Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

Before I can decide, Scar comes to a complete stop, and I recognize the sound of the car shifting into park before he kills the engine.

The driver’s door opens, and just like all the other times, mine is opened as well. I’m lifted into his arms, and this time, my purse comes with me.

I have to wonder about Scar’s daily workout routine if he carries me all over like I weigh nothing, which certainly isn’t the case. Tits and ass and drinking more than a little whiskey add extra pounds on a girl, but I couldn’t care less.

Magnolia’s words come back to me.

“You got tits, ass, and that gorgeous red hair that makes a man think he’s gonna find fire when he gets you under him . . . And what’s more, you’re totally and completely oblivious to it.”

As I’m carried up, down, and all over hell and back, I realize Mount said something similar.

“You’re totally f*cking clueless about what men think when they look at you. Except today. Today, you felt it.”

It’s true that I don’t spend an inordinate amount of time staring at my reflection in a mirror. Mostly because I’m too damn busy working. I never got into the whole selfies and social media thing, and don’t take them unless someone forces me into a picture for some work-related reason.

I didn’t place much stock in what Magnolia said. I know my friend wouldn’t lie to me, but she saw me through the lens of friendship, and that adds beauty you may not otherwise see to a person.

But what Mount said earlier today? That got through to me. Normally, I was clueless. I didn’t expect or notice stares from men. That was more Jury’s territory. Or even Imogen, with her perfect features and undeniably classic beauty.

I was the one following my dad to work, learning about the variations in flavors we could create by aging the whiskey in different kinds of barrels, or which grain suppliers were preferable and why.

Except today . . . today, Mount was right. I felt every stare as those men basically conducted our entire business meeting with my nipples instead of my eyes. It was humiliating, not gratifying.

Another sin to lay at his feet. Which is probably where he’ll crush me tonight when he learns I didn’t follow his orders.

My musings are cut short when I’m placed on my stilettos, and the sound of a door shutting and locking invades my brain. Like last time, I rip the hood off my head and am poised to attack as I absorb my surroundings. It’s like wondering if you’re going to be left in a room with a ravenous tiger or a meek housecat.

The analogy holds way too much truth for me to contemplate as I swivel and take in the same sitting room I left this morning. It looks the same, minus the silver-dome-covered trays that I left untouched. I barely touched my lunch either, except for the whiskey.

Both of those things explain why that champagne went to my head even faster than normal.

I walk into the bedroom, again on guard, waiting and wondering from which direction Mount is going to pounce, but a search of each room turns up nothing.

He may be watching me, but he’s not doing it from inside this room. When I set my purse down on the nightstand, I’m reminded of the toy inside it rather than inside me, where it’s supposed to be.

I have a decision to make. Comply or rebel.

Magnolia’s advice was not to let him walk all over me. Right now, my hand aches like a bitch, and the last thing I want to do is touch that thing. So, screw it. What’s the worst he can do to me?

Actually, I don’t want to know the answer to that question.

Still, so far, all I’ve been subjected to is the loss of my freedom, which royally pisses me off, but he hasn’t caused me any physical harm. I’ve even had a couple of orgasms.

Maybe I can go toe-to-toe with Mount and come out unscathed.

It doesn’t take long before I realize I’m dead wrong.





Keira





There’s one thing hanging in the massive walk-in closet, a black silk dress with a deep V that looks like it’ll barely cover my boobs. Slits run up both sides to the hip. I look around for matching lingerie, but there’s nothing. I check every drawer in the center island, but they’re all empty. So, basically, he expects me to look like a classy slut for dinner. Great.

Something gold catches my eye as it dangles from the hanger of the dress. A gold chain with a single charm in the shape of a tiny, delicate lock. A symbol of my captivity? Like I need the reminder.

When I pull the dress from the hanger, a note floats to the floor, and I reach down to pick it up.



* * *



Change immediately.

Keep your p*ssy full.





* * *



The arrogance of his voice rings through my head as I read his scrawled words.

Go f*ck yourself is the first thought that follows. Right now, I’m nursing my hand and a buzz, and I’m not willing to fall into line like everyone else in Mount’s life. Maybe it’s the champagne making me bold, but I like to think it’s not, because I’m definitely not drunk. If I were drunk, I’d be numb from the pain.

And not just the pain in my hand. Temperance telling me what Brett tried to get her to do shredded me.

My eyes sting with tears as I lean against the center island to hold myself up. I’m tempted to crumple in the closet and give in to them. Only one thing stops me. Or I should say one man.

“Are you incapable of following simple directions? Because I thought you were smarter than that.”

I jerk my head up to see Mount standing in the doorway that leads to the bathroom, once again making one of his stupid silent entrances.

“How do you do that? And why?” Frustrated, I let out a huff. “You know what? Don’t answer. I don’t care. Tonight, I’m not in the mood to deal with your brand of arrogant bullshit. I am fresh out of f*cks to give.”

With each word I speak, his expression darkens with malevolence, telling me I’ve crossed into dangerous territory.

“What did you f*cking say to me?”

Fight or die trying. Isn’t that what I vowed to do?

“I said, I’m not in the mood.”

He takes a step into the closet and shuts the door behind him. I don’t know if it’s a power play or what, but instantly the room seems to shrink to a tenth of its size.

“Say it again,” he orders.

I stand straight and meet his black glare. “I’m not in the f*cking mood to deal with another ass*ole tonight. Okay?” I throw my hands into the air like I’m completely at a loss of how to deal with him. Which I truly am.

Mount’s expression transforms from anger to rage in the space of a single heartbeat, and his voice drops to a low, raspy whisper. “Who f*cking touched you? Heads will roll, and I’ll swing the goddamned ax myself.”

Before I know what’s happening, he reaches out with lightning speed and his hand cuffs the wrist of my injured palm.

I’m struggling to keep up with his threats and movements, and definitely regretting the champagne. “What? No one. Well, no one other than you. And I guess Scar when he carries me around like I’m incapable of walking.”

“Then what the f*ck is this?” He jerks my hand between us, staring down at the gauze and tape.