“That may be, but recovering skips is still no place for a woman,” Matt said.
She’d known Uncle Matt had qualms, but he was the one who’d recruited her. Now—because of Robert—he’d changed his mind. The betrayal was another small ping of pain in a growing avalanche.
When Travis started to speak, Anne shook her head at him. No point.
What a disaster. She needed to get their attention and quiet this mess. This was her father’s birthday party, not a venue for a verbal brawl. She held up her hand. “Uncle M—”
“I must say, I’m relieved. I never wanted my girl working recovery and endangering her life for a few extra bucks. It’s just not safe.” The words came from the head of the table.
From her father.
She turned to look at him, feeling as if he’d picked up the knife sitting beside his plate and plunged it into her heart.
Robert could manipulate his father into anything—because his father believed his child could do anything.
Her father was the opposite.
She’d tried all her life to be competent—outstanding—in any task, especially the ones traditionally assigned to men. She’d succeeded.
But her father, the one who should have believed in her and supported her, didn’t.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She pushed her chair back.
“Anne, no,” Harrison whispered.
She felt Travis grip her arm and shook him free.
“You win, Dad.” Shoulders back, chin up, she faced her father. “You’ve made it clear over and over that you don’t think I can be as good at anything as your sons.”
Her father’s face went blank. “Anne—”
“Darling.” Her mother’s face was white. “He doesn’t—”
“He does, Mom. It’s fine. I get it.” Her voice didn’t betray the echoing emptiness inside. Her gaze turned to Russell. “You win too. I quit as of this moment.” She glanced at Travis. “Please pick up my things for me.”
Face set, he nodded.
Finally, she looked at Robert. “You are a slimy turd not worth scraping off my stiletto, let alone speaking to. So fair warning. If you ever address me again for any reason, you’ll wake up in a hospital bed, pissing blood for a month.”
Silence accompanied her as she walked out.
* * * *
In the Shadowlands, Ben leaned against a black leather couch and idly watched a chain station scene. In a dark-red suit, the Domme was wielding a cane on a gray-haired submissive. Her husband, actually, as Ben recalled. She was whacking him in time with the Aboriginal-sounding drums of Massive Attack’s “Inertia Creeps.” His groans provided an interesting counterpoint to the lead singer’s whispers.
The Domme stopped to observe her sub.
The man kept trying to look over his shoulder. As the seconds passed without a blow, he continued to tense.
“Take a deep breath now,” she ordered in a light, sweet voice.
The guy didn’t listen.
Bad move, bro, Ben said to him silently.
And yep…
The Domme moved the cane and lightly swatted her beloved’s ball sac.
The man’s yelp pulled in air—and focused his attention on his Mistress, where it belonged.
Ouch. Ben shook his head, recalling how a whack in the jewels felt. Poor fucker. Why were Dommes so fascinated with a guy’s junk?
Not that he was complaining. The results were—he watched the guy shake with the need to come—like that.
“You are not working security this evening?” The Spanish-accented voice came from Ben’s right. Raoul glanced at the scene. “Are you taking notes for Mistress Anne?”
Just the sound of her name upped his pulse as if an RPG had hit nearby—and made his chest ache. Dammit, he missed her.
Raoul’s brows drew together. “’Mano, are you all right?”
“Don’t know yet.” Ben turned away from the action. “I told her I’m not cut out to be a slave.”
“It was what she needed to know, yes?” Raoul studied him. “What was her response?”
“She asked for time to think.” Not even the beauty of the Everglades had been able to keep his mind from Anne. The slow sway of the royal palms reminded him of her grace. High clouds in a sunlit sky made him remember how her eyes lightened when she was happy.
But now the time had come to hear her answer, and he was worried shitless. “She’ll tell me tonight what she decided.”
Raoul’s jaw tightened, and Ben could see he wasn’t optimistic.
“You know something I don’t?” Ben asked.
“Only that when slaves have requested more from her—to receive more attention and time or to live with her—she would pull away, match them with Dommes who would satisfy their needs, and find herself someone new.”