a handful of his hair.

  It was as soft and thick as she’d imagined it would be. He finally looked up, a gleam of such voracious hunger in his eyes that it was the last trigger she needed to come.

  Her mouth fell open, her body convulsing under his fingertips as her legs snapped closed over his hand, trapping him. He teased her with his fingertips as she rode out her orgasm, slipping the tips inside her and smoothing them over her again and again.

  She stiffened, throwing her head back, and let out a long, rough sigh as the final tendrils of pleasure left her body.

  It was a near silent climax, except that sigh, but it took her an eternity to recover. And, all the while, Kane stroked the most intimate part of her, watching her like a lion watches a newborn foal taking its first steps.

  One thing the flight had done was give him time to think about shit.

  Like why the fuck he’d gotten himself on Ronan King’s radar.

  Kane despised it when he couldn’t remember shit. The last thing he could recall before waking up in Ronan’s warehouse was greeting Lars at Zachary’s farmhouse. He’d still had Neo Martin in the back of his Jeep… and then what?

  He hadn’t taken Neo to Agent Fredericks that was for sure — else he wouldn’t still be suspended.

  The thought wormed away before he could make sense of it. They hit a pocket of air, and the Cessna rattled merrily for a few seconds.

  Cora lay her forehead against his shoulder, awkward with the large headphones still on her ears.

  “Crossing the border,” the pilot said. “Take a look if you want.”

  Kane peered out the Cessna’s tiny window, and grinned as the landscape unfurled below them, the Rio Grande a brown snake that coiled lazily over the earth.

  Obviously, Ronan didn’t want them crossing the border in anything other than a plane - it would be easy for them to alert the authorities.

  Stupid, but easy.

  Regardless of Ronan’s reasoning, Kane was glad — he’d lost all that shit a long time ago. Driver’s license, passport, everything. He’d gotten a fake one — it was easier than waiting at the DMV for half the day — but eventually he’d have to go that route and get his documents in order again.

  Far on the distant horizon, he could see the blue-gray ocean.

  Tijuana.

  Cora left half-moon imprints in his hand with how she squeezed him as they landed, but at least she didn’t scream or faint.

  Kane helped her off the Cessna and left her to find her feet on what he’d always assumed was solid ground. Her face was pale, her lips quivering. He’d like to think it had something to do with the spectacular orgasm he’d given her but he’d be the first to admit vertigo might have played its part. He beckoned her with a flick of his fingers, and she came readily to his side.

  She stiffened for a second when he slung his arm around her shoulders before relaxing into him as he led them away from the aircraft.

  Fuck, but it had been an outer body experience watching her come in the backseat of the Cessna. Who’d have thought she had so little reserve about her own sexuality?

  “Having second thoughts about this deal?” he murmured as he shook out a cigarette for himself and lit it. The smell of her wafted up to him from his fingertips, and he inhaled it as deep as the nicotine.

  He’d been hard as granite on the plane, getting her off. So vulnerable, so exposed. And she’d opened for him like a flower to the sun — no hesitation, no quarter.

  “No,” she said, but the lie was so evident in her voice she may as well have stuck with the truth.

  He got his half-pint of vodka from his pocket where he’d stored it during the flight and took a swig. He handed it to her. “Need some Dutch courage?”

  She shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “It won’t kill you.”

  “I’ll be fine when this is over.”

  “Still a long way from that,” Kane murmured, taking another swig before sliding the bottle back into his jacket pocket. Ronan had had no decent overcoats in his immense closet, but Will had been wearing a faded denim jacket that looked the part. He’d been reluctant to hand it over, but one glance from Ronan and he’d shrugged it off with a glare in Kane’s direction.

  Cora wasn’t so lucky. It had been balmy in Ma
llhaven when they’d left, and no one — including the Latino slip of a girl — had bothered to find a jacket for her.

  Kane stuck his cigarette between his lips and slipped off his jacket. He hung it around Cora’s shoulders and exhaled a plume of smoke that the cool breeze tore from his lips.

  “Better?”

  She gave a nod, eyes still downcast.

  Shit — she’d better get her act together. He’d really thought joining the Mile High club—or at least applying for membership—would be enough to get her out of her own head, but it didn’t look like it.

  An SUV waited for them half a mile away from the landing strip. Standard Irish mafia issue with Mexican plates — black, tinted windows, run flat tires. Obviously, dear Ronan didn’t want them stopping to change a flat on the way.

  Kane took Cora’s elbow, leading her from the airstrip into the SUV. She was docile as fuck — her head didn’t even lift when he urged her inside the truck.

  Strange to think this cartel princess had never been airborne. He snorted to himself as he strapped himself in the driver’s seat and adjusted the seat’s distance from the pedals.

  Another GPS waited in this one, a route already set for the hotel where they’d be meeting Benecio. The trip through Tijuana wouldn’t take them long, and they’d made good time on the flight. If they kept this up, they’d be reaching the hotel a few hours before their meeting. Enough time for Cora to decompress and get her shit together.

  Because she couldn’t meet Benecio like this, all demure and shit. She’d been all fire and brimstone there in front of Ronan, but now her flame had spluttered out.

  “You get enough sleep last night?” he asked.

  The question made her eyes dart to him, and colored her cheeks.

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “You need to puke or something?” he asked.

  She gave her head a wild shake, and then sat bolt upright, running her hands over her face. “I have to let them know I’m okay.”

  He didn’t have to ask who ‘they’ were. Lars Eklund. Milo Finn.