Page 19 of Outcast’s Vow

“Rituals are all we have. Rules and traditions are all that’s holding this world together.”

“You sound just like him.”

Father nearly snarls. That’s surprising.

“I’m happy to remain a barren independent woman, if that helps,” I continue, ignoring my last comment and practically pleading now. “You can call it all off, and I’ll go back to my old existence.”

“That won’t be happening.”

“Why not?”

“The ritual is done, daughter. You lost our little wager. You decided to take part, but Baptiste got what he wanted.”

“But…”

Father raises his hand, cutting me off like I’m one of his minions.

“I will drop you off at your apartment, and now is the time for you to pack,” he says. “You’re about to start the next chapter of your life, and it’s too late to attempt anything else. No more wagers, Sylvie. You now have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

8

BAPTISTE

I sit back and meet the stares of the two cunning men across from me in the full knowledge that every tiny move I make, every infinitesimal flicker of expression that crosses my face, will be dissected and analyzed for any sign of weakness.

Backing down isn’t an option here.

“Feeling lucky, gentlemen?” I ask calmly, gently placing my cards face down on the table.

One of the men sitting opposite, Fabien Cote, observes me closely with a dark, serious look and rubs his fingers over his own cards.

“The question is, Baptiste, how are you feeling?” he asks me in a measured drawl. “You haven’t told us yet what happened with the Chase. We’re waiting for your report.”

The man next to him, Clement Auclair, leans forward toward me with a quizzical eyebrow raised.

“Go on, Baptiste. Answer him. Tell us what happened on that tropical island. Did you succeed? Did you get her? Did you get what you wanted?”

A relaxed smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. Is it shameful to confess I’m enjoying this?

“A gentleman never tells,” I say. “But let’s just put it this way, drinks are on me tonight.”

Clement laughs and Fabien scoffs.

These two men, despite our current antagonism over the poker table, are my best friends. My only friends. The only men I dare trust in this world.

Fabien, an international art dealer, is a stone wall of a man. He’s stoic and wary of others, but also fiercely loyal and honorable. His steel-gray eyes and buzz-cut, dark-brown hair give him the aura of a man you shouldn’t dare mess with, while his lean, muscular figure speaks of a man who can handle himself physically in any situation.

Clement, a big-shot investment whiz, is deeply dominant, intense, and possessive. His jet-black, messy hair is offset by his bright teal eyes. With sculpted features and defined cheekbones, he has the confidence of a man who has always succeeded in life, and for good reason.

Both of these men are aggressively competitive.

But so am I.

Cocking my head to the side, I wave a server over to bring the casino’s finest bottle of scotch. We’re secluded away from the rest of the gaming floor in our own private room. The money changing hands over this table for our mindless fun dwarfs whatever’s being played out there on the main floor, so we’re given exclusive treatment by the casino.

“Well, on that note, I’m all in,” Clement announces, pushing all his chips into the center of the table with all the chutzpah that has destroyed foreign currency markets and earned the financial genius a hell of a lot of money. “Let’s raise the stakes, gentlemen.”

So totally predictable. Of course Clement is going big.