Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

“Nothing,” I say, my voice shaking even though I fight the tremor.

I watch him while he stares at the evidence of my first-aid skills before lifting his gaze to mine. Assessing. Calculating. Judging.

He releases my wrist as quickly as he grabbed it. “Bend over and show me your cunt.”

My mouth drops open at his rapid change.

“Now.” The word echoes in the closet.

I’ve never been given a more implacable order in my life, and I’ve also never quite regretted a decision so much as I do the one I made only minutes ago when I decided not to reinsert the toy.

Determined, I swallow my fear. I was willing to accept my punishment only minutes ago, and I’m not going to lose my nerve now.

Giving him my back, I bend over, lifting my skirt at the same time. It takes him less than a second to see what’s missing.

“I gave you an order, a simple f*cking order, and you won’t even comply with that.” He yanks down my skirt. “Stand up.”

I do and spin around to face him, not trusting him at my back. “I’m sorry slashing my hand open while I was on my way to follow your damn orders stopped me from playing your little f*cking games with my life!”

His expression goes blank as he grabs my wrist again, holding it palm out. “You said it was nothing.”

“To you, it’s not. That would probably take a severed limb. Or maybe decapitation?”

He drags me by the wrist as he yanks open the closet door and pulls me into the bathroom. He doesn’t release me as he digs through the drawers.

“Let go.” I jerk my hand, but his grip is like a shackle.

“Not until I see if you’re lying to me.”

Mount finally produces what look like nail scissors and cuts through the tape and gauze on the back side of my hand. He then peels the bandage free before flipping my hand palm-side up.

His nostrils flare as he surveys the cut, and I have no idea what to expect from him when his dark gaze meets mine.

“How did this happen? No bullshit, Keira. I want the truth.”

Saliva pools in my mouth and I swallow it before I explain. “I knocked over the champagne bottle my assistant brought to celebrate our new contract, and it broke on the bathroom floor. When I went to pick it up, I sliced myself on the edge.”

His grip on my wrist loosens, and he tilts my hand from side to side in the light. “It doesn’t need stitches.”

I open my mouth to tell him I already know that, but snap it shut when he runs the pad of his thumb along the same angle as the cut, but a half inch away, careful not to touch it.

“It might leave a scar, though.”

I feel his touch like it’s bathed in fire, leaving a scorching trail in its wake. My fingers curl inward instinctively, but he stops the motion by covering them with his own.

“Don’t. You’ll start the bleeding again. Hold still.”

When he releases my wrist, I’m confused enough to actually obey. He crouches down and pulls a first aid kit from beneath the sink.

“Just like my father. Always prepared.” The words pop out of their own volition.

Mount rises slowly, his dark gaze pinning me in place. “Don’t assume I’m anything like your father. You couldn’t be any more wrong if you tried.”

As he pulls something from the first aid kit, my response flies from my lips. “You’re right. My father is a good man, and as far as I can tell, there’s not a damn good thing about you.”

“Now you’re catching on,” he says, his wicked smirk intact.

And then something burns like actual fire along my cut, and I try to yank my wrist out of his grip. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he uses his free hand to fan the searing cut.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

“Calm down. It’s liquid Band-Aid. It’s more effective on your palm than your hack job with the gauze and tape. It’ll stop burning in a second.” He continues directing air toward the cut to soothe the pain.

“You could’ve warned me! That shit hurts!”

Mount’s expression goes blank. “I’ve given you more warnings than I have anyone before. It doesn’t seem to be working, though, because you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. And if you think that hurts, you’ve never known real pain.”

He releases my wrist and replaces the first aid kit while the burning subsides to a manageable sting.

Do I thank him? I’m pondering the question when he rises to his full height, dwarfing me by nearly a foot, something I hadn’t noticed until we were forced into such close proximity.

“Get dressed. You’re making us late for dinner.” He strides from the bathroom, but doesn’t leave the bedroom before tossing his parting words over his shoulder. “And don’t forget the toy, or I’ll take it as a direct invitation to bend you over the dining room table and f*ck your tight little cunt while they serve the first course.”





Keira





Shockingly, Mount pulls out my chair and pushes it in while I take my seat at the massive dining room table that looks like it could easily seat twenty people. His place setting is at the head, and I’ve been seated directly to his left.

I don’t make eye contact with him as I sit, because I swear the man can read my mind.

To my shame, his parting words made me wet enough that there was no need to search for lube to slide the toy back inside me where he demanded.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I should be disgusted and repulsed. Screaming for someone to let me out of this damn house—which I still haven’t gotten to see because Scar hooded me and carried me to dinner. But instead, all I can do is picture Mount grabbing a fistful of my hair and holding it tight while he bends me over the table and mounts me like his name suggests.

Again, what the hell is wrong with me?

There’s f*cking with someone’s head, and then there’s what Mount is doing to me. I don’t think a name has been invented for it yet. I’m pretty sure it’s not Stockholm Syndrome, because I definitely hate him and would run in the opposite direction the second I got the chance, if there weren’t threats hanging over the heads of my friends and family like guillotine blades. Then there are the two warring parts of me—the one that wants what he threatens, and the one that rebels against every word of it.

“Do I need to check?” Mount’s deep voice whispers in my ear as he releases my chair.

Before I can respond, the toy buzzes to life and I jolt in my seat, giving him his answer.

“I didn’t think so.”

I want to slap that arrogant smirk off his face, but I can’t even imagine the consequences for that action. Thankfully, the vibrator stills before the first course is served. By the time I’ve finished spooning up my oyster soup in silence and it’s been cleared away, I know what I have to do.

“We need to talk terms.”

The efficient waitstaff serve the salad course before Mount responds. “The only terms to be discussed were those of your willing submission. You agreed. End of discussion.”