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

by Logan Fox

  “Where’s Cora?” Finn glared at him in the rear-view mirror. “They keeping her in there? You know which room? I doubt we can pull the same trick twice, but fuck it, we’re gonna—”

  “She’s not here,” Bailey spat out. He coughed, slamming a fist into his chest. “Christ, I’m unfit.”

  “Where?” That Finn’s eyes didn’t burn a hole through the mirror was shocking.

  “I don’t know. She left. He… Ronan let her go.”

  “Where?” Lars asked, turning in his seat.

  “I don’t fucking know!” Bailey lifted a hand, half in apology and half in surrender. “But she’s with Kane.”

  “Well… I guess at least—”

  “No, you don’t get it!” Bailey surged forward, grabbing the two headrests and wedging himself between the front seats. “Kane’s a fucking psycho.”

  “This again? Really?” Lars rolled his eyes, giving Bailey a limp wave. “Honestly, there’s a time and a—”

  “He’s on the FBI’s most wanted. He’s a serial killer.”

  The inside of the cab grew quiet.

  “Think they went to Swan Manor?” Lars asked quietly, his eyes on Finn.

  Finn said nothing for the longest time, but Bailey saw his jaw clenching every time light glanced from his skin. If they’d been responsible for the power cut in the area around Ronan’s house, then it was only a small substation they’d hit — street lamps were on in this part of town.

  “It’s all we got to go on,” Finn finally said.

  The hairs on the back of Bailey’s neck lifted. He sank back in his seat, surreptitiously rubbing his arms so the feeling would disperse.

  He no longer wondered what it had to feel like for a mouse to spot the skulking shape of a cat and know it was trapped and doomed to die.

  Because he’d just felt it. Except, he wasn’t the mouse. He was pretty sure it was Kane.

  And Finn wasn’t a cat.

  He was a fucking beast.

  33

  Such a Fucking Pity

  “Hello?” Cora called out.

  From behind her, Kane pushed a low whistle through his teeth.

  Mercy, this place was a palace.

  He pushed the door closed behind him, gaze sweeping across the gold-veined marble floors, the gleaming balustrades, the crystal chandelier that glittered like fresh morning snow.

  “Finn?” Cora’s voice echoed a little, and no surprise — any of the motel rooms he’d stayed at the past ten years could have fit in this foyer three times — make that five times — over. “Lars?”

  “I don’t think they’re here, sweetheart,” Kane murmured, but more to himself than to her.

  She turned to him, eyes wide.

  They matched the fucking gold in the tiles and the statue of a rearing horse, its sole purpose seeming that of making the massive room seem a little less empty.

  A little less desperate.

  Because that’s what this place was — desperation, sprinkled with self-loathing, and dripping with regret. Money like this never came easy. It never came fair. The walls should have been running red with the blood of every person La Sombra had killed — directly or otherwise.

  Then this place wouldn’t look so empty.

  They’d be wading through blood.

  “I don’t… they’re always…”

  “Maybe they’re out, looking for you.” Kane walked past her, running a fingertip along a polished table hoisting an elaborate flower arrangement into the air. All sorts of expensive fragrances filled the air here — but to him it was like the rancid stench of decay from a decomposing corpse.

  “You’re right. I’ll phone…” But then she stopped, and he turned to her. “I took his phone,” Cora murmured. “Finn doesn’t have one.”

  “So, no way for you to get a hold of them?” Kane asked, dropping his voice to a pitch he knew made every cunt in hearing distance drip.

  Cora gave her head a shake, her eyes becoming hooded.

  “And no idea when they’ll be back?”

  Another shake. She looked as if she was going into a trance; lips parting, hands sliding from the death grip she’d had around her chest.

  “Well then…” He closed the distance between them. “Hows about you take me on a tour while we wait?”

  She blinked, stepping back as if she didn’t want to be close to him. Clearing her throat, she said, “Yeah. Sure. I mean… sure.”

