Page 1 of My Ruthless Mountain Man

CHAPTER ONE

KENDALL

I wishmy brother came with a flock of cute animals that cleaned up after him. Instead, I get pizza boxes, dirty dishes, and empty beer cans on the living room floor.

I’ve tried to be patient with him; I swear I have. Ryan has been here since he lost his last living situation three months ago. He gambled away his rent money one too many times, and whatever friend he’d been staying with had enough.

He’s hurting, both from his injuries and the scars I can’t see on his heart. But after the week I’ve had, coming home to his mess again... I can almost understand why our parents wrote him off. Since the Navy discharged him, he’s spiraled into depression. Medicating himself with alcohol and gambling until he’s alienated everyone who cares for him. Everyone but me.

I slip out of my heels and set them by the door with my purse and mail, sighing in relief when my aching toes sink into the carpet. It’s Friday night, and instead of going out,all I want to do is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and forget the world exists. Maybe even order some takeout if I can scrape together enough money. Instead, I’m cleaning up after him. Hewas sound asleep on the couch when I left for work instead of trying to get a job like he’s promised for weeks.

I don’t know how much more I can take. With Ryan. With the constant pressure from my parents to meet another son of some wealthy friend. With my boss, who thinks I’m an intern with nice boobs instead of a valued employee. Some days, I want to change my name and move far away from it all. Find some small town no one’s heard of and start over.

I can’t do it though. Growing up, Ryan was the only one there when I needed someone. My parents were too preoccupied with their social calendars to deal with a kid from an accidental pregnancy. Now he needs the support. If I walk away, I’ll lose him to the darkness he’s already drowning in.

I toss the last pizza box in the trash and am halfway to my room when there’s a knock on the door. Stifling a groan, I reverse course to answer it.

Jimmy was playing outside with his football when I got home. It’s probably in the backyard again. At six, this kid has a long way to go before he makes quarterback.

I glance out the peephole and see his sweet, freckled face smiling at me, one front tooth missing. He lost it last week and was so excited, he ran over to show me his tooth and speculate how much the Tooth Fairy might leave him.

I smile as I open the door. “Hi, Jimmy.”

“Hi, Kendall!” He bounces on his toes.

“Did you lose your ball again?”

He shakes his head and points right. “No. But those guys are going to give me twenty dollars because you answered. The Tooth Fairy only gave me a dollar.”

My smile slips as two men appear from the side of the house. I was so focused on Jimmy that I didn’t see them.

“Thanks, kid,” one says, handing Jimmy a twenty. He watches the boy scamper off, then turns a smile on me that sendsice shards through my core. He’s huge. A scar bisects his left brow and his nose is crooked. His suit barely contains his thick arms, chest, and the unmistakable bulge of a gun.

The other man is leaner, more refined in a tailored gray suit, highlighting dark hair and strong cheekbones. He would be strikingly handsome, if not for the deep, cold blue of his eyes. There’s no warmth there. No mercy.

I take a step back, fumbling for the door handle. My heart pounds harder with every breath.

“Don’t run, kitten,” he says, in an accent that sounds Russian. “I just want to talk to your brother.”

I stumble back inside the house and try to swing the door closed. The larger man moves fast. One half-hearted shove and both are inside, crowding me back into my tiny living room.

“Who are you?” I scan for anything I can use as a weapon. There must be something. “Get out before I call the police.”

The second man chuckles. “Please do. Although I do not think they will help.”

Because he pays them off? I take another step back, trembling.

“But I am impolite. You asked who we are. I am Ilya Petrova, and this is my associate, Mikhail.” He waves to the wall of muscle holding my door open. “I am here to see your brother.”

“He’s not here.”

Ilya tilts his head, studying my face. “You are his sister. I think you would lie to protect him.”

I would. Of course I would. I don’t know who Ilya Petrova is, but everything in me is screaming that he must be connected to the Russian mob. “How do you know my brother?”

“We had an associate in common. The man owed me a debt and paid part of it with your brother’s markers.”

The rest with his life. I’m sure of it as I glance between them. “I swear Ryan’s not here.”

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