Defiant Queen (Mount Trilogy #2)

“Okay, so I’m going to need my trench coat, dark sunglasses, and a duffel bag. Preferably with some of those packets that explode dye in someone’s face so he can’t spend a damned dollar of it.” I’m already pacing Mount’s living room, something I find myself doing all too often lately. “And definitely a gun. I’ve been to the range a couple times, and I’m pretty sure I’d have no problem pulling the trigger if Brett waves his in my face again.”

Up until that moment, Mount has been content to let me ramble, but at that last sentence, he strides toward me and snags my elbow in his grip. “He held a gun on you?”

I nod.

“And you didn’t think that was fucking relevant to tell me?”

I bite my lip, because Mount’s tone sounds scarier than it has all night. The muscle in his jaw tenses when I don’t answer.

“He held a gun on you and threatened to kill your family.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“And scared you into agreeing to his plan?”

I nod sharply again before finding my voice. “If Scar says anything about me attacking him with a hammer and butcher knife when he burst in, you can tell him I thought he was Brett.”

Mount’s eyes widen, but his grip softens as his big thumb rubs back and forth along the skin of my arm. “Brett Hyde is never going to get the chance to do any of those things ever again.”

I remember what Mount said about making me a widow, but outside the heat of self-defense, I’m not sure I’m cold-blooded enough to order his execution. Instead, I say something that will allow me to sleep at night.

“You’re right, because I’m going to give him what he wants. Then I’ll never see him again.”

Mount releases his hold on me. “I can’t believe you’d consider giving him a dime.”

I hold my hands out like scales. “Money or family?” I drop the one representing family and raise the one symbolizing money. “Family outweighs every dollar I could ever make. What’s the point of any of it, if I don’t have them?”

Mount’s expression shutters. “You don’t even speak to your sisters regularly.”

I don’t want to ask how he knows that, because I’m sure the answer will send me into another pacing rant. “That doesn’t make them any less important to me. They’re my blood. Wouldn’t you sacrifice anything to save yours?”

Mount’s dark eyes harden as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, his thumbs moving across the screen. When he returns it to its spot, he looks up at me.

“I have to go.”

“Okay.” I follow him toward the door, intent on leaving with him, but he stops at the doorway.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my gilded cage.”

He shakes his head. “This is your new home. Get used to it. V will be stationed outside, so don’t bother trying to leave.”

“But—”

He shuts the door on my protest, trapping me in yet another luxurious prison.



As soon as Mount leaves, I yank open the door, because I’ve learned to be thorough.

Sure enough, just as he promised, Scar is stationed outside. Except, I guess his name is V. I prefer Scar, personally.

“My driver, and now my babysitter. How did you get so lucky?” Sarcasm drips from every word.

I slam the door in his face before he can respond, and rush to my purse when I hear my phone chime with a text alert. It’s from the same unknown number that I now know belongs to Scar, and I save it in my phone as such.



Scar: You want dinner? The chef will prepare something for you.

Keira: I’m considering a hunger strike.

Scar: Boss won’t like it.

Keira: I don’t give a NOLA-sized rat’s ass about what he likes.

Scar: Then you’re eating whatever I pick for you. Hope you like liver.

Keira: Gross. You think he’ll like you polluting his rooms with that stench?

Scar: Then pick something.



I give it a moment of thought and come up with the most ridiculous menu I can think of.



Keira: Turtle soup, New Zealand lobster tail, a grass-fed Argentinian filet, truffle mashed potatoes (the chunky kind but no skins), organic green beans amandine, and a chocolate soufflé with a side of fresh raspberry compote.



With a triumphant smile, I wait for a return message and get nothing.

It doesn’t dim my smugness. Now he can’t blame me for not eating. I followed directions.

I wander the room, not wanting to pry, but unable to stop myself from peeking into the bedroom again and crossing the plush gold-and-black carpet to reach the palatial bathroom. The creamy white stone is shot through with veins of gold and black, and I can’t help but wonder what his obsession is with those colors.

I shut down the curiosity because it’s not going to help me get out of the situation I find myself in.

With my phone still in hand, I think of the one person who may be able to give me some kind of guidance.

I pull up Magnolia’s last text and shoot her one back.



Keira: Need to talk ASAP. Shit is crazy.



I wait several long moments, inspecting the gold fixtures on a bathtub the size of a small pool, and peer into the water closet that’s larger than the entire bathroom in my apartment. There’s even a freaking bidet. I’ll admit I’m a little curious about how one uses that, because I’ve never tried.

My phone chimes and my attention cuts to the screen.



Magnolia: Got a business meeting tonight. How crazy?

Keira: Crazy enough that I think I’m losing my shit.

Magnolia: I’ll reschedule. Call ya in ten.



I back out of the bathroom and kick off my heels once I reach the plush carpet, letting my feet sink into the thick pile.

Property in the French Quarter has ridiculous value per square foot. More than I could ever afford, and here Mount owns who knows how much. The curiosity I shoved down earlier returns, and I decide it’s time to get as much information out of Magnolia as humanly possible about Lachlan Mount.

I owe him over two million dollars. The reality of the situation slaps me hard in the face.

How the hell am I going to repay him? Even if I pulled off an event like the one for the Voodoo Kings every month, and my sales quadrupled over the next two years, I’d still fall short. And that’s not counting how much it would cost me to increase capacity to meet such an increase in demand.

Then again, Mount hasn’t asked for a single payment in monetary terms, only in sexual favors.

My phone rings, and I realize I’ve lost track of time when Magnolia’s number flashes across the screen. I answer immediately.

“Hey.”

“What the hell is happening now?”

“Where do I even start?”

“The beginning, I’d suggest. Catch me up, Ke-ke.”

So I do, starting with Brett’s return from the dead.

“No. Fucking. Way. You have got to be shitting me. I was there, beneath that dark-as-shit veil, when you interred his ashes.”

I insisted she didn’t need it, but she didn’t want to cause what she called mama drama at the service.

“Yeah, well, apparently those ashes weren’t his, and someone bought off the medical examiner to say it was him.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who did that.” She’s not wrong. “Still doesn’t explain who the hell was found in that car.”

“I have no idea. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

“I bet Brett’s wishing he’d stayed gone.”

“Probably not, because he’s going to walk away with more cash.”

“You can’t give it to him.” Magnolia’s reply is in the form of a pissy huff.