by Meghan March
Ricky would ruin this entire town. That was the reason I gave myself for the sickening realization that I had to do what Renee said. But the truth lay just beneath the surface, and even my pride wasn’t enough to keep it quiet.
I love Lincoln too much to let Ricky and Renee destroy everything that matters to him.
He’d never marry me, and I wouldn’t be his kept woman. But I can save his future.
Renee must have seen the decision on my face, because she smiled sweetly. “I knew you’d see it my way. Now, here comes my son. You better make it convincing.”
Feeling like my body was suddenly that of a ninety-year-old woman, I climbed out of the truck. Ricky stood in the front yard, staring at me.
“Baby, please don’t go. I know you want out of this town as bad as I do. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
I thought I’d felt sick when Lincoln said those same words to me, but that was only because I hadn’t heard them from Ricky’s lips while I was being forced into something I didn’t want. Now they were a hundred times worse.
I looked at Renee over my shoulder, and she nodded with a manic smile on her face.
She’s completely crazy. Which meant I had no choice. I couldn’t let her carry through with her threats. For the first time in my life, I was going to do something noble and worthy.
Ricky came toward me, holding out the ring. “Marry me, Whitney. Please.”
All the nobility in the world couldn’t stop my stomach from roiling as I forced myself to say the word that was going to change the rest of my life.
“Yes.”
54
Lincoln
Present day
The bellman takes Whitney’s luggage up to the helipad before I lead her out of the room.
“Lincoln! Come join us!”
I hear my mother’s voice coming from the lounge at the end of the VIP hall near the bar. She’s sitting at a table eating breakfast with Maren Higgins.
How the fuck did she get up here again?
Whitney steps out beside me.
“Mother, I told you—”
My mother stands, and Whitney stiffens beside me.
“You don’t need that whore,” my mother snaps. “Not when you have Maren—”
“Give it a rest, Sylvia.” Jackie steps out of her suite and walks toward my mother. She stops beside her table. “Haven’t we all lost enough? Isn’t it time to finally bury the ax? If they want to be together, let them.”
Finally, someone who has some goddamned sense.
“You might work for my daughter, but you can’t speak to me that way.”
“And I’m not going to let you treat my niece like this. She’s never done a thing to you, so why don’t you just let them be happy.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. It’s the pilot. He’s arrived.
“We’re leaving, Mother. We’ll be back when the media circus dies down. I suggest you take a vacation and do the same.”
I slide my fingers into Whitney’s and lead her down the hall in the opposite direction.
“You little whore! You’re just like your mother! I won’t let you—”
“For the love of God, shut up, Sylvia.”
Thankfully, my mother finally listens to Jackie and goes silent.
Whitney stops and looks at me, indecision clear on her face. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I squeeze her hand. “I love you.”
Whitney’s blue eyes shine. “I love you too.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
I lead her toward the stairs that will take us to the helipad. I’m tempted to look over my shoulder, to see the shock on my mother’s face that I’m not caving to her demands, but I have no desire to look backward.
Today is all about moving forward—to my future with Whitney.
55
Whitney
I have no idea how long we’ve been in the chopper, and I still have no idea where we’re going other than it’s called Blue House. I don’t exactly want to presume about the significance of the name either. Honestly, right now, it doesn’t matter to me where we go.
Lincoln loves me.
I try to use that to salve the ache in my heart over the rift I’ve caused between him and his mother.
I will find a way to fix it, I promise myself. Only then can I allow myself to smile and feel the joy surging in my soul.
Lincoln loves me.
He squeezes my hand from the seat beside me as we fly toward the ocean and dozens of islands. I open my mouth to ask where we’re going, but he speaks first.
“I hope you like whale watching, because the view of the straits of San Juan is incredible from the house.”
“You own a house in Washington?”
He smiles wider. “I own an island in Washington. The house is totally self-sufficient. Impossible for the press to get to unless they have a boat or a chopper.”
“Of course you own a freaking island.” I can’t stop myself from laughing. “It sounds like paradise.”
“It is, and we’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
“You didn’t pack anything.”
“I have all I need already there. It’s where I go when I need to get away from everything and everyone. You’re going to love it. No venues. No hotel rooms. Just experiences you’ll never forget.”
Lincoln’s phone vibrates between us, but he shoves it in his pocket without looking at it.
I lose myself in the view of the ocean and the islands. Completely breathtaking.
True to his word, we touch down on a helipad a half hour later, and my phone vibrates in my purse. I pull it out and see several missed calls and text notifications.
Lincoln pulls out his phone when it vibrates again. “Sometimes I wish this place didn’t have cell service,” he says, glancing down at his phone. “It’s my brother. I don’t even want to answer it.”
“My aunt called three times.” I lift my gaze to Lincoln, and a horrible premonition washes over me. “Maybe you should answer it.”
Lincoln’s expression turns grim as he taps the screen to accept the call on speakerphone. “What do you need, Harrison?”
“You finally did it. You fucking killed her.”
Lincoln’s face pales. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Mother was pronounced dead at the hospital a half hour ago. Heart attack. They couldn’t resuscitate her. You fucking killed her. I hope you’re happy.”
Whitney and Lincoln’s story will conclude in Reveling in Sin, which is now available for preorder by tapping on the title.
Have you met the Ruthless King of the New Orleans? Keep reading for a glimpse of my dark and dirty alpha, Lachlan Mount, in Ruthless King.
