Defiant Queen

by Meghan March

  “After you either throw up or pass out.”

  “Ewww. I don’t want to puke.”

  “Good, because you’re no rookie, so don’t act like it. You laying down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then hang your leg over the side so you can touch the floor. That should help with the spinnin’.”

  “Okay.”

  “You put everything back where you found it, right?”

  “Mm-hmm, yeah. Ten-four, Magpie.”

  “Shit. You’re really drunk.”

  “True story.” I yawn. “Gotta go. The spinny thing is gettin’ worse. I’ll try the leg trick. I’m tired.”

  “Yeah, and from the way you’re slurring, you’re gonna hate yourself in the morning.”

  “That’s a given, ’cause I gotta give that piece of shit Brett all the money Mount put in my account so I don’t go bankrupt. Fucker.” At this point, I don’t know who I’m talking about.

  “I don’t think Mount’s gonna let that happen, Ke-ke.”

  “He can’t stop me.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. You get some sleep now. Set your alarm.”

  “Already did. Night, Mags. Love you.”

  “Love you too. And before you pass out, you need to get it through your head that nothing about how Mount is treating you is normal. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re making him break all the rules.”

  “Mount makes all the damn rules. None of them apply to him.”

  I disconnect the call before she can respond. Or I try, but the phone lands on my face, cracking me in the nose.

  “Ugh. Fucking Russians. Who could possibly like that shit more than whiskey?”

  It’s the last thought I remember before I fall asleep.

  Mount

  From my position on the dock, I stare down at the fucking idiot bound hand and foot in the bottom of Ransom’s airboat. Saxon stands beside him, and we all wait for the douchebag to wake up so he has a few minutes to realize just how badly he fucked up by breaking his end of the bargain and coming back to life.

  Saxon shoves the toe of a muddy boot into the man’s ribs. Brett Hyde’s head jerks back, his lids flickering open but closing again as the spotlight Ransom holds shines directly into his eyes.

  “Bet you wishin’ you stayed dead, Brett,” Ransom says, his tone conversational and his bayou accent as strong as ever.

  “What the hell happened?” Brett’s words slur, probably because I didn’t spare any force when I pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness.

  Ransom nudges him. “Givin’ you a chance to send a prayer up to the Almighty before we take you out for one last midnight ride.”

  Ransom’s a silver-tongued bayou rat who started smuggling around the time I was adopted into the empire I now rule. There’s not a corner of these swamps he doesn’t know, and luckily for me, he doesn’t give a shit about what he’s transporting as long as the price is right.

  I don’t have friends, but if I did, I might consider him one. We’ve done plenty of business over the last twenty years.

  Out of the two of them, he’s the talker. I suppose it helps in the transport business.

  Saxon prefers to stick to the shadows and speak as little as possible. But I’ve never met a man better with a gun, knife, garrote, or even a fucking pencil when it comes to killing. He’s a true professional in every sense of the word, and I trust him with my most sensitive jobs. I wouldn’t even let my own employees touch the shit I have him handle. I’ve never met a man who has his emotions locked down tighter than Saxon. Smart motherfucker.

  Instead of sending up a prayer, Brett Hyde takes the chance to run his mouth.

  “Fuck y’all. Fuck that cunt bitch too. Spoiled little princess. Is she taking it up the ass from you to get your help saving her precious distillery? Is she so good you’re payin’ her for it? Maybe I shoulda spent more time in that pussy.” Blood bubbles from between Brett’s missing teeth when he talks, and I feel no remorse when Saxon lands another kick to his face, cracking a few more.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, you piece of shit.”

  Brett spits out his broken teeth. “You’re the piece of shit, Mount. I heard you were found covered in it.”

  It occurs to me in that moment, I couldn’t give a shit if he insults me. He’s down to the final minutes of his life. But even so, insults against Keira will be met with more and more pain.

  “You held a gun on your fucking wife and threatened to kill her family. I’d say you’re winning the piece-of-shit contest,” Ransom says.

  Brett glares at him. “I didn’t marry her for that cunt she’s got. I wanted the money. Thought she was the cash cow, ticket to easy street. But she had that fucking distillery in debt up to its eyeballs as soon as she took over. I could only skim a few dollars here and there because she had hardly any extra left.” He coughs up more blood before continuing. “And fuck her family too.”

  Saxon kicks him in the ribs once more, and Ransom goes off again.

  “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to talk about your fucking wife that way? For fuck’s sake, what the hell is wrong with you? You took vows.”

  Hyde spits blood on the deck of the boat. “Fuck, it wasn’t real. I married some bitch in Reno when I was twenty-five and never got that shit taken care of. Keira was never really my wife. Total waste as a fuck and a mark.”

  I jump off the dock and land in the bottom of the boat on both feet, rocking it from side to side. “You were already married? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Hyde nods. “What do you care? If you thought you were gonna find a gold mine in that distillery, joke’s on you because they ain’t never gonna make a dollar. Screwed yourself on that deal, Mount.”

  I crouch down and speak low, so only Brett can hear. “That’s where you’re wrong, you worthless piece of shit. I got everything I wanted out of this deal. It was never about the money. It was always about her.”

