Page 22 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
I try to keep track of the twists and turns and going up and down, and the sounds of doors opening and things sliding, but I’m completely discombobulated by the time Scar lowers me to my feet again.
The first scent to hit my nose is a faint mixture of cigar smoke, leather, and old books. Footsteps recede, and there’s another, almost silent, sliding sound. If I hadn’t been blind, I might not have heard it.
I yank the hood from my head, my eyes adjusting to the dim light as adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream.
Fight or flight.
I’m ready.
I expect to see a smug man waiting for me, the one who sat at my desk like he owned it, but there’s no one.
I spin in a circle, barely keeping myself upright on the tall heels. I’m completely alone.
My first thought—did Scar bring me to the wrong place? I expected a bedroom fit for a bordello with a massive bed where Mount would force me to do whatever sick things his twisted mind desired.
But there isn’t a bed in sight. In fact, the only furniture in the room is heavy bookcases lining every wall, two large leather chairs perfectly suited for the frame of a big man, a few lamps on the tables, and a sideboard with crystal decanters. My eyes scan the room from wall to wall, looking for the door.
Another shot of fear courses through me when I realize there isn’t one.
I swallow again, my mouth even drier than in the car, and focus on my breathing. This is New Orleans. Hidden rooms and secret passageways are run of the mill. It’s no big deal.
Except when the man you’re meeting has a history of making his mistresses disappear.
But that’s not what I am. I’m just the piece of ass he’s taking in lieu of payment for a debt. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I stand in the center of the room, waiting, and I see a dark glass bulb tucked into one corner of the ceiling.
A camera.
Is he watching me?
A shaft of courage, bolstered by my rage, straightens my spine once more.
For the first time in my life, I sure as hell hope Lachlan Mount is watching. I untie the belt of my trench coat and let it fall to the floor.
Mount
The meeting won’t end. Two top cartel leaders vying for power in my city sit on the opposite side of my desk. They’ve been arguing all evening, and I’ve let them.
Anywhere else, this would end in bloodshed, if they would have even agreed to be present in the same room, but they wouldn’t dare here. If they want to do business in New Orleans, they go through me or not at all.
I already know what deal will be sealed before they leave the room, because I decided yesterday. I don’t care that the Mexicans think they’re all powerful. In my city, there is only one king, and that’s me.
Rule with fear, but gain respect through actions.
That’s what I’ve done for almost twenty years since that piece of wisdom was imparted upon me by a dying cartel jefe the CIA set up for retirement in New Orleans. He also sparked the fire in my veins that resulted in me seizing control of an empire.
After that, my life became something I could never have imagined.
CIA. NSA. FBI. DEA. ICE. Cartels. Mafia. Yakuza. Bratva.
Now I work with them all, and the most important thing I’ve learned is power is the only thing that matters. Most men have too many weaknesses to hold on to it for long.
V steps into the room and nods at me.
The anticipation I’ve been holding at bay all night rises to the surface, and I shove it down.
The Mexicans continue arguing, and in my boredom, I allow my gaze to wander to the monitor on my desk showing various camera angles, specifically the room where I had V take her.
