Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy #3)

Ransom holds up both hands. “Go ahead, f*ckin’ shoot me. Then who’s gonna make ’em disappear when you’re done killin’ ’em? The press would lose their shit if they knew how many more bodies the cops weren’t findin’.”

Ransom’s words are the truth, and Saxon and I both turn our scopes back to the compound. We left only the few bodies necessary to show we were serious and to get the appropriate level of media attention.

“You’re getting paid. What do you care?”

“I’m not a f*cking undertaker. I’m a smuggler. This is a waste of my skills. You better believe I’m upping my rate for body disposal after this shit.”

I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Ransom. “You want to grab a gun and join us to break the monotony?”

He pulls out a wicked-looking long knife. “I prefer to get a little more up close and personal. Which general was it who said not to fire until you see the whites of the enemy’s eyes? That’s more my speed. Not this long-distance shit.”

Saxon grunts, a clear f*ck-you to Ransom. The two men might work together but aren’t exactly friends, and they never miss a chance to give each other hell.

“I got movement,” Saxon says, his finger sliding along the trigger of his sniper rifle.

“How the f*ck can he see—”

Before Ransom can finish his sentence, Saxon has already pulled the trigger of the suppressed rifle. I watch through my scope and see a head burst into red mist.

“Nice shot,” I murmur drily, and Saxon gives me the side eye.

“They’re all nice shots.”

Saxon’s confidence is one of the reasons he’s my go-to for any job requiring sensitive handling. He’d prefer to never work for me again, saying it leaves too much of a trail, but I couldn’t give a f*ck less.

I hire the best, and I pay him a fortune. He can deal.

One of these days, I know he’ll disappear and make it so I can’t find him, but it won’t happen before this job is done.

“So that leaves three?”

Saxon nods.

“I’m sending the team in. It’s time to make this even more personal.”





Mount





When I brought Keira into my world, it became my duty to protect her, including making sure she never knows certain threats exist. One of these ass*oles f*cked up when he took a shot with her near me. Tonight, they pay and we end this.

How Ransom managed to get the gate combination to the cartel’s headquarters, I don’t know or care, but as we drive into the courtyard and under the portico, everything is still.

J speaks into the com. “Premises have been swept, boss. It’s all clear. Your target is in the living room. Turn right after you walk through the front foyer. You can’t miss it.”

He is Eduardo, the man who sat in front of my desk and agreed to take over the dealings of coke, meth, and pills in the split of the New Orleans drug market. I was more than fair, but for some goddamned reason, he crossed the line. Broke the rules. Shattered the compact.

Now he pays.

The low-level shooter who put a bullet through the windshield has already been dealt with, and didn’t say anything more than his boss ordered the hit. Now, his boss will answer for it.

Z opens the door of the armored Escalade and I step out. As I walk toward the door, I spy a pair of hedge clippers left by some gardener who probably fled days ago when the bullets started flying. Z follows behind me, and I nod to them.

“Grab those.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

I pull a Cuban out of my pocket and light it, taking a few puffs before I nod at him to open the door. Saxon, Ransom, and a whole crew of my best people are covering us from every angle. Not that there’s anyone left at this point who could do any damage.

I step inside, my shoes echoing on the marble floor of the airy entryway, and head to the right like J described.

Eduardo is duct-taped to a chair and he’s practically frothing at the mouth, spewing threats in two languages. Maybe three.

Regardless, I don’t care.

“You will die for this, Mount. f*cking die. You and everyone you love.”

I puff on the cigar, staring at him. “You’re the one who broke the rules. I let you come into my city, make a shit-ton of money, and you dare take a shot at me?”

“I didn’t f*cking take a shot at you!” Spittle flies from his mouth as sweat drips off his face.

“Your man did. He admitted it. He said you ordered it.” My tone is without emotion. There’s nothing but ice in my veins.

“He lied!”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?” I look over my shoulder at Z. “Get creative with those hedge clippers.”

As Z walks toward him, Eduardo rails at me. Seconds later, his curses turn to screams just before his pinkie hits the floor. It’s closely followed by his ring finger, which pings as the gold wedding band he was wearing hits the marble.

“f*ck you, Mount! You’re gonna die for this! I didn’t order shit.”

I nod at Z again.

Screams fill the room, but all I can picture is Keira’s face going pale as she fought to stay conscious after the accident.

“You do not f*ck with me or mine.”

“I didn’t! He went rogue!”

“Then you should’ve had better control over your organization. For that, and the fact that you spilled even a single drop of my woman’s blood, means that your life is forfeit.”

I meet his dark brown gaze that’s filled with hate, rage, and fear. What I’ve done to him is nothing compared to what he’s done to others.

“I don’t know what the f*ck you’re talking about, Mount.”

I puff on my cigar again. “Then you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Z steps back and I give him a nod. “Put that piece of shit out of his misery. He’s not worth my time.”

I turn on a heel and head for the front entrance, curses echoing behind me before the distinctive sound of a suppressed bullet silences Eduardo permanently.





Keira





“The terror ruling the streets of New Orleans this week seems to have ended. Residents are still advised to use caution as they resume their daily activities, but bullets are no longer flying. The police haven’t yet issued a statement, but we expect one to be forthcoming.”



With every hour that passes, I feel more and more like I’m about to lose my goddamned mind. The news stories online still have conflicting accounts of what’s going on, but the tone has changed.

If bullets have stopped flying, then where the hell is Lachlan?

I’ve practically worn a path in the carpet from the living room to the bedroom in the last three days, but I can’t even pretend to care. The only thing I want is him, back here, safe and sound.

Work is the only thing that has kept me sane. The distillery is still running at full capacity. Louis refused to leave, and the employees sided with him. They reminded me that we’re built of tougher stuff in NOLA.

Temperance is a rock-star COO, so we’ve been able to handle much of the business remotely. But I definitely need to make an appearance soon, if for no other reason than to thank all my employees for their commitment to the company.

I turn to make another circuit on familiar carpet and freeze when I hear a knock at the door.