by Meghan March
Sinful Empire
Meghan March
Contents
Sinful Empire
Copyright
Don’t Miss Out!
About This Book
Also by Meghan March
1. Mount
2. Keira
3. Keira
4. Mount
5. Keira
6. Mount
7. Keira
8. Mount
9. Keira
10. Mount
11. Keira
12. Keira
13. Mount
14. Keira
15. Mount
16. Keira
17. Keira
18. Keira
19. Keira
20. Mount
21. Keira
22. Mount
23. Keira
24. Keira
25. Mount
26. Mount
27. Keira
28. Mount
29. Keira
30. Mount
31. Keira
32. Mount
33. Keira
34. Keira
35. Mount
36. Keira
37. Mount
38. Keira
39. Mount
40. Keira
41. Mount
42. Keira
43. Mount
44. Mount
45. Keira
46. Keira
47. Mount
48. Keira
49. Keira
50. Mount
51. Keira
52. Mount
53. Keira
54. Keira
55. Mount
56. Keira
57. Mount
Epilogue
Sneak Peak of Savage Prince
Preview of Dirty Billionaire
Acknowledgments
Connect with Meghan
About the Author
Also by Meghan March
Sinful Empire
Book Three of the Mount Trilogy
Meghan March
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Meghan March LLC
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
Editor: Pam Berehulke
Bulletproof Editing
www.bulletproofediting.com
Cover design: @ Letitia Hassar
R.B.A. Designs
www.rbadesigns.com
Cover photo: @ Sara Eirew
www.saraeirew.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com.
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About This Book
What’s mine, I keep, and that includes Keira Kilgore.
It’s no longer enough to have her in my debt. No longer enough to own her body.
I want something more.
She can try to resist, but I’ll never give her up.
Nothing will keep us apart.
Not her. Not my enemies. No one.
Her debt will only be paid one way—with her heart.
Sinful Empire is the third and final book in the Mount Trilogy.
Also by Meghan March
Savage Trilogy
(Spring 2018)
Savage Prince
Mount Trilogy
Ruthless King
Defiant Queen
Sinful Empire
Standalone
Take Me Back
Bad Judgment
Beneath Series:
Beneath This Mask
Beneath This Ink
Beneath These Chains
Beneath These Scars
Beneath These Lies
Beneath These Shadows
Beneath The Truth
Flash Bang Series:
Flash Bang
Hard Charger
Dirty Billionaire Trilogy:
Dirty Billionaire
Dirty Pleasures
Dirty Together
Dirty Girl Duet:
Dirty Girl
Dirty Love
Real Duet:
Real Good Man
Real Good Love
Real Dirty Duet:
Real Dirty
Real Sexy
Mount
Twenty-eight years earlier
“You piece of shit! Get back here! I’ll have your ass in jail for this.”
I plowed through the crowd, slamming into tourists and spinning around to lose the man charging after me. It was a total waste, because I didn’t even get to use the distraction to lift more of their fat wallets or nice watches.
All because I’d wanted a goddamned Snickers bar to shut up my growling stomach for a couple hours, and didn’t feel like parting with my hard-earned cash for it. Being a street kid in New Orleans wasn’t for no weak-ass punks. The dark side of this town would chew you up and spit you out faster than you could spell body bag.
Don’t make friends; make allies. But don’t dare trust them further than you can see them.
“I see you, kid! Cops are coming! This time, you’re done!”
Ernie, a douchebag convenience-store owner with the easiest candy to lift in the Quarter, was determined to get me sent up the river for good. But he had to catch me first.
Three years on the streets, and no one knew them better than me.
I slipped through the crowd, bolted down an alley, and squeezed between two bent rails in a wrought-iron fence. Ernie’s fat ass would never be able to fit. I sprinted down a brick walkway and ran into a metal gate. Locked. Not a fucking problem for me.
I climbed it like a monkey and landed on my feet on the complete opposite side of the block. That asshole would never find me. I shoved my hands in my pockets and yanked out the wallets I’d picked before I hit Ernie’s. I had to ditch them in case I got pinched.
