Their Cartel Princess: The Complete Series: A Dark Reverse Harem Box Set Page 61
“What?” She gripped her towel harder around her. Her leg had begun to ache now, as if realizing she was waking up.
“Just elbow him and he’ll turn around and stop bothering you.”
She lay back, trying to keep a few inches between her and Lars without falling off the bed.
He does that?
How the hell would Finn know?
And that opened up a plethora of thoughts that shouldn’t be crossing her mind. One of them, how Lars and Finn had seemed to be playing some kind of game with her last night. And not one they’d just made up. It had seemed…rehearsed?
Her mind ached for sleep, as did her body.
She couldn’t wait for morning; she had some serious talking to do herself.
65
A crack in the abyss
Angel stirred from sleep as the room began filling with dawn’s ambiance. Finn watched him struggling up from the sheets, groaning softly as he swung one leg over the side of the bed.
“Morning,” Finn said.
Angel started, and looked over to him where he sat in the chair. He gave Finn a nod and then tottered onto his good leg.
He should probably have offered his help to get the guy to the bathroom. But he didn’t. It gave him a small, wicked pleasure to watch him struggling to the bathroom to take a piss.
Angel came out of the bathroom, walking a little better than he had going in. He still only had a towel around his waist, but this didn’t seem to worry him as much as the state of his hair. He kept running his fingers through it, trying to straighten what had turned to an impressive ‘just out of bed’ style.
“Your clothes are over there,” Finn said, pointing to the radiator. He’d been able to put his clean-ish shirt on a little while ago. Cora’s jeans were still damp—he’d found them at the foot of the bed instead of on the radiator a few hours ago—and Angel’s jeans could have gone for another hour.
Angel tugged his pants off, inspected them, and leaned against the wall so he could pull them on. He seemed to become aware of Lars and Cora on the bed, and stared at the pair for a while with a frown on his face.
Lars had obviously been pulling more moves after waking Cora up last night, but she’d seemed too tired to fight him off. Now they lay spooning, Lars’s hand on her hip but, luckily, above the sheets. She’d made sounds last night. Quiet but erotic. Lars too. But they’d both been asleep.
Made for each other, they were.
Angel slid into his shirt and began buttoning it up. Even in the dimness of breaking dawn, the bruises over his body shone as dark splotches over his skin.
“Who did that?” Finn asked.
Angel hesitated on the second last button. “Why it matter?”
“Just curious.”
“The man with red hair. The one Cora kill yesterday,” Angel said finally, and with a heavy voice.
“He beat you often?”
Angel let out a bemused chuckle, but didn’t reply. He turned to Finn as he was doing up the last of his buttons, and then straightened his collar with a jaunty tip of his chin. “No, not him,” Angel said, his lips twisting in a strange half-smile, half-sneer. And then he shrugged. “But why it matter?”
Then he was heading for the door. Finn got to his feet, but didn’t try to stop him. “You leaving?”
Angel fidgeted with the door’s locks. It swung open, letting in a square of pale light. “Maybe,” he said. Then he glanced back at Finn, and across at Cora and Lars.
Finn turned too. Cora was blinking at the light that had been thrown across her face. She shifted, moaning as she rolled onto her back and got tangled in Lars’s limbs.
When he turned back to Angel, the man’s eyes were dead. “Maybe not,” Angel said, and was gone.
66
One heavy debt
The parts of America he’d seen so far didn’t match up with anything in his head. All the movies and television series he’d seen…where were they? There were no neon lights. No skyscrapers. No streets buzzing with a constant stream of traffic.
So far, America looked a whole lot like Michoacán.
Angel limped across the parking lot, heading for the gas station. He had a few crumpled dollar bills in his pocket. Don Zachary had never searched him, and he’d managed to keep those bills from the coyote every time the man decided to search him and Marco. Frequently, those searches had turned into something more. Strong hands grasping roughly at his genitals.
He’d never fought back. The coyote had made it clear what would happen to Marco if he did.
Marco had tried to help him of course. But he couldn’t handle pain, that kid. One backhanded slap was all it had taken for him to cower in the corner of whatever shack or barn they’d taken refuge in for the night.
His brother’s whimpers had made the coyote’s attentions seem that much worse. That much crueler. That much more explicit.
At least he’d gotten his due. Having your throat ripped out by a dog couldn’t be a pleasant way to die.
He’d had thoughts of violent revenge in his mind all the way from Camargo to the Rio Grande. He’d planned on drowning the coyote as soon as they’d made it across.
Now, his thoughts had turned to Don Zachary.
They both deserved what was coming to them. That was the difference between those evil men and the man in the barn. Eleodora’s father.
Heat stained his cheeks, and for a moment he stopped walking.
What he’d done could never be forgiven. Not by himself, not by her. He’d signed a deal with the Devil himself that day. His soul was forever stained with that man’s pain and humiliation.
And he’d been just as surprised as Don Zachary when he discovered he didn’t like it. Hurting people. Defiling them.
Maybe it wasn’t in his nature.
Maybe he never would have drowned that coyote.
Maybe he’d never have brought himself to kill Zachary.
