by Meghan March
I’m in a silent tomb, surrounded by the bodies of who I have to believe are the missing mistresses. Maybe even Richelle LaFleur.
But how?
Lachlan Mount, the man I married, wouldn’t kill an innocent woman. But that blond bitch? She sounded as fucking crazy as hell.
Who the hell is she, though?
“Stay with me, Mags,” I whisper as I rip off the right sleeve of my blouse to press against my left shoulder. Blood soaks the fabric in seconds.
I’m bleeding out. I don’t know how I know it, but I am.
But if I die, Magnolia dies with me. I can’t stomach the thought.
I attempt to push myself up and stand, desperate to find us both a way out, but agony rips through my body. Black spots dance across my vision as I collapse into the horrific mess with a crunch and a squish.
No, I have to try again. My reserves of strength drain to empty as pain swamps my senses.
As I start to black out again, one last clear thought streaks through my brain.
Lachlan will burn this city to the ground if anything happens to me.
Mount
I know the location of the GPS coordinates way too well. And it makes no sense. Or maybe it makes too much sense . . .
It’s not possible.
I shove away from my desk, grabbing a pistol from the desk drawer.
“What are you doing?” my second-in-command asks.
“Going to find my wife.”
“You married that whore?”
At her words, everything becomes crystal fucking clear.
My gaze snaps to J’s face. “Watch your fucking mouth when you talk about her, and tell me what the fuck you did.” I level the pistol on her.
J came to me after four years and a double major at MIT, spending her weekends and school breaks undergoing private combat training usually reserved for professional security. Battle-hardened was what she called herself as she demanded a place in my organization, saying New Orleans was her home, and I was her only family.
I told her if I let her stay, no one could ever know who she was. And like everyone else in my organization, she became known by only a letter. The first letter of her last name—Jones.
“How could you marry her!” The shriek bounces off the walls.
“What did you do, J?”
“Call me Destiny, dammit!”
She rocks back and forth on her heels, looking like the broken girl I found hiding under the stoop, but I can’t think about that. Right now, my gut is telling me she’s behind all of this.
“If you don’t tell me what you did with Keira in the next two seconds, I’ll kill you where you stand. History be damned.”
Betrayal and shock flash across her face before her gaze turns hard. “I did what I had to do.”
“If you fucking laid a finger on her, I swear to God—”
“What? You gonna kill me, Mikey? After all this time? She was in the way. They were all in the way, but I took care of them as soon as you were done so we didn’t have any loose ends. Then that madam bitch overstepped her place, giving you one that wasn’t a whore. At least, at first. She should’ve known better than to try to trick you. No one does that and lives.”
“What did you do to her?” I growl out the words.
“You weren’t supposed to love her. You were only supposed to love me. So I buried her like the rest of them!”
My roar fills the office a second before I pull the trigger. The bullet slams into her hand, and she screams as blood spurts out.
D rushes into the room, his eyes darting from J to me and back.
“Boss?”
“Lock J up. Don’t you fucking lose sight of her or I’ll kill you both. Z and I are going to find my wife, and you all better pray she’s still alive.”
Keira
I lose track of time, waking up and fighting to stay conscious. I scream until my voice gives out. I can’t find any wounds on Magnolia’s body, but I wrap mine around hers. Neither of us is going to make it much longer.
The roar of an engine brings my focus back to the outside world. Outside this tomb where I’ve been sure I’m going to die.
I scream, pulling Magnolia’s head against my chest, and my fingers touch something sharp.
Her hair chopsticks.
I yank one free, gripping it in my right hand. If that bitch is back, she’s gonna be the one to die.
My thoughts are jumbled, and my body screams in pain as I try to stand.
Bones crunch beneath me, and I gag at the scent of decomposition. It’s something I’ll never forget for however long I have left to live.
“Help!” I scream, my voice breaking. I lose my balance and fall forward, landing face-first on a corpse, and the silver stake flies out of my hand.
The hinges of the door release a metallic screech as the solid wood panel flies open.
My plan is to rise out of the bodies and stab that bitch through the heart, but I’ve lost my only weapon.
“Hold on. Hold the fuck on. Don’t you fucking die on me, Keira!”
It’s Lachlan’s voice.
Or am I dreaming again?
I can’t separate reality from nightmares anymore. At least, until I lift my head and a flashlight beam blinds me.
“Keira!”
“Lachlan?”
He reaches inside and his hand wraps around mine. “Don’t you fucking die on me, hellion. Not now. Not ever.”
I blink, and his panicked gaze spears me through the heart as mine seems to give out. Black spots obscure his face, and I croak out one final request.
“Mags. Save Mags too.”
Mount
Fear. It’s not a feeling I’ve had in years, but it grips me like a demon from hell as Keira’s eyes roll back in her head and I haul her out of a pile of dead bodies in Hope’s mausoleum.
I can’t process what I’m seeing right now. It’s not fucking possible. J couldn’t have done this. Or could she?
I rip off my jacket, using it to staunch the flow of Keira’s blood.