  She hugged herself again, gave him a weak little smile, and headed down a hallway. “There’s a pool—”

  Kane didn’t follow. Instead, he turned and walked to the foot of the stairs. He laid a hand on the balustrade, rubbing his palm over the polished gold before peeking at her over his shoulder.

  “Show me where you fuck them,” he said. “Lars. Finn. Bailey. Show me.”

  Her throat moved how she swallowed.

  Such a pretty throat.

  Such a pretty face.

  Such a fucking pity she had to die.

  Turn around.

  Go back.

  Stop!

  But it didn’t matter what the hell she shouted in her head, her legs kept climbing Swan Manor’s stairs. Kane stood behind her. He wasn’t that close, but his presence extended several feet from his body. The sigh of his palm moving over the banister followed her.

  Blood thumped in her ears. The higher she climbed, the more light headed she became.

  Go back.

  Go back.

  Go back!

  She stepped onto the landing and turned for her bedroom. Kane paused at the top of the stairs, glancing this way and that as if she was really to believe that he was a sightseer, and she his guide.

  But she knew what he wanted, what he would do. He would make good on his promise. He would fuck her, and she seemed incapable of stopping him.

  Because she wanted him too? Or because she didn’t want to think about what would happen if she said no?

  “What’s down there?” Kane asked, pointing to the east wing as she headed for the west.

  “There?” Her voice trembled as much as her hands. “Nothing. A few rooms.” But her voice hitched, and he must have heard it. He twisted to look at her.

  “Show me.”

  She tingled. Not just from anxiety, but from the voracious lust accumulating inside her. Maybe it was her hormones acting up. Maybe it was the fact that today she’d accomplished something she’d thought impossible.

  Or maybe it was the fact that she kept replaying the memory of Kane between her legs. How he’d teased her. His kiss. His hands.

  She moved woodenly toward him.

  He chose her old room as if he’d somehow sensed it held some kind of significance.

  She cringed a little when she opened it. They’d been planning to use it as the nursery or a play room perhaps, but until they’d reached some kind of consensus, she’d keep it as it was.

  As it had been most of her childhood.

  Suddenly, the bed looked too gothic — the dark, romantic fantasies of a sixteen-year-old that had never been kissed before.

  The windows were still welded shut.

  Her altar to Santa Muerte stood against one wall. But the glass of water had long evaporated, and there was nothing left in the saucer. But a statue of the saint’s likeness still crowded the small table.

  And La Flaca’s empty eyes tracked her across the room.

  “This was yours,” Kane stated.

  She nodded and turned to him. “Let me show you—”

  “You fuck anyone in here?”

  She gave her head a violent shake, blushing at the mere thought. She’d thought she would have, that night when Bailey had carried her up here. But he’d been a gentleman, and she’d been tipsy, and so he’d kissed her and left.

  “Mmm…” Kane walked past her, sliding his fingertips over the burgundy crushed velvet of her coverlet. “Where would you finger yourself?”

  Her blush scorched her cheeks. She wanted to look away, let her mortification consu
me her and turn her to ash… but she couldn’t. His eyes hypnotized her. His uncanny knowledge of every dirty deed she’d ever done… it made her want to confess everything anyway, just to see the spark in his eyes while she did.

  “Here.” He trailed his fingers over her bed, giving her a knowing smile. “Just here. Under the covers.”

  She didn’t need to nod, but she did anyway.

  He flicked his fingers at her, and she moved without thought. She came closer, eyes already fluttering closed for a kiss, but he moved aside before she touched him.

  Kane grabbed her shoulders and pushed her onto the mattress. She lay back, her fingers going to the buttons down the front of her dress. But he grasped her wrists and drew her hands down before taking off her shoes.

  “Show me,” he said, his voice as much a caress as his fingers against her ankles.

  “Show you what?”

  “Make yourself come.”

  She squirmed against the bed. “No.”

  “Show me.”