Because, while something inside him craved revenge of the most brutal kind, his mind seemed unable to bring about the physical act.
He was close to the gas station now.
Although whoever had washed his jeans had managed to get most of the blood out, there was still a ragged bullet hole through the leg. He kept his bandaged hand dangling casually in front of it as he stepped inside the gas station.
The clerk behind the register gave him a lazy wave, and didn’t stand. Angel gave him a curt nod and moved down the aisles.
He didn’t actually want to buy something, but he had to get up the nerve to go and speak to the attendant. He stopped at the sweet aisle and stared at the rows of brightly colored candies. A red packet drew his eyes, so he grabbed it and took it to the register.
The man turned in his chair, scanned the packet of sweets, and held out his hand.
“How much?” Angel asked, taking out the three bills in his pocket.
The guy rolled his eyes. “Dollar fifty.”
Angel handed him all three the notes. The man glanced down at them, lifted an eyebrow, and handed one of the notes back to Angel. Then he slammed the rest closed in the drawer and handed Angel a coin.
“This—” Angel pointed through the window at the pay phone standing a few feet away, close to the side of the road “—will work in there?”
The guy frowned at him. “That thing? Hasn’t worked in years.”
Angel’s shoulders slumped. “Gracias,” he murmured.
A bell jangled merrily when he let himself out. The sun had just peeked out from the horizon as he hobbled back to the motel. He saw movement in what must have been the motel’s reception room—a shadow thrown against the window blinds.
Was someone inside? He changed direction, wincing at a jarring pain from his leg. As he drew near, someone opened the window from inside, and he heard a muttered, “Fucking stoner. Swear I’m going to fire his ass.”
When he knocked on the door, no one answered.
“Hello?” he called. “Hello?”
Fingers wedged open
one of the strips of the blind. A weary face peered out at him, frowned, and disappeared.
The door opened a crack, catching on a chain. “What?”
“I use phone?” he asked, and pressed his last remaining note against the door jamb.
Red-veined eyes darted to the note, then it was tugged away and the door closed in his face.
“Hello?” Something approaching anger bubbled up inside him. He raised his fist, about to slam it into the door when the door opened again.
“You be quick,” the man said as he pointed to the phone on the elbow-high counter. He slunk around it, sat in a creaking chair, and began chewing on a long piece of candy as he watched Angel limp across the room. “What happened to your leg?”
It smelled of stale marijuana and unwashed skin inside the room. Angel glanced at the man behind the counter and gave an uneasy shrug. “Dog bite.”
“Yeah?” The man didn’t seem that interested anymore. There was a small television set somewhere behind the counter. Muted voices and canned laughter drifted to Angel as he turned the phone to face him.
“Uh…operator?” Angel asked the guy.
He looked up with another deep frown. “The what?”
“I need number.”
“You wanna phone someone and you ain’t got their number?” The man laughed, stuck a hand in his armpit and went back to watching the small television set.
“Please. It important.”
“Man, use the phone book then.” The guy got off his seat and slapped down a massive book beside the phone. His chair squeaked as he thumped back in it. Then he leaned forward and turned up the television’s volume. A new stick of candy went into his mouth.
Angel opened the book on a random page. Alphabetical. He went all the way to the ‘W’. He checked through each name until it went to ‘X’.
“I don’t see it,” Angel said.
The man ignored him.
“Por—” Angel cut off. “Please. There is no Zachary West in this book.”
The man’s eyes flashed to him. “Whaddya say?” He turned the television off, giving Angel a slow once-over. “Who you trying to call?”
“Mr. Zachary West.” Angel watched the guy watching him. Then he tapped the book with his bandaged hand. “But he not in here.”
“Well,” the motel manager said in a slow drawl. “Luckily for you, son, I happen to know a few numbers off the top of my head.”
Angel frowned at him. “You know Señor West?”
“Sure I do. He’s kinda famous around here.”
Angel shrugged. “You have number?”
“I’ll do you one better,” the guy said, and fumbled around on the reception counter for a few seconds. “I’ll even call him for you myself.”
A cellphone appeared on the counter. The manager pressed a few buttons then held it to his ear. He gave Angel a wide smile, and then began speaking in rapid English, too fast for Angel to catch more than a few words.
“…Mexican…asking…Zachary’s number.”
The guy bit off a piece of candy and chewed thoughtfully while he listened to whatever the person on the other line was saying. Angel watched silently.
“…speak…renting…night duty…keep…eye…”
Angel frowned. Then he reached for the cellphone. The guy put up a finger, and hesitantly said, “Yeah, hey, listen. Guy wants…put him on.”
The man handed Angel the phone with another wide smile.
The device was warm when Angel put it to his ear. “Beunos dias,” Angel said into the phone. “May I talk to—”
“Who is this?” asked the person on the other end of the line in fluent Spanish.
Angel didn’t recognize the voice at all. He hesitated for a second. But he’d made his decision last night already. “Angel.”
“And what makes you think you can just call and speak to Don Zachary, Angel?”
“He has my brother,” Angel said. He swallowed, and willed the pit in his stomach to disappear. “And I have Eleodora Rivera.”
