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

  Where no one can hear her yell when you fuck her again.

  The voice came out of nowhere, billowing into substance like someone had whispered inside his head. Finn pushed away its insinuation. His mind had been a silent place since the farmhouse. Eerily silent, as if his psyche was holding its breath for something. The snow and the constant scent of Cora—that citrusy note he couldn’t identify—in the confined space of the Jeep seemed to have set it off.

  “Can’t we put on the heat?” Cora asked.

  “I need as much power as—”

  The steering wheel ripped from his hands. A crash filled the cab like a living thing.

  Cora screamed; it was a tight, breathless sound.

  The Jeep twisted, sliding a few feet in the snow before the tires lodged. The engine ticked in the sudden quiet that surrounded them—not even the wind blustered in that moment.

  “What—?” Cora cut off with a choke, and fumbled with the door handle.

  “Stay inside!” Finn got out of the Jeep, the air squeezing him like a frozen fist as he squinted to see through the storm. The wind drove stinging snow into his face. He tugged off a glove and drew his Five-seveN from the small of his back, letting it dangle at his side as he sidled toward the front of the Jeep.

  A dark shape lay a few feet from the Jeep’s hood.

  Before he reached it, something heavy struck the side of the Jeep, right by Cora’s door.

  Finn swung around, Five-seveN raised. A deer leaped over the hood of Jeep, almost clipping Finn’s shoulder with its hooves as it streamed effortlessly over the vehicle.

  He fell against the car, jaw clenching over a shout of surprise. The deer’s tail flashed white before it disappeared like a phantom in a swirl of angry snow.

  More came then. Twice, deer crashed into the Jeep before veering around and disappearing into the trees. Finn crowded against the Jeep’s wheel arch, making himself as small as possible and praying Cora would stay inside. Seconds later, the herd was gone as if they’d never been.

  Finn counted a few thundering heart beats before he risked a glance over the hood. Snow billowed around them, but no more deer seemed intent on crossing the narrow road.

  He grappled with the Jeep’s door handle, struggling to find a grip with his sole glove, and ripped open the driver’s door.

  “You okay?”

  Cora sat huddled on the seat, hugging her legs to her chest, her head burrowed in her knees. She peeked out at him, face pale.

  “They gone?” she whispered.

  “Think so. Just stay put.” He closed his door and went around the front of Jeep, already knowing what he’d find.

  The deer they’d collided with had already been dusted with snow. Finn bent down, scraping snow from its flank. Its hind leg jerked, catching his shin. He shot up with a quiet curse.

  Still alive, but badly injured judging from the amount of steaming blood eating through the snow beneath it. “Shit.”

  “It’s dead?”

  He spun, glaring at Cora as she scrambled from the driver’s side of the Jeep. “I said stay inside.”

  She ignored him and crouched beside the deer, wiping snow from its snout. It snorted air through its nostrils in a loud hiss. “Shh,” she whispered, stroking it when it tried to move its head out of her reach. “Finn…it’s dying.”

  “I know.” He raised his Five-seveN, and then hesitated. “Move.”

  She looked up, eyes going wide. Her mouth opened, and he almost thought she was going to protest. But she wasn’t an idiot—at least, not all the time. She had to realize the animal was in pain. She gave it a last stroke down its nose and then stood, hugging herself hard.

  She turned her head when he shot the deer through its skull. The shot reverberated around them, strangely muffled by the falling snow.

  “Get inside,” Finn said, crouching beside the animal as he tucked his gun into the small of his back and yanked his gloves back onto his hands.

  The road was so narrow, it would be impossible to get the Jeep past the animal unless he dragged it aside.

  “Let me help,” Cora said in a thick voice.

  When he looked up at her, she avoided his gaze. Snow-dusted hanks of black hair stuck out from under her woolen cap. They seemed to make her thick, dark eyebrows and lashes that much darker. Moisture trapped in those lashes made her golden eyes glitter. She sniffed hard and grabbed the deer’s two front legs. Finn grabbed its hind legs and together they dragged it out of the way.

