Page 100 of Outcast’s Vow

Clement rolls his eyes.

“You’re not getting a dime, Baptiste.”

I clap my hands together in glee.

This is going to be fun.

It’s another poker night with my boys at the casino. We’ve all been looking forward to this. To getting away from our high-powered lives and complicated businesses to just play and drink the night away. Just us, the dealer, and a casino ballsy enough to indulge us high-rollers.

It’s on his third loss in a row that Fabien, in a rare, impassioned display, throws his cards on the table in aggressive resignation and demands another scotch from the server.

“You okay, Fabien?” I ask him, brow rising at his tantrum. “You’re not usually a sore loser.”

“I’m not a sore loser.”

Fabien failed to get into college. Not for smarts, but because he was aimless. Instead, he poured his talents into creating his own art gallery. Totally from scratch. He fought hard to break into the industry with no connections and no education, and now he runs one of the most successful galleries in New York City.

Clement ends the game with a wave of his hand at the dealer.

“Something’s on your mind,” he remarks, glaring at Fabien for any clues to this sudden shift. “And it’s not just Baptiste’s annoying arrogance.”

“I have news,” Fabien mutters.

I place my cards down and lean forward.

“Oh? Do tell.”

Fabien is never one to open up about something, so this will certainly be interesting.

“I’ve got the letter,” he says quietly. “From the Castaways.”

Clement smiles.

“You’re being initiated?” he asks.

Fabien nods.

“Congratulations,” I say.

“Took them long enough,” Clement adds. “This should’ve happened a long fucking time ago.”

“Any news about your impossible task?” I ask Fabien. “Have they said anything? Have they hinted at what you might have to do?”

“Not a word. I still have to pass their other rituals first before I even start dreading the final task.”

“You know, no one knows what their task will be until it’s presented,” Clement tells me.

His task was to win Elise. Claim her. And now look at them both.

Mine was an elaborate blackmail of a rival of a Castaways Elder. It wasn’t pretty, but I got it done. At least it didn’t have to involve a woman.

I sit back and wonder what they might have in store for Fabien. What would the Castaways do to a brooding, stoic, vengeful man like him?

I’m broken from my thoughts by Clement slapping me on the back, asking me a question.

“And how’s the Castaways marriage working out for you, Baptiste? Are you at each other’s throats? Are you going to last until Christmas? I’m surprised you’re still standing and with your head still on your neck. Sylvie is a tough one.”

“Well, I’ve got news of my own,” I say. “I need to make a confession.”