Page 13 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
My parents sold their place when they moved to Florida, so that wasn’t an option. When they flew home for Brett’s funeral, Dad was pissed when he learned I planned to move into what he called a shithole, but I made up some excuse about it being closer to work and not needing so much space anymore as the reason for letting the lease lapse. I couldn’t admit that I didn’t think I could afford to pay myself enough to stay in the townhouse or find a better apartment. I wasn’t about to admit how badly we were struggling.
Knowing my dad, he would have insisted on coming out of retirement to take over, but that was the last thing I wanted him to do. Not just because I want to be the one at the helm, but because I feared he’d have a heart attack when he realized the damage Brett had done and how close Seven Sinners teeters on the edge of failure.
All my parents knew was that Brett had cheated, I was leaving him, and then he died in a tragic accident before I could file for divorce. As a compromise, I let Dad install two new dead bolts on my shitty apartment door. That was three months ago, and everything since is a blur.
I took it one day at a time, making sure all the bills got paid, and settled Brett’s affairs. With the big payday from the fundraising event coming soon, I thought we would finally have some room to breathe.
But no.
Now things are even worse.
My fingers itch to pick up the phone and call my dad for guidance, but I know I can’t. If what Brett did would give Dad a heart attack, what Mount suggested would cause heart failure. And if it didn’t, he would show up with a shotgun and try to hunt Mount down, and based on Magnolia’s information, we’d all be dead.
So, I will not be telling my parents, and I sure as hell won’t be telling my little sisters. Imogen is finishing her PhD, and Jury is partying it up somewhere exotic, working behind or on top of a bar somewhere, just enough to fund her playgirl lifestyle.
My decision is clear—my family can never know about any of this.
I drop my bag on the worn blue velvet chair in my living area and stride toward the kitchen, intent on finding another bottle of whiskey since I left the other with Magnolia.
I’m halfway across the tile floor when I freeze.
A copy of the promissory note is on the counter. I know it’s a copy because the original is in my bag.
He was here.
Torn between making a run for it, but remembering the car parked outside, I snatch the document off the chipped Formica. Something metal pings off the tile as another piece of paper floats to the floor.
I scan the faded tile and stained grout, not seeing anything but the note with two words written in a bold hand I recognize immediately.
* * *
Six days.
* * *
I leave the note where it is, fighting another shiver of fear as I drop to my knees to search for whatever else he left.
I crawl toward the coffee table and something glints in the afternoon sunlight near the edge of one leg. I dive for it, but my fingers shake so violently I can barely pick it up.
No way. Impossible. It can’t be.
I hold the circle of gold up to the light and read the inscription inside my dead husband’s wedding band. Ice water takes the place of blood in my veins.
How? Why?
I bolt for the chair, grab my bag, and lunge for the door. When I’ve finally unbolted it, it swings open and I’m ready to sprint for my car.
Until I crash into a solid male body.
I look up, expecting to see Mount, but it’s not. Why would he bother with such a menial task if he’s busy running an empire?
Instead, it’s my super, Phil.
“Everything okay, Keira?”
I want to scream nothing is okay, but I shake my head and mumble, “Fine. Great. Thought I forgot to lock my car. Gotta go check it.”
Phil nods. “Can’t be too careful in this neighborhood.”