  It left a swathe of too-bright blood in the snow.

  Cora avoided the streak, but Finn trod through it as he headed back for the Jeep.

  He held the door open for her as she clambered back inside, and then did a quick scan before climbing in behind her.

  The Jeep rocked when he slammed the door closed. He touched the ignition wires together. The engine turned, but didn’t catch. Clenching his jaw, he tried again, willing his hands to stop shaking. It was near arctic outside, and they’d been on this road for almost an hour in the unrelenting snow.

  The Jeep refused to start.

  “Fuck.” Finn sat back, and ran his gloves down his face. “We’ll have to walk.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes.” He glanced outside at the snow. “Make that thirty.”

  Cora nodded, took a deep breath, and then made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Well, let’s go. I’m freezing.”

  “It’s gonna get a whole lot colder,” Finn said as he got out.

  “Then we’d better walk fast.” She started up the road, stepping high to clear the foot of snow already packing the road.

  They’d have to walk really fast—she wore her knee-high boots and a pair of jeans, but that wouldn’t be enough. They’d pilfered warm clothes, jackets, gloves, and caps from a home depot store before hot wiring the Jeep, but a person really needed thermal underwear up here to stay warm outside.

  The wind howled at them as they began trudging through the snow. For a few feet, he left bloody footprints behind him until the snow made them disappear.

  5

  Just a job

  Holy fucking shit, it was cold. Cora hugged herself as hard as she could, but it didn’t help. Her legs burned from exertion, but even they couldn’t produce enough heat to counteract the icy air or the snow hitting her numb face.

  Her mouth was sour with bile—she’d almost puked back there when she’d looked at that line of red dragging behind the deer’s corpse. She desperately wanted to wash her hands, even though she’d been wearing gloves. There’d been a stink of blood and animal fur back there so strong, she’d almost been able to taste it in the air. She’d tried melting snow on her tongue as she walked, but it did nothing for the taste.

  The pines were wooden soldiers, standing guard on both sides of the narrow, unending road.

  She paused, stomping her feet to try and urge warmth into her toes. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had frostbite in her feet—they’d lost all feeling several minutes ago.

  “Come on,” Finn called out as he passed her. “No stopping.”

  “How far?”

  “Just keep going.” When she didn’t follow, he turned to her. Agitation brought red spots to his pale cheeks.

  “I’m coming,” she muttered, trudging forward again.

  A blast of snow struck her so hard that she tottered. Had her feet not been in a foot of sludgy snow, she might have fallen over. She wheeled her arms before she could catch her balance, and then started forward again after Finn.

  Well, one thing was for certain—no one would ever be able to find her here.

  The cabin reared from a nest of tall, resolute pines—a dark square partially embedded in snow, despite the steeply angled roof.

  Finn searched around the door’s lintel and got down a set of keys hidden in a nook. He opened the door, yanking against it to try and sweep back the snow that had gathered on the stoop. It was tar black inside the cabin, but there was no snow or wind in there.
She hurried inside, paused to stamp snow from her boots, and came up short in the middle of the living area.

  A last gust of wind followed Finn, carrying snow inside before he could shut the door. The storm huffed and moaned outside, sounding more like the sporadic waves of a tumultuous ocean than wind and snow.

  The room’s single window cut a cold, gray square onto the outside world.

  Finn fumbled against the wall, and the cabin lit up.

  She turned to take in the rag-tag furnishings, the log walls, the stone fireplace. The living room had an open-plan kitchen to one side.

  Finn pointed to an archway. “There’s a room upstairs. Try to find warm clothes.”

  “Can I shower?”

  “Water won’t be warm yet. Still have to turn on the water heater.”

