Page 16 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
Her sigh is long and put-upon. “I don’t know for sure, and that’s not a lie. But I have heard if you go to a very specific bar on Bourbon and you give a very specific code word, someone will vet you and you might be taken to him—if he wants to see you. It’s like the queen of England; you can’t just demand an audience.”
“He better want to see me. That’s what he wants right? Me?”
“Think about this before you do something stupid. The bar and code-word shit is all rumor and hearsay, and for the record, I wouldn’t try it if I were you. Just wait. You’ve got one more day and he’ll make his move.”
It’s like Magnolia hasn’t known me since I was ten. Patience has never been my strong suit.
“No. No more waiting. I’m going on the offensive. Tell me where I need to go and what I need to say.”
“This is a bad idea, Ke-ke.”
My heart pounds as a lump rises in my throat, almost blocking the words. Maybe it’s my common sense trying to intervene. Too bad. I swallow and make my demand one more time.
“Just tell me, Mags.”
For a few beats, I don’t think she’s going to tell me, but she finally rattles off the information.
“Think about what you’re doing, girl. This isn’t a bear you want to poke. You have a lot of people on the line here, and I’m not saying that to be selfish. I’m prepared to meet my maker any day of the week, but I’d just as soon prefer it not be today.”
I suck in a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” I disconnect the call before she can try to talk me out of it again.
Lowering my cell to the desk, I stare down at the promissory note that has ruled my every moment for the last six days. The promissory note that will make me into a whore to pay my cheating bastard of a dead husband’s debt.
A gurgle of hysterical laughter escapes my throat. It sounds so ridiculous. I never bought into the bullshit concept that life is supposed to be fair, but how is it right that this was dished out on my plate? I think back to the time I heard Mount’s voice, when he was in this very office speaking with Brett. It wasn’t the date they signed the note, that’s for certain. It was after.
Maybe they argued about payment?
I wish I’d been a better eavesdropper for once in my life, because maybe I’d have some kind of ammunition for when I face the devil in his lair.
All I can remember is the murmur of Brett’s voice and the anger in the stranger’s tone. That doesn’t help me at all. So, now I have the name of a bar and a secret password. Practically speakeasy-style straight out of New Orleans during Prohibition when my great-granddaddy was selling bootleg whiskey to keep the family fed.
Kilgores have always done whatever it takes to survive, and that trait carried through to me.
But does survival mean waiting one more day, or going to track him down?
I heft my purse over my shoulder and walk out of my office, still uncertain of my course of action.
Keira
I decide to wait a day before doing anything crazy. After that, all bets are off because it’s D-Day. Due day.
“You want me to tattoo what exactly on your ass?” The bearded giant stares at me with more shock in his eyes than I would have expected for a New Orleans tattoo parlor by the name of Voodoo Ink.
“It’s not like you care, is it?”
He leans forward, resting his thick, inked forearms on the counter. “Look, lady, for starters, I’m booked out for the next six months solid.”
I cross my arms and stare at him like I’m not impressed, but I actually am. Who knew this place was so good?
“It can’t take you more than fifteen minutes to do it. You have to be able to fit that into your busy schedule.”
Someone laughs from the back, and heels click against the black-and-white checkered floor toward the front of the shop. A gorgeous woman with Bettie Page bangs dyed bright blue assesses me.
“The only reason a woman wants Property of No Man tattooed on her ass is because of a bad breakup.”
“The kind of breakup that ends with a cheating husband dead in a burned-out car in the Ninth Ward?” I eye them both, my chest twinging to put it out there so heartlessly, but facts are facts.
The man pushes off the counter, and the woman’s eyes widen. Their changed demeanors make me think they know exactly who I am now. Brett’s death definitely made the eleven o’clock news.