I scanned the street, up and down, before I turned my back and flipped one open. I yanked out the two twenties inside. Not bad. I’d eat for a few weeks on that. I glanced at the ID it contained for a second before I tossed the wallet down the sewer drain.
Rocky Mount. Sounded like an asshole. Who would name their kid that?
As soon as the thought hit, I shut it down. At least they bothered to give their kid a name.
I flipped the second wallet open and found a crisp hundred. Nice. I’d be set for at least a couple months if I were careful, or if I wanted to risk it, I might be able to double my money.
I glanced at the second ID. Lachlan Thorpe. Better than Rocky Mount. A little, any
way.
I tossed the second wallet down the drain and unwrapped the Snickers, then shoved the entire thing in my mouth to get rid of the rest of the evidence, chewing hard even as it stuck to my teeth. My stomach gnawed at my spine like it was eager for what was coming. I tried not to go more than a day or two without eating, but sometimes I didn’t have a choice.
“I see you, punk!”
I swiveled my head in the direction of Ernie’s voice.
Shit.
His bulk came hauling around the corner, two cops behind him, and I bolted in the opposite direction.
I was faster. Smarter. At least, that was what I told myself as I beat feet down the cracked pavement.
“Stop, kid!”
Footsteps pounded behind me, and I looked back as I hit the intersection instead of keeping my eyes forward.
Rookie mistake.
A black Mercedes blew through the stop sign and clipped me.
Shit, that hurts.
My body tensed at the impact but I tucked and rolled right up the hood. My elbows smashed into the windshield as the car slammed to a halt, throwing me forward again. Something jabbed into my side before I flipped off the metal and ate concrete.
Goddammit, that fucking hurts. I held in a groan as I planted my palms on the pavement and pushed off the ground.
Ernie and the cops, all yelling like idiots, closed in.
Unsteady, I shoved to my feet. I had to get out of here or I’d be done.
My ankle burned and gave out as I put weight on it, making me fall forward again, and I gripped the car to try to hold myself up. My ribs screamed in stabbing pain, but I clenched my teeth. Wasn’t the first time I’d broken them, so I knew from experience how much this was gonna suck. I just had to get away. Find a place to pass out before the pain took me down right here. Because if I went down, I was really fucked.
The car doors opened—the driver’s and one in the back—as I clung to the bent hood ornament to stay standing instead of hitting my knees again.
Damn rich people in their nice-ass cars with these fancy hood ornaments.
“Don’t you fucking move, kid! You’re going to jail this—”
Ernie’s words cut off, and black spots dotted my vision as I tried to focus. Both the store owner and the two cops behind him stood stock-still in the middle of the street.
“Mr. Morello, so sorry, sir. We’ll take this piece of trash out of your way.” That came from one of the cops.
“Care to explain what’s going on here, gentlemen?” The voice was deep and had a faint Italian accent.
Morello. Morello. My brain wasn’t working like it should, but the name was right there. I should know it. Morello.
“Just a street kid shoplifting. Been trying to catch him for damn near two years now.”
A deep laugh followed Ernie’s explanation.
“So either he’s smart as hell, or you’re all fucking incompetent. Which is it?” The man’s tone held no respect for Ernie or the cops, and it clicked in my head.
Holy shit. Morello was Johnny Morello, current acting head of the Morello crime family. They ran this town. Owned this town.
I was screwed, any way I looked at it. I fucked up Morello’s car, and his goon would probably put a bullet in my head for it while the cops watched, their dicks in their hands, because they couldn’t touch him. No one could. And if the goon didn’t kill me, he’d leave me for the cops and Ernie to deal with, and there was no doubt in my mind I was going down. They were trying kids as adults these days for everything they could. No doubt, Ernie would make it his mission to land me in prison for life.
From my bent-over position hanging on to the car to stay upright, I watched as two shiny black leather shoes stepped into my line of sight. I swallowed the urge to puke my guts all over the Mercedes and the shoes, and instead forced myself to stand straight despite the burning and stabbing pain in my ribs as I breathed.
“What’s your name, kid?” Morello’s question was quiet but carried the unmistakable weight of authority. From everything I’d heard, he was a man you didn’t fuck with and live.
I met his gaze, determined to show no fear, which was more than I could probably say for Ernie and the cops. Bet they’re pissing themselves right now.
