Defiant Queen (Mount Trilogy #2)

“I don’t have a choice.”

We talk about Brett for a few more minutes, and then she changes the subject because I can’t be swayed from my path and the plan I’ve concocted with the duffel bag, trench coat, dark sunglasses, and dye packs. Seems solid to me.

“So, what happened after Mount came to the rescue?”

“One, he didn’t rescue me. He got there after Brett was gone, and his henchman got there first.”

“Minor details, Ke-ke. Get to the good stuff.”

Magnolia has always been bossy, and I brace myself for my next revelation.

“I found out that it was Mount the night of the masquerade. Not Brett.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Magnolia’s shock carries through her words. “How?”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “I don’t know, but it’s really freaking me out. That was the night I decided Brett was the one. The night I decided eloping with him was the best idea ever, because he was everything I wanted. But I was so freaking wrong. He wasn’t even the guy.”

“Jesus Christ, Ke-ke. Only you would get married because of one good fuck. Swear to God. And you didn’t even marry the dick that gave it to you.”

I throw my head back to stare at the glossy black ceiling. “It’s not my fault! None of this makes any sense.”

“And then what happened? There has to be more.”

“We fought . . .” I pause, swallowing back the confession I’m still having trouble admitting. Strangely, this is even harder to get out than the part about the masquerade.

“And?” Magnolia prompts.

The only way I can get it out is to charge through boldly, so that’s exactly what I do. “He kissed me. He promised he wouldn’t let my family get hurt, and then . . . well, you know.”

“Back up for just one fucking second.”

I can picture the hand gestures she’s making right now as she processes the part I didn’t want to admit.

“He kissed you?” Magnolia sounds more shocked about this than she did about my undead husband.

I decide to move the conversation along. “Yeah. And then—”

“No, stop. We gotta discuss this because . . . that’s not Mount. He doesn’t kiss any of the girls. I have to make damn sure they know it’s a hard limit before I send them his way.”

The implication of what she’s saying slams into me. “Wait. Are you telling me you provide him with his mistresses? Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Ke-ke, you know what I do.” Her tone sounds apologetic for a beat.

“But—”

“He wants girls from overseas, no locals. So I find them, vet them, ship them over, make sure they’re properly trained in all his preferences and understand his rules, and then I turn them over to him. After that, I never see them again.”

My heart slams into my ribs. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because we don’t talk about what I do. We pretend my profession doesn’t exist when you’re around. Besides, I told you everything I know. All the pertinent stuff, anyway.”

“And the fact that you supply him with hookers wasn’t pertinent?”

I’m yelling at Magnolia now, something I haven’t done in years. Not since she got kicked out of school and I was pissed at her for losing her scholarship. At the same time, guilt flashes through me. She’s right; we really don’t talk about what she does. Ever. It’s like the elephant in the room that I never want to mention. Nice, Keira. Now you’re the shitty friend.

“They’re not hookers. My girls are higher class than that, so watch that judgey tone you got going on.”

Another wave of guilt follows, and I take a few deep breaths before I continue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. But, please . . . you have to tell me everything you know because I’m currently standing in the man’s bedroom, and clearly I don’t know shit about him except for the little bits and pieces you’ve told me.”

“Wait. You’re in his room?” Magnolia stresses the last two words of the question like I might have misspoken.

“Yes. His room.”

“What the hell? He’s always kept his girls in a separate house. Easily accessible, but from what I heard, he never visited them anywhere else. Never took them out in public. Certainly never took them to his own damned room. This is a big fucking deal, Ke-ke. We need to search it.”

I hold my phone out and stare down at the screen like her face will appear after that crazy suggestion. “What happened to you being worried this line was tapped?”

When I bring it back up to my ear, Magnolia’s already rationalizing it. “What man would expect you not to go through his room when he leaves you there alone for the first time? This is practically standard procedure, so get to it. Now, move your ass. Let’s start in the bathroom.”

I drop onto the leather sectional. “I’m going to need more liquor before I have the balls to start digging through Mount’s medicine cabinet.”

“Then get you some damn liquor and get going. You don’t have all night.” In the background are rustling sounds, and then the clink of ice cubes in a glass. “I’m fixing myself a drink too, so we’ll do it together, one room and one drink at a time.”

I drop my forehead to my knees. “This might be your worst idea ever. After getting kicked out of school, obviously.”

“Ke-ke, I’ve got everything I could possibly want, and it all started with that blow job in the school supply closet. Don’t feel sorry for me. I made the best of a situation that could’ve ended up a whole lot worse.”

Maybe she’s right, but I still don’t like thinking about it. Annnd, there’s some more guilt.

“Get your bottle and your glass, because you can’t tell me that man’s room doesn’t have any booze in it.”

Again, Magnolia is always right.

“Fine. Hold on.” I walk to the glass shelves holding all the liquor bottles, and survey them. “He doesn’t have Seven Sinners in here.”

“Well, good, because you won’t get drunk enough to find your ladyballs with that anyway. Get a damn drink, Ke-ke. Hurry up.”

“Fine.” I grab a bottle of vodka from the top shelf. It’s definitely a terrible plan, but since I can’t stand Scotch or tequila, which seem to be my only other choices, this is the best I can do. I don’t bother with a tumbler, just suck back a shot from the bottle itself.

“This shit is terrible,” I say after I manage to choke it down. “How can people drink this?”

I read off the label of the bottle to her and she gets quiet.

“Most people will never get the chance, because that shit’s like a thousand dollars a bottle.”

Suddenly, the idea of draining it while I search for clues about the real Lachlan Mount doesn’t seem quite so distasteful. “Okay, heading for the bathroom.”

An hour later, I’ve searched the bathroom, the bedroom, and the living room—including every cabinet and drawer. I attempt and fail at picking the sole locked door with a hairpin.

“This is hopeless. I should’ve watched more YouTube videos.”

“Then do it now and call me back.”