  Brett’s eyes go wide in the spotlight as realization sets in. “No fucking—”

  I stand up and land a kick to his face, wishing I could finish this job myself, but I won’t. There’s somewhere else I’d rather be.

  I climb out of the boat and look at Saxon. “Get creative. Take your time with it too. He doesn’t need to die fast.”

  “Hey—” Brett protests, but Saxon kicks him in the head and he goes silent again.

  Saxon turns back in my direction and gives me a nod.

  Knowing that piece of shit was never actually married to Keira doesn’t change anything, but it will surely matter to her. Then again, it just shows how badly she was conned.

  Maybe I won’t tell her. It won’t matter in a few minutes anyway.

  I step out of the boat and look at Saxon. “You got this?”

  He almost looks insulted at my question. “Of course.”

  My gaze shifts to Ransom. “Make sure the body’s never found.”

  Ransom laughs. “After all these years, you think I need directions like that? Besides, I got a couple hungry gators waitin’ to be fed.”

  I reach for my phone and open a secure app. With a few taps, my part is completed. “Your money’s already in your accounts. I want to know when it’s done.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ransom says, and Saxon just nods.

  Saxon gags Brett as Ransom fires up the deafening engine of the airboat.

  I turn on the dock and head toward the nondescript black Mercedes I drove out to the meet when I got the notification from Saxon that he had the package and Ransom was ready to dispose of it.

  The airboat flies away from the dock, skidding across the water around a turn, disappearing out of sight before I start the car.

  As I drive back toward the Quarter, I can’t help but think about how fucked up this day has been on every level. Brett. Keira freaking out. Her attacking me, and somehow setting off an impulse I’ve never had in my entire life.

  I kissed her.

  I’ve never kissed a woman, just like I’ve never fucked another wom
an without a condom. Ever. Keira Kilgore is the exception.

  It pisses me off to know that Brett Hyde was never the barrier I thought, and yet I let him stand in the way. He was already married.

  Why the hell didn’t my people find that marriage certificate in his records? My PI has a fuck-ton of explaining to do.

  I’m still shaking my head at how big of a dumb fuck Brett Hyde was. If he was even minutely less stupid than I thought, he’d have made sure that shit was legal so he’d be guaranteed a piece of the assets. The more important point? Keira was legally free the whole time.

  I could have swept in and taken over so much sooner. Then again, Keira needed to realize what a piece of shit Hyde was all by herself. When I caught word that she’d secured her own place and was meeting with a divorce lawyer, I knew it was my turn. Finally. It still pisses me off to think about the time I wasted.

  But now, she’s really fair game. There’s not a goddamned thing stopping me from keeping her indefinitely.

  The devil that always rides on my shoulder chimes in with his opinion. Or you could get rid of her right the fuck now because she’s making you weak.

  I’d like to say there’s an angel offering an opposite perspective on the other side, but there never has been and never will be.

  I don’t reach my suite until hours later. Because of that fucking voice, I forced myself to make my normal rounds on the gaming-room floor to see and be seen. I won’t deviate from my pattern, because I refuse to acknowledge that the voice could be right.

  Once I’m satisfied, I head through the passageways and push open the door that leads into my living area. The first thing that hits me is the strange aroma of food coming from the coffee table. I lift the silver covers to find soup, lobster, steak, and God knows what else. All of it untouched.

  The nightstand lamp on the bedside table is still on, and Keira is passed out on top of the covers fully clothed, clutching what looks to be my most expensive bottle of vodka. An empty bottle of vodka, to be more accurate.

  Her phone is next to her head, and I reach over to pick it up, expecting the movement to wake her. It doesn’t. When her mouth opens and she releases a soft snore, I know there’s not a chance in hell she’ll be rising before noon, which suits me just fine.

  Carefully, I remove the vodka bottle and roll her to her side to unzip her skirt and remove it, along with her blouse. The lingerie beneath is sexy as hell, but the curves of her body are what make my dick harden against the silk lining of my pants.

  Not tonight, I think, willing my body to calm the hell down. She’s mine, which means tomorrow I’ll get what I want.

  I remove the bra because I can’t imagine that would be comfortable to sleep in, and can’t help but admire the pale skin of her tits and those perfect pink nipples that pucker in the cool air of the room.

  Not tonight, I remind myself, and tuck her under the covers naked, like that will somehow dull the temptation she presents.

  Like Eve in that fucking garden. Adam never stood a chance.

  A rush of satisfaction fills me to see her wild red mane spread out on my black satin pillowcase like fire. I’ve never had a woman in this bed before, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t pictured this exact moment more times than I’ll ever admit.

  I knew I wanted Keira Kilgore in my bed, but what I didn’t see coming was how much she’d challenge me outside of it—and how addictive gaining her submission would become.

  I back away from the bed slowly and retreat to my closet to shed my suit. I make a mental note that I need to contact G tomorrow to arrange for a full wardrobe for Keira. Up until now, I’ve had him provide only specific outfits at my request, but things have changed.

  When I slide under the covers beside her, she moans and curls her body toward me as she shivers. If she were conscious, she’d never do that, so I take advantage and pull her back against my front. My body heat soaks into her skin, and I wrap an arm around her waist.