  Her fingers moved reluctantly down her belly. She touched herself through her dress, pressing a little on her clit before jerking her hand away.

  Kane grabbed her ankle and eased her foot up the bed. Taking the hem of her skirt, he slid it over her knee and let it fall into her lap. Then he pressed his lips to her skin, nuzzling her knee with his teeth.

  She shivered a little and forced her hand closer to her clit again.

  He took her other ankle and pushed it up the bed too. Her skirt lay in a heap on her belly now, and she hesitated before moving it aside. She’d put her underwear back on. Air cooled against fabric already damp with arousal.

  Kane’s eyes darted down, but they were back on her a second later. “Did you always take it slow? Tease yourself like that?”

  She had. Sometimes, she’d see just how long she could keep her orgasm at bay.

  Which was never more than ten minutes. She’d craved release, and it never seemed to matter when she got it… just that she got it.

  She trailed her fingertip around her clit, her pussy clenching at the sensation.

  Kane’s lips lifted a little, and he kissed her gently on the knee. Then he slid onto the bed, sitting on his heels between her legs and parting them to make way.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  She writhed, her breath leaving her in a throaty sound as she tried to prop herself up on the bed. She ached painfully, her fingers digging into the mattress as she willed Kane to take out his cock and fuck her with it.

  He took it out. But he didn’t fuck her with it. Instead, he stroked his length with practiced ease.

  She swallowed hard and tried to take off her underwear. He caught her wrist, dragged her hand to her clit, and forced her to touch herself.

  “Did I say you could stop?”

  Cora shook her head, swiped a tongue over suddenly dry lips, and went back to caressing herself. Kane leaned forward, his eyes trailing down her body like a physical touch. He watched her stroking herself, his hand sliding up and down his cock as if he had all night and didn’t plan on rushing anything.

  “I want to see you,” he murmured. “I want to see what you look like.”

  He caught the edge of her underwear with his thumb and drew it to the side. Leaning against her knees, his chest moved to take a hitched breath when she was finally bared to him.

  “Christ, that’s a beautiful cunt.” His voice dipped, becoming hoarse. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck it?”

  A moan escaped her lips, and she clenched her legs around him, trying to urge his cock closer to her entrance. He held back, stroking himself as he watched her do the same. His lips parted, and he ran the tip of his tongue over her knee without taking his eyes off her pussy.

  Then, as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer, he grabbed both sides of her underwear and tore them up her thighs. It happened so fast, and he pulled so hard, that the fabric scorched her skin. She cried out, but he was already twisting away so he could yank her underwear down her calves and off her ankles. He tossed the garment over his shoulder, wrenched her legs apart, and sat staring at her as his cock bobbed and weaved between them.

  “Did I say stop?” he grated out.

  Her hands darted back between her legs. She moaned a little as she massaged her clit with her fingertips — she was engorged from lust. Could he see it?

  “Open.”

  With shaking fingers, she reached around the back of her thighs, hesitated, and slowly parted herself for him.

  Her aching became a hard thump deep inside her. She writhed, so desperate for him to be inside her that she practically mewled with want.

  Kane groaned, dipping his hips. But he didn’t thrust into her. He didn’t even touch her. He jerked off, movements furious.

  “Kane, please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with desperation.

  “You’d better come with me,” he murmured, black eyes flashing up to pin her to the bed.

  “No, please, I want you inside.”

  His hand snaked out, grabbing her throat. She gasped, the sound rattling through a too-tight windpipe, and clutched his wrist in self-defense.

  “Fuck yourself,” he said, his teeth glinting how he emphasized each word. “I want to see you come.”

  She released his wrist. Forced her hands down her belly. And began stroking herself. Using the fingers of one hand to hold herself open — fuck, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to resist? — she brought herself to climax.

  Her hips bucked, and in that moment, Kane gave his cock a last, hard tug. It pulsed once before covering her in cum. Her climax ratcheted up another notch at the feel of it dripping from her, and he shoved his fingers inside her too. She gasped out his name, a prayer to whatever gods were listening, and fell back onto the bed with a groan he must have felt through the fingers he still had inside her.

