Mount isn’t waiting in my room the next morning like a part of me hopes.

I remove the plug myself, but there isn’t another box waiting for me. There is, however, another outfit. This time it’s a white blouse and high-waisted black pleated skirt with a gold chain belt. The bra is lacy and white and appears that it might be marginally effective at shielding my nipples today, because the piercing is rendering me more sensitive than normal. There are matching panties, which brush against the jewelry constantly, driving me crazy in the best way possible. The pumps are black patent leather and higher than anything I’ve ever worn. They also feature the famous red soles I’ve always coveted but could never afford. When I slide my feet into them, I can’t help but survey my appearance in the full-length closet mirror.

I look good. Even I can admit that.

I eat the breakfast that’s waiting in the sitting room, but Mount still doesn’t appear. I wait for Scar to collect me, and after last night and being escorted back to my room without the hood, I’m hoping it’s gone for good.

Not so.

For some reason, it seems more insulting than it did before, if that’s even possible.

As I walk in the door to the distillery, I vow to focus on business all day, and nothing else.

I’m marginally successful. I wait for another text from the unknown number.

Nothing.

No food deliveries. No notes. Complete silence, almost like Mount has disappeared from my life, leaving a hood piercing as my only souvenir.

This is a good thing, I tell myself, even as I begin to worry that something is massively wrong. I help Temperance nail down the final details of the football event and check almost every item off my to-do list, a task that has been impossible to accomplish for months.

“You’re in beast mode today, boss. Nice work.”

I shoot my assistant a smile as she leaves my office. “I only work in beast mode. Ever.”

When I’m finishing up a final task and ready to wrap it up for the day, Temperance bursts into my office without knocking.

“Holy shit. Have you seen the news?”

“No. What happened? Someone get traded?”

Her face, already pale, loses its remaining color. “No. They found Lloyd Bunt’s body this afternoon.”

Everything in me goes still except the blood pounding at my temples and whooshing through my ears. “What did you say?”

“Lloyd Bunt. He’s dead. They’re saying it was suicide, or maybe murder. They haven’t been able to rule either out. But he wasn’t alone.”

I curl my fingers around the arms of my desk chair. “Who was he with?”

“A hooker. There’s speculation that her cause of death was autoerotic asphyxiation.”

Lloyd Bunt. Murder. Or suicide. With a dead hooker. The facts slam through my brain like cars in a head-on collision.

“That’s awful.” My voice shakes, and I truly mean it. Just a few minutes ago, when I was putting the loan docs back in the filing cabinet where they belong, I was counting myself lucky that he hasn’t contacted me today.

Now I know why.

Or who.

“I have to go.” I grab my purse and my trench coat and rush past Temperance, bolting out of my office.

Scar is waiting out front with the car. I yank the back door open, not waiting for him to come around and get it for me.

“Take me to him,” I demand.

Scar meets my gaze in the rearview mirror and nods before tossing the hood at me.

I don’t complain as I pull it on, because I need to see Mount right now. We take the usual—and what I assume is a ridiculously inefficient—route to return, and I don’t fight as Scar carries me to my sitting room.

My jail cell.

That I only get to leave on work release.

Everything about this feels completely and totally wrong, if what I suspect is true.

Mount isn’t just ruthless. He’s a psychopath.

I pace the room, working myself up more and more until he finally arrives what feels like an eternity later.

I don’t wait for him to speak before I fire my question at him. “Did you do it?”

His expression, already blank, doesn’t change. “Do what?”

“Did you kill him?”

Mount raises that arrogant fucking eyebrow. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Lloyd Bunt. My banker.”

“The one who attempted to begin forcing you into a sexual relationship yesterday?” Mount asks.

My stomach drops to the floor. I can’t be responsible for Lloyd’s death. I can’t be, I tell myself.

To Mount, I give a different reply. “That’s not what it was. He only wanted dinner. A date.”

“And he would’ve kept pushing for more. Threatening your precious distillery until he got exactly what he wanted. To fuck you.” Mount’s declaration is harsh, and bile rises in my throat.

“And how is that any different from what you did?” I fling the accusation at him like a knife, and his blank expression disappears as his dark gaze flares.

“I was fucking honest about what I wanted—you in trade for the debt. No bullshit. Lloyd Bunt couldn’t wipe your debt away. He didn’t have a single fucking shred of real power.”

“But—” I start to argue, but Mount interrupts.

“And there’s another important difference.”

“What?”

“You didn’t want him.”

My shoulders stiffen. “And you think I wanted you?”

“I know you did, whether or not you’ll admit it to yourself.”

“You arrogant asshole—” When Mount steps forward, I hold out one hand like I could possibly stop him. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me right now. Or ever again.”

My hand may not have the desired effect, but my words stop him cold. And when I say cold, I mean frigid.

Mount’s features harden into the granite mask he never uses on me as he turns to walk away.

“You killed him, didn’t you? And her!”

Once more, Mount ignores my question and slams the door on his way out.