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Preview of Ruthless King
Get ready for the darker and dirtier side of New Orleans with an epic alpha romance from New York Times bestselling author Meghan March.
New Orleans belongs to me.
You don’t know my name, but I control everything you see—and all the things you don’t.
My reach knows no bounds, and my demands are always met.
I didn’t need to loan money to a failing family distillery, but it amuses me to have them in my debt.
To have her in my debt.
She doesn’t know she caught my attention.
She should’ve been more careful.
I’m going to own her. Consume her. Maybe even keep her.
It’s time to collect what I’m owed.
Keira Kilgore, you’re now the property of Lachlan Mount.
ONE
Keira
Are those footsteps?
I freeze
outside the door to my locked office and stare at the handle like it’s tainted with anthrax.
My younger sisters wouldn’t dare. They know my office is off limits. My parents are 700 miles away in Florida living it up as retirees on the monthly payments I make from the dismal profits of the distillery. It’s barely hanging on, even after four generations of clinging to life making Irish whiskey in New Orleans.
This basement isn’t haunted. This basement isn’t haunted.
I repeat that truth like a chant until my heart slows to a semi-normal pace. My dead husband’s ghost better not be inside, or heaven help me, I’ll kill Brett again myself.
Summoning the same iron will it has taken to dig this company out of the trenches, I grasp the handle, yank it open, and fling myself inside, attempting the element of surprise. Or false courage. Or… something.
“Trying to make an entrance?” The deep voice that comes out of the dark chills me to the very marrow of my bones.
I’ve only heard it once before, through the battered wood of the same locked door I just barged past, but it had been delivering threats I didn’t understand, not asking a question in that cool, controlled manner.
There’s no way I want to be in the dark with this voice.
He’s not a ghost. He’s worse.
He’s the friggin’ boogeyman.
Whispered about in the shadows, but never mentioned in polite company, almost as if saying his name will make him appear—and no one wants that.
I’ve never said it.
I don’t even want to think it now, but my brain conjures it anyway.
Lachlan Mount.
I fumble around, slapping the concrete wall to find the switch, but when I flip it, nothing happens.
Oh Sweet Jesus, I’m going to die and I won’t even see it coming.
My antique desk chair creaks just before the dim glow of my lamp clicks on.
I see his massive hands first, then darkly tanned forearms with white cuffs rolled up. The light doesn’t reach his face.
“Shut the door, Ms. Kilgore.”
Swallowing back the saliva pooling in my mouth at the fact that he knows my name, my hand moves as though directly responding to his command. I grope for the handle behind me, when all I really want to do is turn around and run.
To the police.
Maybe they could… I don’t know. Save me?
I glance over my shoulder, clutching the knob as the door creaks shut, the urge to flee growing as the dim light of the hallway disappears from sight.
“Take a step in that direction, and you’ll lose everything.”
My feet freeze to the cracked cement floor as a bead of sweat rolls down my chest. Normally I would attribute it to the sauna-like conditions produced by the stills, but not tonight.
“What do you want?” I whisper. “Why are you here?”
The chair groans as he rises to his feet, those wide fingers refastening the button on his suit, but his face never coming in to the light.
“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 kind, well, at least most of my kind. A few rumors have circled 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 rivet 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 was willing to risk to save this place?”
“How much?” I ask, inching his way against my will.
“A half million dollars.”
I suck in a shocked breath. “You’re lying.”
With both hands on the table, he leans down, exposing his face in the dim light. Hard features carved from granite, piercing 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 sunk five hundred thousand into the distillery, 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 had dedicated their hopes, dreams, and fortunes to keeping this legacy alive. It couldn’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.
“Because there’s something I might be willing to take on trade.”
It takes everything I have to keep my voice steady. “What?”
He stops a foot from me, and his full lips form a single word.
“You.”
Welcome to the darker and dirtier side of New Orleans. Ruthless King is live and Mount is here to take what he’s owed. The complete Mount Trilogy is now available! Ruthless King is available for purchase by tapping here.
Also by Meghan March
Sin Trilogy:
Richer Than Sin
Guilty as Sin
Reveling in Sin
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Mount Trilogy:
Ruthless King
Defiant Queen
Sinful Empire
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Savage Trilogy:
Savage Prince
Iron Princess
Rogue Royalty
Beneath Series:
Beneath This Mask
Beneath This Ink
Beneath These Chains
Beneath These Scars
Beneath These Lies
Beneath These Shadows
Beneath The Truth
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Dirty Billionaire Trilogy:
Dirty Billionaire
Dirty Pleasures
Dirty Together
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Dirty Girl Duet:
Dirty Girl
Dirty Love
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Real Duet:
Real Good Man
Real Good Love
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Real Dirty Duet:
Real Dirty
Real Sexy
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Flash Bang Series:
Flash Bang
Hard Charger
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Standalones:
Take Me Back
Bad Judgment
About the Author
Meghan March has been known to wear camo face paint and tromp around in the woods wearing mud-covered boots, all while sporting a perfect manicure. She’s also impulsive, easily entertained, and absolutely unapologetic about the fact that she loves to read and write smut.
Her past lives include slinging auto parts, selling lingerie, making custom jewelry, and practicing corporate law. Writing books about dirty-talking alpha males and the strong, sassy women who bring them to their knees is by far the most fabulous job she’s ever had.
She would love to hear from you. Connect with her at:
Website:
www.meghanmarch.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/MeghanMarchAuthor
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/meghan_march
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www.instagram.com/meghanmarch