  Kane stroked the last few drops of cum from his dick, watching her with something approaching hunger as a shudder went through him. He pumped his fingers a few times, moving slower and slower.

  “Mercy, I’d have liked to keep you,” he murmured, lowering himself on top of her. He was so heavy, she struggled for breath. So comforting, she never wanted him to roll off.

  His breath tickled her neck as he kissed her throat, her ear, her cheek. His softening dick slid over her pussy, sending chills through her at its proximity.

  Maybe now he would—

  His hand slid around her throat again, cutting off the thought.

  “But we both know I gotta kill you.”

  Cora laughed. Kane drew back a little, giving her a small smile.

  What the fuck did she think was so funny?

  She squirmed under him, her breath washing over his face. “You can keep me,” she said through another laugh. “But only if you actually plan on fucking me.”

  He slid off her, absently wiping at the cum on his stomach where his shirt had hiked up. He shoved his dick back inside his pants, watching her warily under lowered lashes.

  What game was she playing? He didn’t doubt for a moment it would be a fun one, but there was precious little time. If he’d had more time… oh fuck, if he’d had more time.

  “Listen, you little cunt,” he said, swiping the back of his hand over his forehead. “Maybe you’re not getting—”

  “Don’t call me that,” Cora said, her face solidifying.

  “I’ll call you whatever the fuck—”

  But he couldn’t finish his sentence because she kicked him. She fucking kicked him right in the face.

  Pain burnt out the light. He fell back with a yell, hands wrapping around a nose that felt surely broken. But before he’d recovered, something elbow-sharp crashed into his sternum.

  Air left him all at once. He croaked for breath, falling over on the bed.

  Cora scrambled up, sending a glare his way as she faced him. “That all you got?” she yelled. “Calling me names? Throwing your weight around? Think I haven’t had enough of that in my fucki
ng life?”

  Christ, the girl was mental. Standing there, her dress having settled back into something approaching modesty - if you didn’t know the wet marks on the fabric was his cum.

  He could taste copper on his tongue and gingerly touched the tickling skin under his nose.

  Blood.

  She’d broken his fucking nose.

  He roared, surging off the bed, straight for her.

  Any normal person would have turned tail and run. That’s what they did when they were scared, out-gunned, out-maneuvered. But, apparently, La Sombra was none of those things. She stood her ground, stepped forward to meet him, and drove her fist into his sternum again.

  He collapsed, more in surprise than in pain. And his throat made an awful sound when he tried to draw breath back inside him. Cora came closer, her eyes widening the closer she got.

  “Kane?”

  He gurgled at her, clutching his throat.

  “Kane!” She fell to her knees, and that was when he snatched her. She was on her back a second later, struggling furiously to get out from under him. But he held her pinned with knees and hands, straddling her before settling his full weight on her pelvis.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. He heard his own words coming back to him. Could hear the hint of an accent on his lips. An accent he despised almost as much as he despised the cartels. “Kane’s long gone, bitch,” he said, putting his face lower so blood dripped over her lips. “You’re playing with Simon now.”

  Her face blanched. Had it not been for the spatter of blood by the corner of her mouth, she would have looked downright ghostly under him.

  “Simon says,” she whispered, but as if she had nothing to do with the words leaving her mouth.

  “Yeah, now you’re getting it,” he said. He reached behind him and hiked up her skirt with one hand. “Simon says, spread your legs, bitch.”

  Cora convulsed under him. It was the only word he to describe how her entire body wracked as if she was retching.

  “No,” she murmured, tears springing into her eyes. “No, no, no—”

  “Simon says, stop your whining.” He grabbed her cunt in a hand, squeezing her so hard she gasped and bucked under him. “If Kane’s gonna be too much of a pussy to fuck you, then I guess I’ll have to do it myself.”