Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

“Your orgasms belong to me. If you ever touch yourself without my permission, I will spank that p*ssy of yours until you’re begging to come.”

With the same defiance that carried me into a henna shop, and then on these extravagantly expensive stilettos into the presence of the most feared man in this city tonight, I make a decision. I may be almost out of ammunition, but I can still fire a parting shot. I stroll into the bedroom and unbelt my trench coat, dropping it on the bedroom floor.

I rip back the spread and study the black sheets. Black like the soul of the man who put me here. I sit and remove each of the exquisite heels and drop them carelessly on the floor before sliding to the center of the bed and spreading my legs.

“This p*ssy doesn’t belong to you yet, Mount.”

I reach between my legs, hating that I’m already wet, but grateful at the same time because this won’t take long at all.

Am I daring the devil to come bolting through the door to make good on his threat?

No. I’m calling his bluff.

When I come tonight, it’ll be a f*ck you to the man who thinks he owns me. I’ll even make sure to use my middle finger.





Keira





When I wake, it’s not because of sunlight cutting through the cheap plastic blinds of my bedroom, but a nightmare that jerks me out of a dead sleep.

The room is pitch black, but my heart hammers as I reach for the bedside lamp. Instead of the rickety wooden nightstand I got at Ikea, my fingers graze cool marble.

Oh. Shit.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

Finally, I find a switch, and a soft glow fills the black, white, and, gold bedroom.

There’s no clock. I have no sense of whether it’s night or day because there are no windows. Only a locked door to which I have no key.

And no freaking clothes except for my trench coat. Smart, Keira. Really freaking smart. I don’t even have my purse. Scar must have left it in the car.

I yank the sheet from the bed and wrap it around my body before heading into the bathroom. I glance at the mirror, wincing at my appearance. My eyeliner is smeared beneath my eyes in dark circles, and my hair is as much of a rat’s nest as one would expect, given the way I tossed and turned in the throes of the nightmare.

Except it wasn’t a nightmare. It’s my new reality.

I leave the expensive products untouched, wanting nothing from Mount except my freedom. That’s still all I want, and I’ll find a way to get it. Today.

When I turn in the direction of the bedroom, something else catches my eye. A black silk robe hanging on a hook near the glass shower enclosure. It wasn’t there last night.

Someone came in while I slept.

The realization hits me with stunning and skin-crawling clarity.

I rush back through the bedroom and out into the sitting area, and sure enough, there are silver-covered dishes on a table with a note.



* * *



Eat.

Shower.

Ready yourself in accordance with the instructions on the bedside table if you want to leave these rooms today.





* * *



The heavy scrawl is familiar and carries no signature.

What instructions?

I turn back to the bedroom and check the table with the lamp I turned on. It’s bare.

The other nightstand, however, is not. There’s a black lacquered box.

How the hell did I miss that?

My throat goes bone dry as I swallow and step closer to the box, almost as afraid to lift the lid as I was the last one. But the note said if you want to leave these rooms today, and God knows I do.

I open it and stare down at the contents. It’s a black and gold . . . sex toy? It looks like a vibrator, but there’s a looped cord attached at the gold end, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that’s for. And yet Mount was thorough enough to leave a note for me anyway.



* * *



This will fill your p*ssy until I let you take my cock.





* * *



Let me?

Let me?

If I were capable of breathing fire, I’d burn this entire building down right now.

I read the rest as soon as the red haze clears from my vision.



* * *



The clothes you will wear to work are in the closet.

If you are not attired as I’ve outlined by nine, expect to spend another twenty-four hours here. Your excuses will be made to your employees.





* * *



The hurricane of emotions rioting through my head has my fingers gripping the device before I’m conscious of my own movement. More than anything, I want to throw it at the wall, smashing it to pieces.

How dare he?

But one phrase stops me before my high-school softball-pitching skills come into play.

“The clothes you will wear to work.”

My chest heaves with ragged breaths as I drop onto the edge of the bed and reread every word of the note six times. I don’t trust this man, but if there’s a single chance he’ll let me out of these rooms to go to work, I have to comply.

And he knows I will.

“You f*cking bastard,” I tell the wall, the pliant latex of the sex toy clutched in my hand.

Mount’s low, deep voice comes from the doorway. “You’re right. I am a bastard. Born on the streets to a whore who left me on the front steps of a church. Raised on those same streets and put through a hell you will never in your soft and cushioned life ever imagine.”

I whip around to face him, my hand no longer shaking in rage, but trembling with fear. He steps toward me, and the stories Magnolia told me play through my head, as do her warnings.

I straighten my arm down at my side, hiding my reaction from him.

“You think what I want from you is demeaning?” he asks, taking another step toward me.

“You don’t f*cking know the meaning of the word, but I’m happy to introduce you to a taste if that’s what it takes for you to hold up your end of the bargain we made last night. Unlike you, I keep my word.”

In that moment, I believe he’s capable of every horrible thing I’ve heard about him.

He can hurt me. Kill me. Make me disappear.

But for some reason that I may never, ever understand—he wants me.

That, and maybe only that, gives me an edge.

I have a choice to make, and I can’t let fear paralyze my brain. I can continue to rebel and challenge him—and undoubtedly lose—or bend the slightest bit and make it appear that I’m playing his game.

I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin as though the black satin sheet is a ball gown.

“I was not aware of your parentage. The slur was only meant in reference to your personality. At least, what I’ve seen of it so far.” The next part is harder to get out, but I manage. “I apologize for any offense I’ve caused with it. It was unintended in that context.”

Something flits across his expression. Surprise? Disbelief? Shock? I don’t know, because it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he glances down at his watch.