Page 24 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
“Gustavo, you take the heroin and weed. Eduardo, you get the coke, pills, and meth.”
Both men jerk their heads in my direction.
“But—”
“Do you want to see your mistress tonight, Gustavo? Because if another goddamn word comes out of your mouth, I will put a bullet in your head and send her your dick in a box.”
His teeth clack shut, and I look to Eduardo. “Any complaints?”
“No. My organization will make it work.”
“Good, then we’re done here.”
My eyes snap back to the monitor and the woman whose arms are crossed behind her back, both middle fingers extended.
My nostrils flare.
No man would dare. Not even these two bastards in front of me who have hung bodies of innocents from bridges in Mexico for no more reason than to instill fear.
It seems my original instincts about Keira Kilgore were right. There’s a fire burning in her that I’ve never found in another woman.
It’s time to see my latest acquisition.
Keira
It’s not a bookshelf that moves; it’s the fireplace. It spins like you’d see in a movie.
I jerk around to catch it turning, dropping my hands to my sides as the man who has been starring in my nightmares for a week steps into the room. The fireplace rotates again to return to its original position.
He’s even bigger than I remember from my office, but the tantalizing citrus and woodsy scent is the same, except this time it’s mingled with that of the leather and books.
His dark hair, cut perfectly in a style I’d call don’t fuck with me, matches his nearly black eyes. Those eyes seem to burn like coals as they make a lazy perusal of my naked body.
Before, when I first dropped my coat, I felt bold. Full of rage. Anger. Disgusted with my husband for putting me in this position. It gave me false courage, and adrenaline raced through my veins.
Now, reality is setting in.
I’m facing down a man who could end my life easier than I could squash a mosquito.
His full lips twist into an expression I suppose I could call a smile, but it’s not. It’s too smug and self-assured. Like he’s amused at my expense. Which he probably is.
I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. His inspection of me ends with his gaze spearing mine. I want to look away, but I can’t.
His presence surrounds him like a physical being. It’s meant to inspire fear, and it’s doing the job. I don’t know how to properly describe the feeling, except I imagine I’d feel the same way if a massive alligator were about to snap its jaws shut on my head and drag me under into the swamp. The death roll would come next. I can’t let him get to me, or I’m screwed.
When Magnolia described the power, the presence, and his charisma to me, I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I’m starting to now.
Don’t show fear. Don’t show fear. It becomes my mantra as I wait for him to speak.
After what seems like an eternity, he utters two words in a deep, gravelly voice. “Turn around.”
When I delib
erately flashed my backside to the camera in the corner and then flipped it the double bird, I figured there was maybe a fifty-fifty shot he was watching. Again, that insane stunt was fueled by adrenaline, which has deserted me.
I want to dredge up the remains of my rebellion, but I can’t.
I spin on the stilettos, the only items of clothing he sent that I deigned to wear, and give him my back. I hold my shoulders stiffly and with pride.
