Page 17 of The Lasso Master

The contrast of the dark fabric against her pale skin and midnight hair was no accident—she looked like temptation forged from contrast and control. And the collar at her throat completed the picture, the brass catching the light like a brand of possession.

They walked in dressed like prey, but moved like predators. Heads turned, some subtle, some not. Conversations paused. Reed clocked the shift in the room instantly—men adjusting their stances, women sharpening their gazes, guards exchanging glances. Harper drew attention like a blade catches light: sharp, intentional, impossible to ignore.

One man near the bar narrowed his eyes and muttered something to his companion. Another let his gaze crawl too slowly over her hips. Reed's jaw ticked, cataloging faces, already slotting them by threat level.

Harper kept half a step behind him, her hand light on his arm, every line of her posture elegant, composed, yet unmistakably his. She didn’t look scared. She looked lethal.

And every eye in the room would see it.

And all Reed could think was, 'mine,' which meant if anyone touched her, he wouldn’t just burn the place down... he’d salt the ashes.

9

HARPER

They started at the Iron Spur, just outside San Antonio. It was more than a club—it was a fortress, co-owned by Reed, Gavin, Jesse, Hawke, and Dawson. Men who didn’t just wear dominance like a title, but lived it, breathed it, protected with it.

The Iron Spur was elite, but not flashy. Sacred. A place where submissives were cherished and controlled but not coerced. Consent wasn’t just respected—it was gospel. Harper felt it the moment she walked through the door. The air was calm. Charged. Safe.

Reed belonged there. Every stone, every rule, every quiet corner spoke of him. This was his boundary. His code. He’d bled for it. And Harper felt that in her bones—she just didn’t know if it terrified her or made her want to stay forever.

As they pulled up, she raised an eyebrow. “You really think the Curator’s going to show up here?”

Reed gave her a slow, deliberate shake of the head. “He’s not welcome. Years ago, he got handsy with a sub who used her safe word. Didn’t stop. Tried to blame her after. She left in an ambulance with a dislocated shoulder. We blacklisted him that night.”

“So he doesn’t like boundaries.”

“No,” he said, voice cool. “That’s why we’re going deeper. Just one drink. We show our faces, make it clear we’re together. Let the right whispers start. Then we go to the next place—the one where the Curator really likes to play."

Inside, the bass thrum of the Iron Spur vibrated through Harper’s boots. Dawson spotted them from across the room, striding over with that easy, wide-shouldered confidence that said he could break a man without losing his smile.

“Well, shit,” Dawson said, clapping Reed on the shoulder. “Didn’t expect to see you here with the most dangerous woman in Texas.”

Harper grinned engagingly. “I prefer ‘strategically unpredictable.’”

Reed deadpanned, “That’s why I like her.”

Dawson bowed slightly. “Ma'am, your reputation precedes you.”

“Good,” she replied, smile sly. “Means I won’t have to prove it tonight.”

Reed leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “We won’t be long. Just need the right eyes on us.”

Harper opened her mouth, a smart-ass comeback right there on her tongue, but he beat her to it.

“And careful with that mouth, little thief. That’s not how you speak to a Dom.”

She snapped her jaw shut, the pulse ticking in her throat as a flicker of heat shot through her. She didn’t love being cut off—but damn if it didn’t spike her arousal when he took the reins like that. Part of her wanted to push back. Another part wanted to kneel.

The heat that flashed through her was sharp and sweet. Her grin stretched wider, but there was a softness in it too. “Yes,Sir,” she purred. Then, with a wicked lilt, “Better? Or should I be saying Master?”

His breath fanned across her neck. “Getting there.”

And then—crack. His hand landed on her ass, just hard enough to make her bite back a gasp. More sting than play. Her breath caught. Her thighs clenched.

“That’s for the mouth,” he said, in that deep Dom voice. “I only reward obedience.”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed again, this time without the sass.

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