Page 47 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
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 pussy full.
* * *
The arrogance of his voice rings through my head as I read his scrawled words.
Go fuck 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.
A
nd 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 fucks to give.”
With each word I speak, his expression darkens with malevolence, telling me I’ve crossed into dangerous territory.
“What did you fucking 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 fucking mood to deal with another asshole 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 fucking 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 fuck is this?” He jerks my hand between us, staring down at the gauze and tape.
“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.
