Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

“And probably whether or not he gets his payment from me every month,” I can’t help but add.

“Keira, stop. He knows you’re more passionate about that old distillery than either of your sisters, and would die before you’d let it fail. He believes in you, even if he doesn’t say it often enough. We’re both so proud of you.”

She doesn’t realize how badly I need to hear those words right now. Then again, how proud would my parents be if they knew I’ve whored myself out to keep the legacy alive?

Shame slithers through my soul for what I’m doing.

I have no choice.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Thank you, Mom. I love you both. I’m glad Dad’s finally learning to chill out.”

“Oh, honey. I didn’t say that. He’s already president of the condo association and trying to institute some kind of rules about the golf carts. The man is incapable of being anything but exactly what he is—a CEO. But that’s why I love him. His drive. His fire. He had me from day one. No doubt about it.”

Knowing that she’s about to launch into the story of their first date for quite possibly the six hundredth time in my life, I interject. “I know, and someday I hope I find out what that’s like.”

I don’t really mean it, though. Brett’s death and betrayal are still too fresh for me to even consider wanting to get married again. Maybe ever. But my parents are proof that sometimes it truly can last.

My mom makes a sound of approval. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I want nothing more than for you to move forward with your life and find someone who will love you like you were always meant to be loved. That’s what I want for all my girls. Someone to treat you all like queens.”

Lachlan Mount may be the king of New Orleans’ underworld, but he sure as hell will never treat me like a queen. And that’s not even an option, so why the hell would I even think such a thing? It’s my mother. Her pep talks cause temporary insanity on occasion.

“I have a meeting coming up, so I have to let you go. But I love you, and it’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you both,” I tell her.

“You know I’ll be there on the first flight if you need me, honey. I’m due for a real beignet soon.”

The thought of having my mother in the same town as Mount is even more of a nightmare than my life is currently. I couldn’t even begin to explain or lie to cover this up.

“We’re so busy right now with this big event coming up, and you know if you come, Dad will want to. We both know he’ll be right back in the thick of things, stressing out about all the details, and neither of us wants that for him.”

My mom sighs. “And he’d be stepping on your toes. I know. I know. But soon. You’ll have to come visit us when you can get away for a few days.”

Get away has a whole new meaning now that I spent a night in captivity.

“I will. I promise. As soon as I can.” To myself, I add silently, Or as soon as I happen upon an extra half million dollars, because that would solve all my problems.

“Okay, sweetheart. Talk soon.”

“Tell Imogen and Jury I said hi,” I add, knowing she’s going down the list of daughters to call and check on.

“Absolutely. One of these days, I’ll have you all together again for a happy occasion. It’s going to happen. One of y’all is gonna have to get married and have babies sometime soon.”

“Bye, Mom.” I disconnect the call, hating how much of that conversation was made up of lies.

My sisters and I couldn’t have less in common, and I haven’t seen either of them since Brett’s funeral. It actually shocked me they both showed up.

Imogen has buried herself in her dissertation, determined to land an incredible postdoc position that will launch her fantastic career. She’s the overachiever of the family, but was truly sympathetic at the funeral, some of the only true emotion I’ve seen from her in years. She’s not a typical middle child. She doesn’t act out. She keeps all of her emotions locked down.

Then there’s Jury, who gallivants around the globe, shaking her ass on bars for money. She was a total bitch at the funeral. I believe her exact words were, “Couldn’t have picked a better end for that bastard myself.”

I slapped her across the face and walked away while Imogen gasped and ordered her to have some respect for once in her life.

Jury showed no remorse. Cheaters apparently deserve no sympathy in her book, which makes me wonder who cheated on her in the past, but we don’t have that kind of relationship. I know as much about my sisters’ lives right now as they do about mine, and for once in my life, I’m thankful for that. This isn’t something I want them anywhere near.

I tuck my phone into my pocket and take a step in the direction of the elevator, only for the toy to come to life again.

I shuffle toward the steel doors like a little girl who’s about to pee her pants, and punch the call button with my finger. With a glance skyward, I force myself to think about anything but the buzzing between my legs.

Just stop. Please stop.

Once I’m in the elevator, I watch the numbers as it heads for the basement, desperate to get into my office before I spontaneously combust.

I’m going to come.

There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

I shoulder open the office door and burst inside, ready to moan with my release—and the toy shuts off.

My desk lamp is on, and just like he had once before, Mount sprawls in my desk chair like a king on his throne.

“You son of a bitch! Where were you? In the restaurant? Watching my meeting? Trying to screw this up for me? Do you want me to fail? Is that the whole point of this? Because I won’t. You can try to f*ck with my head all you want, but I won’t let you take down my business too.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on my desk. His black-and-diamond cufflinks wink in the desk-lamp light. “Lock the door.”

My chest, heaving with all the righteous indignation pent up from my speech, stills immediately. “This is my office. You don’t control things here.” I’m proud my voice doesn’t waver.

Mount spreads his hands and presses both facedown on my desk as he rises halfway out of his chair. “You still don’t get it.” His tone takes on an amused quality for a moment before it turns sharp. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Keira.”

When I don’t move, he stands to his full height, his hands at his sides. “Lock the f*cking door.”

The order is delivered with such quiet menace, I have no option but obedience. I reach back without looking behind me and flip the lock. In the muted light, his shadowed expression is unreadable, but I can’t imagine it means anything good for me.

“I watched you. I watched them watch you.”

“How? You weren’t there.”

He doesn’t answer my question. “They wanted to f*ck you. Did you feel it?”

I recall the way the men stared at my chest and my embarrassingly hard nipples. “Only because of what you made me wear.”