Page 2 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
“You owe me a debt, Ms. Kilgore, and I’m here to collect.”
“A debt?”
My mind scrambles to think of how in the hell I could owe him money. I’ve never met him before. Hell, I’ve never seen him before, only heard his voice while I eavesdropped. My kind doesn’t mingle with his—well, at least, most of my kind. A few rumors circulated that he kept Richelle LaFleur, a girl from our church, as a mistress until she went missing a year ago. I shut that path of thinking down completely.
“What are you talking about?” Somehow, I manage to form the question.
Two fingers push a document titled Promissory Note across the scarred wood of my desk into the watery pool of light. My eyes lock on the papers, but I’m too terrified to step any closer.
Oh, sweet Jesus, Brett. What did you do? My heart slams against my ribs.
“Don’t you want to know how much your husband borrowed with this place as collateral?”
“How much?” I ask, inching toward him against my will.
“A half million dollars.”
I suck in a shocked breath. “You’re lying.”
With both hands on the desk, he leans down, exposing his face in the dim light. Hard features carved from granite, piercing dark eyes, and an unrelenting stare contrast with the relative civility of the suit that fits him to perfection.
“I never lie.”
A half million dollars? No way. “I would’ve known if Brett had borrowed that kind of money, and let me tell you—he didn’t.”
He shrugs as if the information means nothing to him. And maybe it doesn’t.
“His signature says that he did, and this debt is overdue.”
My eyes zero in on the papers on the desk. If he really did this . . . The effects would be catastrophic.
Four generations of Kilgores have dedicated their hopes, dreams, and fortunes to keeping this legacy alive. It can’t end with me.
“I don’t have the money.”
“I know.”
His response throws me back on my heels. “Then why—”
He moves out of the light and comes toward me. I shrink back against the wall as he advances, blocking my escape route to the door. There’s nowhere to run. He has me trapped.
“Because there’s something I might be willing to take in trade.”
It takes everything I have to keep my voice steady as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. “What?”
He stops a foot from me, and his full lips form a single word.
“You.”
Keira
I lock the door and sag against the wooden panel as soon as it shuts behind him with a decisive click. My body trembles like I just survived an encounter with the anti-Christ. All that’s left of Lachlan Mount in my office is his deceptively alluring scent—an intense burst of citrus mingled with spice and cedar—and my terror.
And I can’t forget the promissory note.
My gaze darts to the desk and then away.
It has to be fake. Brett did not borrow five hundred thousand dollars using the distillery as collateral, because he certainly didn’t use the money for any of the improvements I’ve been making. Every dollar that has gone into this place has been courtesy of the dog-and-pony show I put on for what seemed like every banker in town.