  She makes a noise, like her brain is fighting to regain consciousness.

  “Sleep,” I whisper, and in moments, she releases another soft snore. The fact that I think it’s cute tells me just how fucked I am.

  I told Hyde the truth; it was never about the money. It was always about her. He was too blind to see a treasure when he had it in his hands, but I’m not.

  I see Keira Kilgore exactly for what she’s becoming—the one woman who might be strong enough to stand by my side and rule an empire.

  She’d stare at me in horror if I told her that right now. She needs discipline first, and what’s more, she wants it. I’ve never met a more stubborn woman with such a strong submissive streak. I look forward to taming it but don’t want to extinguish her fire, only guide it in a different direction. Tomorrow is soon enough to explain the rules of how things are going to work going forward.

  She snuggles into me in her sleep, and I wonder what it would take to make her this pliant while awake. Short of drugs or alcohol, that is.

  I close my eyes, not anticipating getting a single moment of sleep with my brain moving a million miles an hour, but shockingly, I drift off in minutes with Keira’s body pressed against mine.

  Keira

  An unfamiliar chime from my phone wakes me out of a nightmare. My hands are bound behind my back and I’m on my knees, begging a faceless man to kill me.

  With chills racing across my skin, I jerk up in bed, the tides of fear from the dream receding until my eyes snap open and I find myself in a dark room. I reach for my phone as the chime rings again, and use the glowing screen to illuminate the room as my head throbs.

  Mount’s room.

  Last night.

  The vodka.

  “Oh fuck!” I jump out of bed, remembering what I have to do today.

  My appointment is at ten a.m. at the bank. I’m supposed to withdraw the cash, put it in a duffel bag, and then walk outside and around the block and drop the duffel bag through the open back window of the black Suburban that will be parked at the curb.

  I’ve run through the plan so many times in my head, I’m ready to rock.

  A cool breeze sweeps through the room, and my nipples pucker. I cover them with my hands, shocked when I touch skin.

  What the hell? I didn’t fall asleep naked.

  That means . . . I search the dark room for the man who must have stripped me last night, but there’s no noise coming from anywhere in the room.

  Using the glow of my phone, I stumble to the door to flip the switch of the overhead lights. I am most definitely naked.

  That bastard.

  My gaze drops to the time on the phone screen, and I convince myself I’m still drunk when I see the appointment reminder . . . for noon . . . in fifteen minutes. Is that why the chime that woke me sounded different?

  I blink twice, because there’s no way in hell I’m really seeing that time. I set two alarms so I wouldn’t miss my rendezvous with my not-so-dead husband. There’s no way I slept through both of them. Is there?

  I tap on the appointment reminder, and the full text pops up.

  Your prior appointment has been handled. Your creditor, however, requires your presence in the private study at noon because you’ve got debts to pay and they’re past due.

  Open the nightstand drawer. Wear what’s inside. Bring the leather box to me through the door you attempted to open last night.

  Do not speak until you’re spoken to.

  The last line makes my palm itch to slap him, but I’m quickly distracted by the rest of the cryptic message.

  What the hell does your prior appointment has been handled mean? Does that mean he paid off Brett? Or . . .

  I don’t want to consider the alternative, because the only thing that matters right now is my family’s safety. I tap the phone icon and pull up my mom’s cell phone number. It rings three times, and I pace the room as I wait for her to answer.

  She doesn’t. And her cheery voice-mail message is no comfort.

  “Sorry I misse
d you! I’m probably on the golf course right now. Text me, and I’ll call you back when I finish on the eighteenth green.”

  My dad’s cell phone is next. It rings twice before he picks up, and I heave a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen at the distillery?”

  In that moment, my dad’s gruff voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. I don’t even care that retirement hasn’t changed him and the distillery always comes first.

  “No, no problem. I just wanted to make sure you and Mom were okay. Is everything fine?”

  “You having one of those walking-over-your-grave moments? Is that what this is?” my dad asks, always the superstitious one.

  I swallow back the fear that gathered in my belly when I got my mom’s voice-mail recording. “You could say that. When Mom didn’t pick up, I worried.”

  “We’re fine. She’s out with Jury getting their nails done. For some reason or another, she decided to show up at our door last night with nothing but a backpack. I swear to God, that girl will never grow up. She’s too old to be acting like this still.”

  “Jury’s there? Did she say why?” I’m actually happy to hear it. That’s one less member of my family I have to make sure is breathing this morning after I didn’t follow through on my end of the bargain with Brett.

  Little by little, the rigidity of my spine eases.

  “She said she’s between jobs. Needs a place to crash, and figured she might as well see us and kill two birds with one stone. I swear, if she starts dancing on bars around here, I’ll never live it down at the club.”

  I close my eyes, thankful to hear my father bitching about my sister like he usually does, instead of the horrible alternative.

  “I’m sure she won’t, Dad. Have you talked to Imogen lately?”

  He grunts. “She’s too busy for any of us. Got a text from her this morning that she applied for some fancy postdoctoral program, and she needs letters of reference from people who aren’t family. But she doesn’t want my help to get them. Just suggestions on who to ask.”