by Meghan March
“Just pretend that if anyone says or does anything mean, Crey will make sure they disappear.”
Staring at all the security, especially the guys flanking an older man who looks like he stepped straight out of The Godfather, I’m starting to wonder if Holly wasn’t joking.
Before I can quietly ask Boone if bullets are going to start flying, the older man walks up to Creighton, who has reclaimed baby Rose, with open arms.
“The first of a new generation. She’s a perfect little princess.”
Holly steps forward. “Dom, don’t you even start. Crey already spoils her something fierce.”
“She’s my granddaughter, and I’ll spoil her however I want,” Dom replies as he leans forward to press a kiss to each of Holly’s cheeks. “She is perfection. You have done us proud, my dear.”
A heavily tattooed man—at least I assume he’s heavily tattooed, because even his thick beard and man bun can’t hide the ink curling up out of the collar of his shirt—wraps his arm protectively around the woman to the left of me.
“You just wait. When he finds out I knocked you up, he’s gonna send his goons down for a shotgun wedding.”
“Shhh. I’ll tell him when we’re ready. Not a minute before.” The woman covers the tattooed hand on her belly with her own as she looks around. She catches my gaze on her and raises an eyebrow. “You’re sworn to secrecy. I may not look tough, but I was a mob princess before mob princesses were cool.” She blinks. “Wait, maybe they’ve never been cool. Okay, yeah, scratch that. We’re still not cool. At least, I’m not.”
The tatted-up guy’s body is visibly shaking with laughter. “Calm down, cupcake. I’m sure they’re not going to narc on you.” He turns and holds out his hand to me. “I’m Bishop. This is Eden. I can also attest to the fact that she’s pretty damn cool.”
Boone and I both shake his hand. “I recognize you. You had a spread in Inked Life this month.”
Eden claps her hands. “That’s definitely him. See, babe, you’re famous now.” She glances at Boone’s tattoos, also not completely covered by his suit. “You should come down to NOLA. Voodoo Ink is the best tattoo shop around.”
Boone looks over at me. “Maybe if I can talk her into marrying me, we’ll head down there as a honeymoon. I’ve always loved New Orleans.”
I elbow Boone in the ribs, but softly. Kinda. “Would you stop saying that to people?”
“What? That I’ve been carrying around a ring for three weeks, but you still won’t give me an answer?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He isn’t carrying a ring. He just likes to joke—”
“Oh, sugar, someday you’re gonna realize I don’t joke around with shit when it comes to you.”
I shoot him a shocked look, but secretly I’m thrilled because I’ve got a newly recorded song on my phone, finally perfected and ready for Boone to hear.
Eden looks from me back to Boone. “Looks like you’re going to have some interesting conversations after this.”
Boone pulls me into his side. “Every conversation with this woman is interesting.”
Before I can reply, a ruckus of some sort breaks out at the entrance to the tent, and two security guys have a third man by the arms.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” The restrained man is the epitome of tall, dark, and scarily handsome.
Creighton hands Rose to Holly and strides toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here, Cannon? You weren’t invited.”
A hush sweeps over the crowd in the tent, and the two men eye each other like they should be holding pistols at twenty paces, or however many paces dueling pistols require.
“We need to talk, Crey.”
“And you decide my daughter’s baptism is the right place? Get the hell out.”
The older man, Dom, watches the scene with interest.
“Just hear me out.”
“I don’t have to do a damn thing.”
“Five minutes,” Cannon says from between clenched teeth, and I get the feeling this is taking a toll on his pride.
Holly steps up to Creighton’s side. “Talk to him. But do it somewhere else so our guests can enjoy the afternoon and not watch the two of you beat the hell out of each other.”
Creighton’s stiff posture doesn’t relax, but he strides out of the tent with a clipped “Follow me” tossed over his shoulder.
Once they’re gone and the crowd in the tent resumes chatting quietly, Holly, Greer, and Cav join Boone and me where we stand with Eden and Bishop.
“Anyone else want to lay odds on how that turns out?” Greer asks.
Cav looks down at her. “Really, babe?”
“What? It’s not like they’re going to kill each other. They went into a church. I’m pretty sure even God wouldn’t hesitate to strike Crey down for that.”
“Oh, shush. Crey knows that it wouldn’t be God he’d have to worry about. I’d kill him myself if he did that on Rose’s baptism day,” Holly says with a smile in her voice.
These people are all nuts. That’s my official opinion.
* * *
By the time we walk toward my gorgeous and completely restored Javelin an hour later, Creighton has returned and the other man disappeared.
“Do you think . . .”
Boone snags the keys from my palm. “I don’t want to know.”
I lunge for the keys. “Hey, my car, I drive.”
“Not this time, sugar. I’m driving, and we’re not going home until I get the answer I want.”
I smile, smug with the knowledge of my secret. “Fine, but I’m picking the music.”
The End
Keep reading for an exclusive preview of my brand new standalone, Mount, coming this fall!
Tap here to sign up for my newsletter, and never miss another announcement about upcoming projects, new releases, sales, exclusive excerpts, and giveaways. Haven’t read Holly and Creighton’s story yet? You can start the Dirty Billionaire Trilogy today for free by tapping here! Greer and Cav’s story is found in the Dirty Girl Duet, and you can get all the dirt on Bishop and Eden in Beneath These Shadows, a standalone novel that is part of the Beneath series.
I hope you enjoy this preview of Mount.
Exclusive Preview of Mount
Get ready for the darker and dirtier side of New Orleans with a brand new standalone alpha romance from USA Today 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, attempti
ng 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. Mount is coming October 17, 2017 to claim what he’s owed. Now available for preorder by tapping here.
Also by Meghan March
Standalone
Take Me Back
Bad Judgment
Mount (coming October 2017)
* * *
Beneath Series:
Beneath This Mask
Beneath This Ink
Beneath These Chains
Beneath These Scars
Beneath These Lies
Beneath These Shadows
Beneath The Truth (Coming late summer 2017)
* * *
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
Acknowledgments
I’m starting to lose count of how many books I’ve written, but one thing I can never lose sight of is how blessed I am to have amazing readers. Thank you for following me on this journey. I can’t wait to give you more stories.
To my entire team, I love you all, and I couldn’t do this without you. Let’s keep doing this for a long, long time, okay?
Author’s Note
I’d love to hear from you. Connect with me at:
* * *
Website:
www.meghanmarch.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/MeghanMarchAuthor
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/meghan_march
Instagram:
www.instagram.com/meghanmarch
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 loves hearing from her readers at [email protected].
@meghan_march
meghanmarchauthor
www.meghanmarch.com