Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set Page 39

  And that brief moment in the elevator? He’d never been that aroused around someone who was still wearing their clothes. And the way she’d trembled when he’d almost touched her? It was like the whiff of fear that came from prey before the predator struck. Or, in his case, watched while another predator claimed the dainty gazelle.

  His dick twitched at the thought of what had happened behind that closed door. What the girl had looked like, sans-robe. What Finn had done to her on that white—

  The door opened. He looked down, flipping open a pizza box’s lid. “Hope you’re hungry. Got one with just about everything on it. The other one’s for desert.”

  Not hearing a response, Lars hazarded a look up. Milo stood in the doorway, nearly filling it, face unreadable but cheeks still spotted with faint color. Both hands hung at his side, the one on the right clenching, releasing, clenching to some unknown rhythm.

  Lars grabbed a slice of pizza and straightened. “Am I interrupting?” he asked dryly, before biting off the tip of the slice. He chewed for a second, and then lifted his eyebrows. “I could go get ice or something,” he said through a mouthful of cheese and salami.

  Milo dropped his eyes and went into the bathroom. The faucet came on. While it was still running, Cora emerged from the room, all bright eyed and disheveled. She had a shell-shocked look on her face. That good, huh?

  Lars slumped in an armchair, trying to get through the pizza as fast as he could, eyes glued to the TV screen. He’d done a quick recon before he’d left to make sure everything was still sealed up and that no one lurked in the street below.

  Cora sank onto the edge of the sofa. She’d dressed in the same clothes as earlier, but sat stiffly as if they chafed her. When he looked at her face, she kept her eyes straight ahead, a slow blush staining her cheeks the longer he looked.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  Her blush intensified from pink to red. She gave him a brief look, barely long enough to focus on his face, and then took a slice of pizza from the box. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice was husky and rough. She cleared her throat and, without looking, added, “Thanks for the food.”

  Milo came out of the bathroom, hesitated, and then took the chair opposite Lars, leaving Cora stranded on the two-seat sofa like a piece of driftwood.

  Fucking weirdos.

  Lars grabbed another piece of pizza, and then cracked open one of the cans of cherry soda. He put it down on the coffee table, close to Cora, and then opened another one for himself.

  He didn’t bother to get one for Milo—the man detested soda. He’d probably make himself another cup of coffee in a few minutes.

  When the silence became too much for him to bear, Lars dropped the uneaten half of his slice of pizza back in the box and made a show of cracking his knuckles. It drew the eyes of both Cora and Milo, the latter watching him with wary anticipation.

  “So…when’s the wedding?”

  Cora stopped chewing.

  Finn put his barely touched pizza slice down on a napkin and then laid his hands on his knees as if impatient for the rest of Lars’s speech.

  “You know…” Lars gave a shrug, pushing out his bottom lip. “Where you’ll live? How many kids you’re going to have? Should you go with home schooling, private, public? That kind of thing. Are you going to convert—” Lars pointed at Milo, and then gave Cora a quick, hard look “—is it racist of me to assume that you’re Catholic?—” and then focused on Milo again “—or will you keep living in sin?”

  Milo didn’t move his eyes from Lars as he stretched out a hand and slid the remote off the coffee table. The pair on the television had been having an animated discussion about their impending bank robbery or somesuch nonsense, but a single stab of Milo’s thumb turned the screen black.

  If it had been a standoff, Lars would have won.

  Milo rose to his feet. “Wake me at two.” And then he lumbered off to the bedroom, closing the door silently behind him.

  Lars would have preferred it if the guy had slammed it behind him. This quiet, fuming man was nothing like the Milo he knew. Admittedly, things hadn’t always been great for Finn. He’d had his fair share of shit hands dealt to him. But he’d never sulked. He’d never thrown tantrums and stopped listening to reason because he wanted something.

  Lars turned to the girl. She held a piece of pizza in her hands, long forgotten, and stared at nothing.

  “You’d make a pretty bride,” he said, his voice deadpan. “But he’d make a terrible fucking husband.”