Mags. Keira said her name as she passed out, and I yell at Z.
“See if the madam is in there. I’m calling nine-one-one.”
In thirty years, I’ve never gone to a hospital or called the police for help. But for Keira, I would do anything.
The operator’s voice sounds tinny in my ear, but maybe it’s the blood rushing through it that makes things sound strange as I put pressure on the hole in Keira’s shoulder.
Needing to stay calm, I compartmentalize. One part of me loses my goddamned mind at the thought of my wife bleeding out in front of me, while the other recites our location down to the fucking GPS coordinates, issuing threats if they don’t get here fast enough. When the dispatcher tells me to hang on the line, I hang up and call the cavalry.
V’s phone picks up the call, but he doesn’t speak.
“I have her, and I’m not going to lose her.” I give him the same directions I did the 911 operator.
As I disconnect the call, Z walks out of the tomb holding the madam’s limp body in his arms.
“She dead?”
Z lowers her to the ground beside Keira and feels for a pulse. “Almost. But not yet.”
“Fuck!”
For the first time in my life, I pray for sirens to be louder, come faster, because my entire world is crumbling. Keira’s blood looks almost black in the moonlight as it stains the grass, regardless of the pressure I keep on the wound.
“This is not fucking happening! You will live, goddammit! Don’t you fucking leave me! I love you!”
Mount
I thought hell was the foster care system or living on the streets. I was wrong. Hell is a hospital waiting room, not knowing if the only woman you’ve ever loved will live or die.
I offer everything I have—including my own fucking life—to God, the devil, and any higher power who will listen if they’ll just let her live.
Why wouldn’t you take me? I’m the piece of shit who doesn’
t deserve to touch someone as good as her.
Maybe there are some souls that are too black for even hell to want.
I hit my knees, and for the first time in over thirty years, wetness slides down my cheeks as I pray.
Keira
“Wake up, honey. Just open your eyes for me. Please, Keira.” The voice invades my consciousness.
My eyelids are so heavy. I draw in a breath, but a weight sits on my chest. “Uhhh.”
“Keira! Honey! Come back to us. Please.”
A hand grips mine and squeezes. My vision blurs around the edges as I force my eyes open.
I want to ask, What happened? But it comes out more like “Whaaarrrppp?”
“You’re okay. You’re going to be fine, Keira. Just fine.”
My throat hurts. My shoulder hurts. My head hurts. Everything hurts. I feel like I never want to move again.
I swear I’ve felt like this before.
White walls. Antiseptic. Beeping.
Am I dreaming?
A voice in my head yells at me to wake the hell up, and I blink twice before my sight clears.
But the face in front of mine isn’t the one I expected to see.
I jerk up in the hospital bed, my head swiveling from side to side. There’s no empty bed beside mine this time.
I groan, trying to force another sound from my throat, but it comes out as a scratchy moan.
Where is he? That’s the first thought that enters my brain. Where is Lachlan?
But it’s not the question that leaves my lips.
“Mom?”
“Thank God. Don’t you ever scare us like that again.” Her green eyes, a shade darker than my own, fill with tears, and her face looks years older than it did in the last picture I saw of her.
“Sweet Jesus. Thank you, Lord.” My dad’s deep voice overpowers hers as he steps into my field of vision.
“Dad?” It doesn’t make sense. How did my parents get here? And where is Lachlan? “How—”
“Shhh, honey. Don’t talk. They had you under for hours in surgery. They said your throat would hurt from the breathing tube. Jesus Christ, when we got the call from the alarm company and then you didn’t answer, and then Millie called a few hours later saying you’d come in alone in an ambulance—” Alone? My mom’s voice breaks. “We broke every law to get here as fast as we could. She didn’t know if you were going to make it.”
Millie? My brain is slow to start chugging along as I search the room again, looking beyond them for the one face I need to see but know I won’t find.
Millie. My mom’s cousin, and an ER nurse. That explains how my parents found out . . . but alone?
“What happened?” I ask again, my brain fuzzy from whatever drugs they’ve pumped through me. “Where—”
“You were shot,” my dad says. “EMTs and the ambulance that brought you in are missing. What the fuck happened to you, girl?” My dad’s tone is layered with anger and fear, and more emotion that I’ve heard from him in a long time.
When I swallow and my lips crack, my mom springs into action.
“Water. You need water.” She has the bendy straw to my mouth before I can reply.
I take a sip, and it trickles down my throat with cool relief. “Shot?”
“Shhh, honey. It’s okay. You don’t need to worry right now. Just . . . rest. We’re just so happy to see your pretty eyes. Let me call for the nurse.”
“I need to know who the hell hurt my little girl, so I can get my shotgun and shovel and take care of business.” My dad’s gruff words pull me further out of the haze.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, and close my eyes. They’re still so freaking heavy.
“Anything. Name. Place. Hair color. I’ll hunt them down myself.”
“Shhh, David. Stop it.”
“Don’t tell me to stop it, Kath. Someone shot my little girl.”