  She nodded, shivering hard as she made her way to the stairs. Behind her, Finn’s boots thumped on the wood floor. She found another switch, flipped it. Yellow light bloomed. There were no windows here, just a narrow flight of stairs walled with more wood. The stairs creaked when she made her way up them. A particularly hard gust slammed snow into the side of the cabin, sounding like sand. She shivered again and pushed open the first door she came to. Light pooled in from the hallway; a small bathroom—porcelain tub with shower head, toilet, basin.

  The next door led to a bedroom with a double bed taking up most of the space, piled with blankets and two floppy pillows. A closet stood against the wall, one of the doors open an inch. She found the room’s light switch, washing the room in more yellow light.

  There was a window in this room. She walked up to it, amazed at how even more cold emanated from the thick glass the closer she came. She glanced outside before turning to the closet to find clothes. There were several pairs of sweatpants, heaps of thermal underwear. Thick sweaters made from corded wool. She grabbed a pair of pants, socks, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater from the cupboard, then went to put her Taurus on the nightstand. It was warm from where it had been nestled in the small of her back. Strange, how a person could get used to something as annoying as having a gun digging into their back.

  Her jeans were around her knees when the stairs creaked.

  Obviously, Finn would want some warm clothes, too. She pulled her jeans back up, grimacing at how cold they were, and went to the door. Finn’s head cleared the stairs, eyes already fixed on her.

  “I’ll change in the bathroom,” she said

  He gave a shrug, their bodies brushing as they passed each other in the hallway. She shivered again—this time, not from the cold.

  Judging from the awkward car trip she’d just endured, she doubted he wanted to be any closer to her than he absolutely had to. Three hours in a car with someone as determinedly silent as Finn…it had been downright painful. She’d managed some sleep but, as soon as he’d started up the mountain toward the cabin, she’d been wide awake, staring at the snow with a goofy smile on her face. She loved snow.

  Correction: she had loved snow.

  Snow was amazing—when you were warm, dressed to the nines, and sipping on a cup of cocoa with little marshmallows floating in it.

  This snow was brutal, like the feral prehistoric ancestor of the snow she loved. It was gray and dirty and not fluffy at all.

  She stripped in the bathroom, grabbing the Santa Muerte pendant her father had given her as it bounced against her naked breastbone. Her shivers kicked up a notch as her icy, still-wet skin was exposed to the chilly air. Maybe she should have grabbed one of those onesies she’d seen. No way she’d be cold in one of those. She grabbed a towel from the rack and quickly dried her legs before slipping into the dry clothes.

  Heaven on a stick. Her eyes fluttered closed as warmth bloomed on her legs. Her feet didn’t seem to notice the addition of socks, until she rubbed the wool furiously with her hands and managed to get some heat through friction.

  Then the painful tingles came. They rushed into her toes and heels. She gritted her teeth as she padded down the stairs.

  She turned to the window where black night was swiftly replacing purple twilight. The floor boards creaked as Finn moved around upstairs.

  Her shivers had abated some when he came back downstairs and started a fire. The air in the living room was still too cold on her cheeks, and her toes were alive with electric fire as they reheated under the thick socks.

  By the time Finn finally lit the fire, premature night had fallen. Orange light licked the wooden walls and made the shadows clinging to the corners dance and weave. Woodsmoke stung at her eyes until Finn opened the chute. The fire spat sparks at him and he backed away, silhouetted with firelight as he watched the flames take root.

  “There are blankets upstairs on the bed,” she said.

  He glanced at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. Then he nodded and went upstairs. She could track his movements from the sound of his weight on the floorboards. He returned a few seconds later, dumping blankets on the sofa, and then went into the kitchen. He came out with a bottle and two tin mugs. He poured a measure of brandy into each mug and then handed her one.

  “I’ve never seen you drink,” she said before taking a tiny sip. It stung her mouth and the first inch of her throat, but it made her belly warm when it eventually reached it.

  “I don’t, as a rule.” He twisted the mug in his hand. “But I’m fucking freezing.”

  He tossed back the brandy, and then poured himself another. She shook her head when he offered to top her up. He set the bottle down on the coffee table with a thud.