  Lars stood, intent on going to the window that faced the window so he could survey the street. Cora’s voice stopped him.

  “I’m twenty, not twelve.”

  He turned back to her, eyebrows lifting. “Barely.”

  Anger boiled in her eyes, her pink mouth set in a thin line. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

  “Would if I could, bunny.” Lars flicked his hand to the bedroom door. “But I’d never leave a man behind again. Not for the likes of you.”

  “The likes of—” she cut off, and put her hands on her hips. If she hadn’t been so small, so young, so goddamn cheeky, it might have been an intimidating posture. As it was, she just looked like a kid who hadn’t gotten enough candy. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Lars cocked his head, silent as he went over to the window. In the street below, a dark car drove past. It stopped at the intersection, paused just long enough to make his shoulders tighten, and then turned and disappeared down a side street.

  A hand grabbed his arm. “Hey, I’m talking—”

  Lars spun. He had the girl by her wrist, barely stopping his other hand in time to avoid breaking her arm. They stared at each other, her eyes wide and his narrowed, as if they’d both just realized what had almost happened.

  He hurriedly released her. “Get some sleep. There’s another long drive in your near future.”

  She massaged her wrist as she backed up and headed for the bedroom.

  “Oh no,” he said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the couch. “Out here where I can see you.”

  “I can’t sleep on a couch.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  Her mouth became that thin line again, and she drew a breath big enough to puff out her chest. But instead of the tantrum he’d expected, she lay down on the couch, grabbed one of the scatter cushions for a pillow, and turned her back to the room.

  Lars studied the street for a few seconds, and then went and turned off the living room light. Darkness instantly reclaimed its space. He slunk back to the window, studying the empty street for what seemed like hours.

  Well, at least they’d gotten it out of their system. Tomorrow, Cora’d be back with her cartel buddies, and he and Milo would be heading back to Albuquerque. Maybe, this time, he’d convince Milo to stay at his place for a week or so. Regroup. Milo’s apartment was a sad, lonely place. He could call up some of his friends. They could get stoned, play some beer pong…fuck insignificant others…high school shit.

  That’d get Milo’s head out of the clouds. And wasn’t Heather due to come out of rehab sometime this month? They wouldn’t be able to get stoned, not around her, but they could still have some fun. Movies and shit.

  Fuck, who was he kidding? Milo was happiest when he was armed to teeth and trigger happy. Lars put his head against the window, watching his breath mist up the glass as seconds flowed by like syrup.

  Eventually, he heard the soft sounds of Cora’s breathing as it evened out and became heavy with sleep.

  24

  Soon

  Zachary stared into the spitting flames of his ranch’s sole fireplace. It was in the living area off the dining room; a space small enough that the fire warmed it sufficiently during the winter months. The sole armchair that inhabited the room had been positioned a few feet from the hearth. Beneath it, a well-worn rug extended just far enough from his chair that there was enough space for his four dogs to lay encircling him. Blue and Lady he
ld positions by each of his feet. The other two pit bulls were spaced out between him and the fire, one fast asleep on its side and snoring loudly.

  Ailin had taken a call a few minutes ago, and now the man returned with urgent strides. He knelt beside Zachary’s armchair, with a distasteful look at Blue, the closest dog, before whispering, “We have something.”

  Zachary glanced at Ailin from the corner of his eye. The man looked tense, almost excited.

  “Something good, I assume.”

  “Yes.” Ailin’s eyes had a fervor in them that the firelight couldn’t account for. “The road Angel and Marco were watching? There’s been a vehicle waiting in the same spot for the past week.”

  “Waiting for whom?”

  Ailin ducked his head a little. The smell of stale cigarettes came off his clothing, but for once Zachary didn’t find the smell distasteful. It was almost comforting; something he knew and expected from Ailin.

  He despised it when people behaved unexpectedly.

  “Waiting for whom?” he prompted, when Ailin didn’t speak.