I hadn’t had a name in the two years I’d been living on these streets. I’d left Michael Arch behind the Dumpster I used for cover while I watched the social worker pick up Hope and Destiny from the church shelter. I was born nameless, so I lived nameless. But I couldn’t tell that to Johnny Morello. And I sure as shit wouldn’t give him the name Michael Arch. Far as I knew, he was still wanted for murder.
“I don’t repeat myself, kid.”
Someone nudged me from behind and I straightened, my ribs crying in pain I’d never show.
Morello’s black eyes drilled into me as my brain scrambled for something to tell him. I remembered the IDs I just tossed down the gutter, and made something up.
“Name’s Lachlan Mount, sir. I apologize for the damage I caused. It wasn’t intentional. I meant no disrespect.”
Morello studied me, no doubt taking in my roughed-up appearance, hard eyes, and sharp features. “Lachlan Mount. Strong name for a smart kid. Is that what you are, Mount?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You been dodging the cops for two years?” His eyes narrowed on me like he was waiting for me to lie. But Morello didn’t realize I had nothing to lose anymore.
“Yes, sir.”
His dark eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Today didn’t work out how you planned, then.”
“No, sir. Not at all.” I gritted my teeth as the pain intensified the longer I stood up straight.
“You fucked my car up, Mount. You owe me for that.”
I nodded and reached into my pocket to pull out the cash I’d just lifted. “My apologies, sir.” I handed it out toward him. “This is everything I got.”
He looked down at the bills in my hand and laughed, a deep booming noise that seemed to echo off the tall brick buildings hemming us in and blocking my escape.
“You know how much this car costs, kid? Because what you got there won’t even fix the hood ornament.”
“It’s all I got, sir.”
I waited for the press of a barrel to my head from behind, because I’d heard these Mafia types preferred execution-style, but it didn’t come.
Morello tilted his head to the side, studying me. “How long did it take you to steal that money?”
“A few minutes. Grabbed ’em on my way to that fat fuck’s store.”
“Hey—” Ernie yelled, ready to defend himself, but Morello raised a hand and he instantly went silent.
Morello rubbed a hand across his dark mustache that was already going silver and studied me some more. “How old are you, Mount?”
The more he said the name I’d just picked, the more I liked it. It felt right. Like I was born to it.
I straightened my shoulders, despite the blinding pain. I had pride, and that was stronger. “Fifteen, almost sixteen.” I made up the last part because I didn’t have a clue when my birthday actually was.
Morello dropped his hand from his mustache and drilled me with a stare. “You got three choices today, Mount, because I’m feeling generous.”
I kept quiet, waiting to hear what judgment he was gonna deliver.
“One, I hand you over to the cops and they try you as an adult, toss your ass in prison. I doubt you make it a day before you’re someone’s favorite bitch.”
I forced myself not to react, even though his statement made me want to hurl my guts up, because I knew he was right.
“Two, Frankie will shoot you right here for fucking up my favorite car, and we’ll leave your body in the gutter, which is probably where you figured you’d die.”
He wasn’t wrong about that, but I didn’t say shit to reply.
“Or three, you get in the backseat, we take you to the doc to get patched up, and you work your debt off to me until you’ve
paid for every penny of repairs to my car. If you don’t fuck that up, we’ll see how you fit in, and maybe you’ll have yourself a real job instead of picking tourist pockets.”
One of the cops finally found the balls to speak. “Mr. Morello, sir, we can take him from here. There’s no need for you to bother yourself with—”
Morello’s attention snapped toward him, cutting off his words. “If I wanted your opinion, pig, I’d ask for it. Now, shut the fuck up.”
His gaze cut back to mine as I heard the slide of a gun. I assumed it was Frankie, Morello’s goon, getting ready to either carry out option two or kill a cop in broad daylight.
My insides turned liquid, but I wouldn’t show fear. I made the only decision I could.
“Three, sir. I choose option three.”
Morello nodded. “That’s what I figured, because you’re not a fucking moron like those assholes.” He jerked his head at the cops before glancing over my shoulder. “Put him in the car. Call Doc. Have him meet us.”