  Finn hesitated for a second before sinking down beside her. The sofa bowed under his weight, springs creaking alarmingly. One of the blankets went over his legs, the other he draped over both their bodies. There wasn’t much space on the sofa—as it was, his thigh kept brushing her feet. After a second’s hesitation, she wriggled her feet under his leg, throwing him an apologetic look when he frowned at her.

  He slid his hand under the blanket and grabbed one of her feet. “You check for frostbite?”

  “Is that where my feet go blue?”

  He gave her a long-suffering stare.

  She shrugged. “Then I guess I’m fine.”

  It was so warm under his thigh that she had to resist the urge to wriggle her toes deeper under him. She took another sip of the brandy and let it fill her mouth before swallowing.

  Cora glanced around the cabin. The only decoration was a pair of antlers mounted above the fireplace. Luckily, they were no longer attached to the deer. She would have been unable to sit here—fire or no—with a dead deer staring at her.

  “So, this is your cabin?”

  “Mine and Lars.”

  She couldn’t picture the kind of person who would be friends with Finn. Maybe they were like two peas in a pod—both silent, hulking men who could sit for hours in front of this fire without speaking a word and call it a good time.

  “How’d you two meet?”

  He stared at the fire before slowly turning to her. “Military.” Then, as if realizing one word wasn’t sufficient as an answer, added, “We were stationed in the same platoon in Syria. When we completed our service, we started Argos.” He held his hands out to the fire, and then pressed them against his cheeks. She was content to huddle in a ball while her feet thawed and her legs slowly came up to room temperature. Already, her shivers were gone.

  “Did you have to kill a lot of people? In Syria.”

  If he seemed perturbed by the question, he didn’t show it. Finn gave a shrug, not looking at her when he answered. “Some.”

  “What was it like?”

  His eyes caught the fire when he glanced at her. “You should know. You’ve done it.”

  She licked her lips, and stared at the fire instead of his confused expression. “I can’t…I can’t really remember. It’s hazy.”

  “That’s the heroin.” He rubbed the arch of her foot. There was a moment’s silence accompanied by the furious wind outside.

  “I liked it.”

&
nbsp; “Killing—?”

  She cut in with a murmured, “The heroin. The way it made me feel. Or…the way it made me not feel. I wasn’t scared. I felt invincible, like nothing could touch me.” A shiver tore through her at the memory.

  Finn squeezed the bridge of her foot, and then slid his hand under the elastic hem of her sweatpants. It looked like an afterthought, the way he stared entranced at the fire, as if he didn’t realize what he was doing.

  His fingers were warm, smooth. “My sister’s in rehab.”

  “Your…sister?”

  He turned to her, something like a smile on his mouth. “You sound surprised.”

  “I just—I thought you were an only child or something. What’s she in rehab for?”

  Finn shifted on the sofa. “Heroin.”

  Cora’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit.”

  “It is.” Finn drank the rest of the brandy, hesitated, and then poured himself another measure. The way he screwed on the bottle’s lid when he was done made it clear he wasn’t going to have any more. It was a pity—she’d learned more about him in the past five minutes than she had in the last five days. She wriggled her toes a little, watching to see if he would protest. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Don’t do it again,” he said in a low voice.

  “What, heroin?” She laughed uneasily, and took a long swallow of the brandy. “Of course not.”

  “It’s not worth it. Not ever. What you felt when that—” he cut off. “That’s the best it will ever be. That’s why they call it ‘Chasing the Dragon’. Because you’ll always be chasing what you felt that first time.”

  He stared at her. “Promise me.” His voice was low, almost a growl.

  She shrugged, and hid behind her mug.

  “Cora. Promise me.”

  “I said I wouldn’t—”

  “I’ve seen what it does.”

  “I’m not going to—”

  “It’ll possess you like a fucking demon hard up for action.”

  She closed her mouth around another protest and watched Finn’s chiseled profile as he stared into the fire. His eyes were midnight blue pools, his lips painted orange by the firelight.