  “Don’t know,” Ailin said, sounding peeved that he didn’t have an answer. “The man took a call just before sunset and drove off.”

  “Toward Martin’s compound?”

  “If his compound is down that road.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “That car must have been waiting for someone. Someone who might have been delayed by unforeseen events.”

  Ailin’s eyes gleamed. “Like being snatched by Noah?”

  “Exactly. Perhaps, by tomorrow, she will arrive.” Zachary let his arm fall over the side of the armchair and brushed his fingertips against Lady’s one ear. Her ear twitched, but the dog didn’t pull away. “Let’s give her a warm welcome.”

  25

  Falcon

  A rough shake woke Cora. She scrambled up, blinking to wash away the dregs of a tangled, incoherent dream as her heart pulsed furiously in her chest. Her mouth was so dry that her lips had sealed, and parting them was met with a flash of pain.

  Sunlight turned the hotel bedroom into a bright, white square.

  Bedroom?

  Lars stood over her, head to the side. “Time to go.”

  She looked around. Her last memory was being on the couch, trying valiantly to find a comfortable position. Had one of them carried her in here? The thought was a slightly pleasant one if it had been Finn, a slightly troubling one if it had been Lars.

  From the cast of the light shining against the drawn curtains, it was mid-morning already.

  When she came out of the bedroom, Finn and Lars were bent over the coffee table in the living room. There were at least three gun’s worth of parts laying on the table. They both looked up at her and then returned to field stripping and cleaning the weapons without saying anything.

  She slipped into the bathroom. Washed her face, brushed her teeth. Ran fingers through hair gone awry. A blush stained her cheeks even thinking about it, so she hurriedly stopped.

  When she came back into the sitting room and took a longer look at the weapons, she recognized one of them. She walked up to the table and held out her hand.

  Finn hesitated, about to slide the magazine back into his pistol’s chamber, and looked aside at her.

  “It belongs with me,” she said.

  He touched the pearl-inlaid grip of the Taurus and slid it over the table. She snatched it up, pressed the slide that made the magazine slide out, and made sure there were bullets inside.

  “Thanks for the ammo.”

  Lars stood. “I will say again that I have grave reservations about—”

  She almost pointed the gun at him, and then realized that wouldn’t have helped matters. Instead, she slid it into the small of her back. “You can have all the reservations you want. I need to be able to defend myself.”

  “We’re going to be right by your side until…” Lars trailed off with a frown that kept growing deeper.

  “Yes?” Her voice was a dry monotone. “And I guess I’ll always have you two by my side? Tomorrow. Next week. Next month?”

  Silence filtered down, broken by Finn when he let out a massive sigh. He took one of the pistols and secured it into his shoulder holster. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered.

  “Yes. Let’s.” Cora strode to the door and opened it, staring down the empty hotel hallway. When she turned back, both men were staring after her. “Well?”

  “Do you think they gave up waiting for her?” Lars asked.

  “Thought had crossed my mind,” he replied. “But I’m guessing they couldn’t get a hold of Swan either. They’d have no way to contact me. This would be the only connection.”

  “Maybe they think you ran off together.”

  Finn sighed heavily as he leaned back against the hotel’s exterior wall. In the span of time they’d been waiting outside, a single car had driven past. Originally, when Swan had given him his instructions, they’d estimated Finn would reach these co-ords by earliest eight in the morning.

  It was nine. And still, no one had arrived.

  Cora sat on the sidewalk a few feet away from them. Legs crossed, hand in her chin, staring out at what they could see of Marfa from where they waited, she could have been an ordinary young woman whiling away the morning.

  If he didn’t know about the Taurus tucked behind her belt.

  If she didn’t keep fingering that pendant around her neck. The one her—possibly—dead father had given to her the last time they’d seen each other.

  And if she wasn’t waiting for the capo of the El Calacas Vivo cartel to come fetch her.

  What lay in store for her? The daughter of a capo…what kind of life did someone like that lead?

  “Let’s leave,” Finn said, turning to Lars.

