Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy #1)

After Magnolia dropped out of Sacred Heart in tenth grade because her scholarship got pulled, my mother told me I couldn’t see her anymore. The ban wasn’t surprising, because Magnolia got caught giving our history teacher a blow job in the supply closet. Mr. Sumpter disappeared, but Magnolia viewed the situation as finding her calling.

Mama tried to exorcise her from my life, but that’s not how friendship works, at least in my book. Magnolia is the one who beat up Jill Barnard when she made fun of my pixie cut in fourth grade, which also resulted in a suspension. She coached me through using my first tampon. Took me to the clinic to get birth control after I got asked to prom at a boy’s private school, because she swore she wasn’t going to let me make any stupid mistakes with my life.

Magnolia is the big sister I never had. The one who looked out for me and always made sure I stayed out of trouble. My loyalty to her runs deep, and in my opinion, how she makes her living is no one’s business but her own.

“Mags, I have a problem.”

“What, you getting hit on by another restaurateur who only wants to carry Seven Sinners if you have a private dinner to talk it over with him?”

I can practically hear her rolling her eyes over the phone. That has been the extent of my male interactions since Brett died, and she knows it.

I duck into my office and shut the door behind me before I speak. “Lachlan Mount. He was here.” As soon as I say his name, the goose bumps return, along with the lingering seductive scent he left behind. I’ll probably have to fumigate my office to get rid of it.

Magnolia’s voice goes quiet. “The f*ck did you say?”

“Lach—”

“Shut your damn mouth and do not say that name again.”

My teeth clack shut.

“He is not a man you want to know you exist. And we can’t talk about this over the phone. I’ll get up. Get dressed. f*ck.”

Her reaction validates everything I’ve been thinking. This situation isn’t bad. It’s catastrophic.

“What do I do?” I hate the fear making my voice unsteady.

“You get your ass to my place and tell me every damn thing that happened. Bring some of that whiskey of yours too, because we’re gonna need it.”

“I have a full day of meetings—”

“Ke-ke, your schedule just got f*cking clear. Get your ass to my place.”

Magnolia ordering me around usually is more along the lines of “Ke-ke, take that shot. Don’t be such a p*ssy.” Or, “Just go out and get some dick, for the love of all that’s holy. Your cooch is gonna dry up.”

Depending on the circumstances, I ignore those comments. This order, I can’t ignore.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Make it ten.”



* * *



I park my twelve-year-old Honda Civic in a guest space of the parking garage of the poshest new condo complex in New Orleans. It’s full of cars worth at least ten times the value of mine.

And while Mama disapproves of the path Magnolia has taken, no one can argue it hasn’t been a lucrative one. She holds the distinction of being one of New Orleans’ most exclusive madams, and the details of how she got there have never been shared with me. Everything I know came anecdotally, including the fact that her little black book of johns is thick. And what’s more, Magnolia has the dirt on just about all of them, or so she claimed on the night when we celebrated me taking the helm of Seven Sinners.

As I slip out of my car and shut the door, careful not to ding the Porsche parked beside it, my breathing speeds up. Magnolia won’t pull punches. She’ll tell me just how screwed I am.

I cross the pristine parking garage floor to the elevator and press the call button. It appears instantly, and within moments, I’m standing in front of the entrance to her sixth-floor condo. She hasn’t quite reached penthouse status, but I have no doubt she’s heading there. Magnolia has as much entrepreneurial spirit running through her veins as I do, if not more.

Maybe that’s part of the reason we’re kindred spirits. We’re both in the business of sin.

She opens the door on my first knock, and her peach silk dressing gown emphasizes her every gorgeous curve. Instead of the normal smile I usually get when I show up, she grabs me by the arm and yanks me inside. She slams the door behind me and locks the dead bolt.

I face her, a lump growing in my throat. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Where’s that whiskey you brought? We’re gonna need it.”

I pull a bottle out of the Tory Burch bag she gave me the night we celebrated, and hold it out. Magnolia grabs it from my hand and carries it to the counter as I follow.

“There are things in my world that should never cross into yours, Ke-ke. You’re sweetness and light, despite the fact that you make badass whiskey. But you crossed into it, and I have no f*cking clue how we’re gonna get you out of it whole.”

She reaches up and snags two crystal tumblers off glass shelves in the bar area and splashes whiskey into them, three fingers each.

Magnolia is always confident, bold, and never shows any kind of hesitation. The fact that her personality has taken a one-eighty kicks up my heart rate until it hammers in time with the tapping of her long peach acrylic nails on the counter.

“What do you mean?” I ask slowly, because I have a feeling I’m going to need an explanation that’s just as slow.

“You’ve been marked, girl.”

“What does that mean?” There’s no way to disguise the fear edging my words.

“I did some digging.”

“How? I just told you—”

She cuts me off with a hand in the air. “You know I can get to the bottom of a mystery faster than a crack whore can find the bottom of a dime bag. Don’t act all surprised. This took one discreet phone call, and what I found out isn’t good.”

I reach for the crystal tumbler and gulp down the single malt that any other day I would sip and savor, noting the flavors as they caress my palate. Not today. Today, I need liquid courage to face whatever is coming out of Magnolia’s mouth next.

She leans both elbows on the counter and drags one long, glitter-tipped nail around the rim of the glass. “Lachlan Mount is not someone you f*ck with.”

“I didn’t!” I sound like I’m on the verge of hysterics, and to be honest, I am.

“Nothing happens in this city without his say-so. He’s like a conduit through which all things must pass. Booze. Drugs. Girls. Cons. Gambling. How the man amassed so much power, I have no idea, but he did and he holds it with an iron fist.” She looks up at me. “Now you’re in his grip.”

“Booze? We’ve never paid him off.”

“You sure about that?”

“I would’ve known. Dad never mentioned—”

Magnolia tilts her head to one side and then the other. “Doubt he would. Hell, maybe he’s kept paying him off since you took over to keep him away from you. Doesn’t matter now. You owe him, and you can be sure he’s gonna collect.”

I can’t imagine my father paying off Mount regularly, and I have no idea how I’d even begin to bring up the subject. The implications hit me hard, and I watch the color drain from my face in the mirror behind Magnolia.

“I don’t even know what Brett did with the money. I didn’t know he borrowed it in the first place.”

Magnolia’s gaze drops away.

“What? What aren’t you telling me?”