Page 4 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
But still, that word hangs in the air.
“You.”
My hand shakes as I flip through the pages, committing the words to memory. But, really, the only things on this paper that matter are the amount I can’t pay and the date it was due. I flip it over, not wanting to look at it anymore, but a bold scrawl on the back mocks me.
* * *
Seven-day payment extension granted.
* * *
There’s an illegible signature beneath it, but it doesn’t take a genius to know whose it is.
Seven days? It wouldn’t matter if I had seven months. I can’t come up with a half million dollars.
What did Brett do with the money?
I wait in silence like the good Lord might answer me in a booming voice from the heavens, but that obviously doesn’t happen.
Does it really matter at this point? It’s gone. He’s gone. And I’m the one left on the hook because as I unpleasantly learned, as the sole beneficiary and executor of his estate, all his debts became mine to deal with. The mess of a bad marriage lasts a hell of a lot longer than till death do us part.
I will not roll over and pay for Brett’s bad decisions on my back.
The steady thrum of fear running through my veins attempts to weaken my titanium spine.
“I will find a way to fix this. Somehow. Some way. I will.”
The silence in my office is the only answer I need.
I don’t believe myself either.
But I have to do something or I’m fucked. And, apparently, Lachlan Mount will be doing the fucking.
Keira
I approach my life like a general. A tactician. Each decision researched and executed with precision. My father always said I should have been a surgeon, but the only thing I ever wanted to do was make whiskey. He wanted a son to carry on the family tradition, but he got three daughters instead, and I’m the only one who cared about the difference between single malt and single barrel.
Right now, I need information on a man who lives in the shadows, so I go to the most obvious source—Google. I type in his name, and in less than a second the following message appears on my screen.
* * *
Your search – Lachlan Mount – did not match any documents.
* * *
That’s impossible. I click on the image tab and it’s blank. I add New Orleans, and dozens of sites pop up with information about the city, but nothing about Lachlan Mount shows beneath the preview of each.
I try a dozen more searches, all providing the same result.
It’s like he doesn’t exist. Like he truly is the myth and legend I thought he was before I came face-to-face with him yesterday.
So, how the hell am I supposed to get any information on him if he’s a ghost where the Internet is concerned?
Last night, I tossed and turned as the minutes and hours ticked down to my deadline. My tiny apartment doesn’t have a money tree growing out back, so it’s safe to say I’m no closer to a solution than I was before.
I could sell a kidney, but even that’s not going to get me $500,000, I assume. It’s not like I stay up on the black-market value of organs, because, well, I’m a normal, law-abiding citizen.
I sell whiskey. I pay the excise taxes that make me want to vomit when I write the check. But I don’t cut corners. I play by the rules.