  His friend was pinching the bridge of his nose like he’d seen the statement coming a mile away. “Fuck my life,” he muttered. “I knew we couldn’t shake her. She’s like the fucking clap.”

  “I mean it. Let’s get out of here. She can decide if she wants to make contact with—”

  “Señorita Rivera!”

  The name coursed through Finn like someone had hit him with a taser. He spun around, hand on the butt of his pistol and ready to draw when he spotted a Mexican man crossing the street.

  Headed straight for Cora.

  Then Finn did draw his gun, but Lars knocked away his wrist as he was lifting the pistol to take aim.

  “Milo, it’s her fucking lift.” Lars glared at him until he dropped his arm, and then dusted himself off as if they’d been rolling on the sidewalk. “Jesus Christ, get a grip.”

  Lars jogged up to the Mexican, arriving beside Cora the same time he did. Finn was a step behind, crowding in beside him and having to stop himself stepping protectively in front of Cora as she got to her feet.

  “Ah, señorita!” The Mexican man spread his arms as if he wanted to hug her, but Cora cringed back, giving Finn and Lars a nervous glance. “Come, Don Javier is waiting.”

  “You’re the falcon?” she asked in Spanish.

  “Si, si.” The man waved at her, gesturing toward a motorbike parked opposite them a few yards away.

  Finn hadn’t even heard it pull up. Lars was right—he had to get a fucking grip on himself.

  “You don’t have a car?” Finn asked, grabbing Cora’s arm as she began following the Mexican.

  She looked back at him, and tugged at her arm. But not hard enough to pull free; more in irritation. “What?”

  “You know him?”

  “Of course not. Why would I?” Then she did pull her arm free, scowling at him. But her expression softened a second later. She glanced at the retreating Mexican man, and then back at Finn.

  “Thank you for keeping me safe,” she murmured, and then surged forward. He caught her, kissed her, and almost managed to hold onto her. But she wriggled free and spun away from him, running after the Mexican. Her hands lifted as if she was wiping her face.

  He didn’t have to see that gesture to know s
he was crying; he’d tasted tears on her kiss.

  Lars came up beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Well, what say we—”

  “Wait!” Finn bellowed.

  The Mexican hesitated, in the process of mounting his bike. Cora stood to the side, waiting to climb on, hiding behind hair that hung in a loose black curtain around her face.

  “¿Que?” The Mexican slipped his helmet over his head just as Finn ran up to the bike.

  “She’s not riding with you,” Finn said.

  “The fuck, man?” Lars knocked away Finn’s hand as he reached for Cora. “We’re done, Milo. Let’s go.”

  “No.” Finn grabbed Cora’s arm and hauled her away from the bike. He stabbed a finger toward the Mexican. “You call Martin. You tell him we’re bringing her to him.”

  “¿Que?” The man’s face crinkled with confusion.

  “They want to bring me to Tío,” Cora translated in Spanish. Her cheeks had gone red, but she spoke without a tremble in her voice. “You show us the way.”

  “No, no, no!” The man waved his hands. “No one goes. Just me.” He pointed at himself. “Me and Señorita Eleodora.” He fumbled in a pocket and jerked out a scrap of photo. It had been torn from the original, but there was no doubt it was Cora in the photo. “We go now.”

  “No.” Finn mimicked holding a cellphone to his ear. “Call your boss. Tell him we drop her off at his house, or we don’t drop her off at all.”

  “Should we really be negotiating with a fucking drug dealer?” Lars whispered furiously to Finn. “I mean, fuck it, Milo, I’m too young to die.”

  “Shut it,” Finn snapped. He smacked a fist against the gas tank. “Make the call.”

  Cora rattled off a string of Spanish, glancing between Finn and her escort, and Lars with wide, sparkling eyes.

  The man grimaced, shook his head, and reluctantly climbed from the motorcycle. He took out a phone and strode away, throwing Finn an exasperated glance over his shoulder. He was too far away for them to make out anything he said, but the conversation didn’t last very long.