I keep my eyes closed while my parents argue quietly. My lungs draw in and release one shallow breath at a time, and I focus on that because nothing else makes sense.
My memory is so fuzzy. Worse than the morning I woke up in Dublin.
Dublin.
“Dance with me, Lachlan. Dance with me in Dublin.”
“Where is he?” My croaking question rivals a bullfrog in the swamp.
“Who?” my dad demands. “The man who did this?”
I try to shake my head, but moving it makes me too dizzy. Is that a bandage wrapped around it?
I attempt to lift my arm to touch it, but it’s so heavy. No, it’s strapped down.
“What happened?” I ask again as I tilt my gaze downward to see a sling around my shoulder.
“That’s what we’re asking you.”
Bodies. Magnolia. Oh my God.
“Mags?”
“Did she have something to do with this?” My mom’s voice rises an octave. “Is she involved?”
I’m saved from having to answer any more questions when the door opens and several people enter.
“Ms. Kilgore, so happy to see you awake. How are you feeling?” a blond woman asks, and I tense.
Blond. My breathing picks up.
“Who are you?” My words come out on huffs of breath.
“She’s the doctor, honey. She’s been here all along. And here’s Millie. She’s been hanging around all night, waiting with us.”
I stare at the blond woman, my body’s fight-or-flight response poised for flight. Is that her? The fractured pieces of my memory are still cracked and broken, so I don’t know. My hands curl into claws, but I have no weapon. Nothing to keep me safe.
She’s the doctor. That’s what my mom said, but I can’t trust anyone. Not now. Where is Lachlan?
I look beyond the blonde, hoping to find his dark gaze on me, but all I see is a plump brunette who always has a ready smile on her face.
“Good to see you awake, Keira,” Millie says.
“Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” the doctor asks me again.
“Tired. Sore.” I keep my answers short. Not only do I not trust her, but my brain feels broken.
“I imagine. You sustained a gunshot wound in addition to head trauma. Can you remember what happened?”
I shake my head, but it’s a bad idea. Dizziness assails me, and I’m reminded of the last time I woke up in a hospital-like setting.
“I don’t remember anything,” I tell her. I don’t even have to try to make it sound convincing. My voice is wrecked.
“Does she have amnesia?” my mom blurts out.
“It’s possible that she could have some memory loss due to the head injury.”
I want to tell my mom I don’t have amnesia. I just can’t grasp all the pieces floating through my mind, because without the one man who should be in this room, nothing makes sense. My left hand curls into a weak fist against my chest, and I still, my gaze darting down.
My ring is gone. I lift my right hand to my throat. My necklace is gone too.
The doctor speaks to my parents, but I tune it all out as a terrifying question slams into my brain.
Did I imagine all of it? Is that why he’s not here? Is Lachlan Mount a figment of my imagination?
No. That’s not possible. He’s real. What we have is real. Isn’t it? He’s not a ghost. He’s real. Right?
I look around the room, blood rushing in my ears, drowning out everything but my own thoughts.
“What happened?” I force the question out, and everyone around me goes quiet.
“That’s what we’d really like to figure out, Keira,” the doctor says. “Don’t push yourself. Just rest. Some of your memories may come back if you let your brain rest.”
“Are you sure?” Again, another panicked question from my mom, but I want to demand answers too.
The doctor pauses. “It’s possible she may not remember everything. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Wait and see? Someone shot my little girl!”
“David!” Mom snaps, and Dad quiets.
Then everyone fusses over me, checking my heart and my breathing, taking my blood . . . and I let my eyes drift closed again.
The next time I wake up, my mom is still there but my dad is gone. I’m less fuzzy this time but still totally confused, because the man I want to see in my room is missing.
I can’t ask about him. My mom doesn’t know Lachlan Mount exists.
But I do. He is real. I know that. Where is he, then?
“Honey, drink some more water.” Again, Mom lifts the bendy straw to my lips and I sip. “Your dad is going out of his mind.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Shhh. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask to be shot. I’m sure of that. But the police have been waiting, and they have a lot of questions that we don’t have any answers to, except . . .”
“What?” I ask, my gaze locking on hers.
“The fire at the rackhouse. They found your assistant.”
“Temperance! Is she okay?”
How the hell could I have forgotten about her?
“Hush. Don’t get worked up. She’s fine. She got clubbed over the head. The fire department found her unconscious just inside the building when they busted down the door.”
“Oh my God.” My heart slams into my chest when I think of what could have happened to her. “She’s okay, though?” Tears burn behind my eyes. This is all because of me. Temperance could have died, and it would all be my fault.
“She’s fine. Smoke inhalation. They were lucky they got to her in time. They kept her overnight for observation for her head, but released her the next morning. She just went to go to the bathroom. She’s been keeping vigil with us here ever since.”
The next morning? How much time have I missed?
“What day is it?”
“You’ve been sleeping on and off for two days, honey.”
“Two days?”
My mom nods. “She’s been at your bedside with your dad and me. She’s a good friend to you.”
Friend. The word triggers another piece of my broken memory to snap into place.