Page 73 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
Or who.
“I have to go.” I grab my purse and my trench coat and rush past Temperance, bolting out of my office.
Scar is waiting out front with the car. I yank the back door open, not waiting for him to come around and get it for me.
“Take me to him,” I demand.
Scar meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and nods before tossing the hood at me.
I don’t complain as I pull it on, because I need to see Mount right now. We take the usual—and what I assume is a ridiculously inefficient—route to return, and I don’t fight as Scar carries me to my sitting room.
My jail cell.
That I only get to leave on work release.
Everything about this feels completely and totally wrong, if what I suspect is true.
Mount isn’t just ruthless. He’s a psychopath.
I pace the room, working myself up more and more until he finally arrives what feels like an eternity later.
I don’t wait for him to speak before I fire my question at him. “Did you do it?”
His expression, already blank, doesn’t change. “Do what?”
“Did you kill him?”
Mount raises that arrogant fucking eyebrow. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Lloyd Bunt. My banker.”
“The one who attempted to begin forcing you into a sexual relationship yesterday?” Mount asks.
My stomach drops to the floor. I can’t be responsible for Lloyd’s death. I can’t be, I tell myself.
To Mount, I give a different reply. “That’s not what it was. He only wanted dinner. A date.”
“And he would’ve kept pushing for more. Threatening your precious distillery until he got exactly what he wanted. To fuck you.” Mount’s declaration is harsh, and bile rises in my throat.
“And how is that any different from what you did?” I fling the accusation at him like a knife, and his blank expression disappears as his dark gaze flares.
“I was fucking honest about what I wanted—you in trade for the debt. No bullshit. Lloyd Bunt couldn’t wipe your debt away. He didn’t have a single fucking shred of real power.”
“But—” I start to argue, but Mount interrupts.
“And there’s another important difference.”
“What?”
“You didn’t want him.”
My shoulders stiffen. “And you think I wanted you?”
“I know you did, whether or not you’ll admit it to yourself.”
“You arr
ogant asshole—” When Mount steps forward, I hold out one hand like I could possibly stop him. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me right now. Or ever again.”
