Page 36 of The Anchor Holds

There was a promise, warning, in his tone.

It sickened me.

Once Jasper completed the buy-in—$250K—he was put in a high-backed, cozy chair, and I was situated behind him, not that afforded any comfort despite the fact my shoes were a lot more painful than his.

Part of the game, though. I knew that, yet it infuriated me.

I knew a lot of the men at the table. Billionaires and criminals, though those were mostly one in the same. You didn’tmake the kind of money they did without breaking laws. Some of those laws were regulatory, no real blood spilled, yet others hurt a lot of people.

I didn’t know exactly what Jasper was doing here, so I watched and listened carefully. Men spoke about deals, about fucking taxes, about politicians they had in their pockets. Run of the mill topics with men like this, but I catalogued every piece of information, knowing it could be a weapon or an asset for me at some unknown point in the future.

“You hear about Rhodes?”

My spine straightened at the familiar name.

Kane Rhodes was married to my friend, Avery. Motocross star—former, since he’d retired upon becoming a dad. A good man, through and through. His name should not have been in the mouths of men like these. Unless he had secrets.

The man next to me nodded. “Parted ways with his employer to become an … independent contractor.”

My mind whirled. It couldn’t have been Kane they were talking about, since I could read between the lines that this Rhodes was some kind of hitman. Had I heard Kane say he had a brother?

I always listened more intently when people offered personal details. Though I’d never run into an occasion where they’d serve me—until then.

“Very picky about his contracts, though,” a man across from me scoffed, wearing a $100K Rolex. “Wouldn’t even take my call.”

There was spite in his tone. A man used to getting what he wanted. I knew this kind of man. Knew he had buried a handful of sexual harassment cases. With the swath of men brought down by the MeToo movement, at least triple had managed to escape by buying or threatening their way out.

In other words, this man was scum.

I mulled over what I’d heard. Made plans to unearth more about this elusive Rhodes brother.

I did so even when Jasper’s hand meandered to my exposed knee, traveling up my thigh until it brushed the edge of my panties.

My breath didn’t so much as hitch, and my expression did not change. Although whatever Jasper was doing here wasn’t solely about me, he was making the most of his favor. Humiliating me, tugging at the ragged thread between us.

I knew that the men at the table were watching, eyes flickering from their hands to me. Like I had when I walked in, I didn’t lower my gaze, didn’t submit to them by exposing any shame or communicating that I would be objectified.

Jasper’s finger dipped inside my panties, to my skin that was utterly bone dry. I felt him pause. As much as I could put on a show for him, my body didn’t lie. Jasper was quickly discovering just how much things had changed. We’d never been in this precise situation before, but prior to this, he’d be able to assess how far he could push me and know I’d be turned-on by him.

Maybe in the past I might’ve gotten a thrill out of what he was doing. Before Jupiter. Before Elliot. Beforethe event. When I was operating under the illusion that Jasper viewed me as an equal, not an object.

His finger did one last brush of my pussy before he removed his hand. Slowly, without any outward sign of defeat, but I knew he felt it. He’d been able to play my body like a fucking violin. I’d learned pleasure with him. True pleasure. And now that he didn’t have that, he’d be off-kilter.

I reveled in that more than I should’ve, even though I comprehended how dangerous it was for me. Jasper knowing I didn’t want him anymore might’ve rid him of all kinds of nostalgia that might’ve been keeping me alive.

“I seem to be out of chips.” He drummed his finger on the table.

A cold dread started simmering at the base of my spine, moving up as I sensed what he might’ve been doing before he even spoke.

I forced my composure to remain exactly as it was. Not a shred of the panic building in my gut would be betrayed. Not in front of these men who would drink it up like fucking cognac.

“I do have something extremely valuable that means a lot to me and that a lot of men would consider priceless.” His low, chilly voice brushed against my exposed thighs with the same sensation as his fingers.

I gritted my teeth as all the male eyes at the table swept to me, appraising, probing.

My chin lifted upward, refusing to meet any of their gazes. No fucking way would I lower it for them. Lower myself for them.

One man, the man I pegged to be the most powerful and dangerous in the room, chuckled. Chip Hollows. Oil baron. Involved in multiple arms deals to countries we were technically enemies with. There was chatter over whether he had influenced the most recent election.

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