67
Shut up and listen
“He tell you where he was going?” Lars asked as he shoved his legs into his jeans. His usual smile wasn’t in sight again this morning; instead, he wore a small, permanent frown between his pale brows.
“Just out,” Finn said. He shrugged. “I didn’t feel the need to interrogate him.”
“Fucking should have,” Lars said. “That guy’s been trouble from the word go. He leaves here, wounded and barefoot, and that didn’t raise any red flags?”
“How far could he have gone?” Finn asked. “He’s probably trying to hitch a ride or something.”
“Or,” Lars said, lifting a finger, “or he could be going around saying stuff like, ‘Oh, si, where I find Mexico border?’”
Finn rolled his eyes and then squeezed his lids shut with his fingers. “Jesus, you’re a fucking drama queen.”
“He could be out there right now, trying to—”
The motel room’s door handle rattled. “Hello?” came Angel’s voice from outside.
Finn swept a hand to the door as he rose to answer it. “You were saying?”
“I wouldn’t give him a ride either,” Lars snapped.
Cora sat up in bed, watching the two of them arguing, still wearing nothing but a towel and a slightly worried expression. Finn watched her face as he opened the door and Angel limped inside, a bag of sweets dangling from one hand. Her eyes brightened a little, and then a shadow crossed her face almost immediately.
He closed the door as Lars began tossing Cora’s clothes at her. “Here, put on something decent,” the man growled, giving Angel a foul look before disappearing into the bathroom.
Cora sat with her clothes in her lap, looking confused. “Sure, I’ll just do that,” she muttered. Then she unhooked her towel and began unwrapping it.
Finn grabbed Angel’s shoulder as the man walked past him and spun him to face the door. Then he stood facing the same way, glancing beside him at Angel as they waited for Cora to get dressed.
Angel opened the packet of sweets and offered them to Finn.
He gave them a look and snorted. “Bad for your teeth.”
“I have good teeth,” Angel countered. He chewed one of the sweets, and then took another, fidgeting with it more than anything else. Behind them, Cora cursed quietly under her breath as clothes rustled.
Finn saw Angel’s head turning ever so slightly, and cleared his throat. The guy faced forward again in a hurry and shoved the sweet in his mouth.
“Where’d you go?” Finn asked.
“Out.”
“There isn’t a whole of anything out there.”
“Shop,” Angel said, hoisting the sweets again. “Want?”
“You always have a sudden craving for sugar at the crack of dawn?”
“¿Que?” Angel said, looking up at him with a frown.
“Forget it,” Finn grumbled. He risked a glance over his shoulder. Cora was straightening her shirt, but other than that she was fully dressed. Finn took his seat at the dresser again. “Lars?”
“What?” came the man’s voice from the bathroom.
“You gonna be long in there?”
Lars ripped open the door. “Guess not,” he muttered, and then went over to Cora. She squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her shoulders and forced her to sit on the edge of the bed.
“You shut up and listen,” he said, seeming to ignore Finn’s frown when he turned to take a seat beside her.
Cora opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
Finn cleared his throat again, then glanced at Angel. He was still standing close to the doorway, another sweet in his fingers. When he saw Finn looking at him, he offered the bag of sweets again.
“No!” Finn said. “Get out.”
“Finn,” Cora began.
“I go,” Angel said, sounding relieved. The motel door closed softly behind him.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” Cora said, and then cast Lars a q
uick glance as if expecting a reprimand for speaking.
Finn sat forward, his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers together. “Things have gotten fucked up.”
Cora watched him, her gaze flickering across his eyes. Then she nodded.
“Worst case scenario,” Lars said, “both Martin and West still want to get their hands on you.”
She opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Ducked her head. Began twisting her hands in her lap.
“I don’t think Martin’s necessarily out to hurt you, but he seems to have his own fucking agenda,” Finn said.
“And don’t forget he seemed perfectly happy with using Milo as target practice,” Lars added. “That strike you as the action of a sane person?”
“Maybe he thought you were trying to—”
Lars flicked her ear with his fingers. She yelped and turned an astonished face to him. “What did I say about speaking?”
Her mouth fell open, and she held out a hand, staring at Finn as if asking him to intervene.
“Just let us talk, Cora.”
She closed her mouth, but reluctantly, and tightly crossed her arms over her chest.
“We’re taking you away from here. We need to regroup. Change identities. Whatever we can to get off their radars,” Finn said.
Cora looked as if she was bursting to speak, but held her tongue.
“However…” Lars looked across at him, and his mouth twisted reluctantly. “There’s something you should know first.”
Cora glanced up at that, turning worried eyes first to Lars, and then Finn.
“Obviously we can’t confirm it, not stuck out here, but…” Finn paused, glancing toward the motel door before looking back at her. “Javier said you were his goddaughter.”
Cora sat up at this, her face growing slack. The swelling had down a little during the night, but the left side of her face still looked a bit puffy and tender. The scratches were starting to scab. Hopefully they wouldn’t leave scars.
Although she’d look smoking hot with a pale scar over her cheek.