Chapter 19
ANITA
The supply boat is old, all dented metal and rust spots.
Nothing like the sleek charter vessels with their polished surfaces and state-of-the-art equipment.
This is a workhorse, built for hauling cargo rather than impressing anyone.
The deck is cluttered with boxes of supplies, spare engine parts, coils of thick rope that smell like salt and oil, empty fuel canisters waiting to be refilled.
Jasper fires up the motor, and it coughs to life. The whole boat vibrates with the effort.
He tosses me a navy blue Wilde Charters jacket as we pull away from the main dock. “Put it on. It’s getting colder out here.”
“Thanks.” I catch it and shrug into it, grateful for the extra layer. The wind off the water is brutal, cutting through my clothes like they’re made of paper. The jacket smells like him, like all of them. That mix of scents that’s becoming dangerously familiar.
We motor out of the bay slowly, the old engine protesting but doing its job.
The town of Mistberry Cove grows smaller behind us, buildings shrinking, the white church steeple becoming a tiny point against the mountains.
The water is choppy today, gray green and unfriendly-looking, small whitecaps forming on the waves.
Jasper handles the boat easily, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the throttle. He looks completely at home here, like he was born to be on the water. His ash-blond hair is getting whipped around by the wind, and even wet and windswept, he’s ridiculously attractive.
“Haven’t seen Slater that pissed in ages,” he states after a moment, raising his voice to be heard over the motor and the wind. “You really know how to push his buttons.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I noticed.”
“But on this?” Jasper says, quieter now, his tone edged with something sharper. “I don’t buy it.”
I glance at him. “What’s that?”
He studies me for a second, those eyes too perceptive for comfort. “Earlier, you told me Reed’s bullshit made your blood boil.” He tilts his head slightly. “Then you’re nodding along with him like he’s some kind of role model.”
Crap.
My stomach drops. I hadn’t even realized how it must’ve looked from the outside.
I force a shrug, keeping my expression loose. Casual. Male.
“I wasn’t agreeing with him,” I say. “I was fishing.”
His gaze doesn’t leave my face.
“Yeah,” I continue, gesturing vaguely toward the water. “Trying to see how far he’d go. What he’d say if he thought he had an audience. Guys like that don’t show their real opinions unless they think they’re recruiting you.”
Jasper watches me, eyes narrowing.
I add, “Figured it’d be useful to know exactly how he operates.”
Something shifts in his expression. “Still a dangerous game,” he says. “People like Reed don’t just talk. They hook people, make them feel like they’re lacking something only they can fix.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Reed preys on insecurity.”
“I can handle myself.”
He lets out a quiet breath beside me. “Maybe,” he says. “Just be careful, because before you know it, you’re so deep in their bullshit that you can’t see straight.”
I’m already in the fire, I think, watching the wake spread out behind us. Already burning up from the inside out with lies and deception and feelings I was never supposed to develop for these men.
We’re quiet for a moment, just the sounds of the struggling motor and the slap of waves against the metal hull. A seagull cries overhead, circling, probably hoping we’re fishermen who’ll toss scraps.
I need to change the subject, to think about something other than Reed, Slater’s disappointed face, and the business card that feels like it’s burning a hole in my pocket.
“So,” I say, forcing Ash’s deeper voice even though it feels increasingly wrong in my throat. “What about you and my sister? Is it serious? You and the other guys?”
Jasper’s entire face transforms in an instant. The serious, almost stern expression melts away, replaced by a grin that’s wide and genuine and reaches all the way to his eyes. He appears younger when he smiles like that. Happier. “You have no fucking idea how smitten we are with her.”
I find myself grinning too, unable to help it, but then catch myself, trying to pull it back into something more neutral. More brotherly.
“I mean it,” Jasper continues. “She’s incredible, Ash. Smart as hell. Funny in ways that catch you off guard. Gorgeous, obviously, but it’s more than that. It’s the way she looks at the world and challenges everything. The way she fits with us.”
He adjusts the throttle slightly, navigating around a larger swell. “It’s as if she was made for our pack, and I guarantee you she’ll be treated like nothing but the queen she is. None of that Reed bullshit about Omegas needing to be controlled or dominated or trained.”
My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. My heart is thundering.
“Which is why I don’t know what the hell you were up to back there with Reed,” Jasper adds, his tone shifting back to serious. “Because I bet Anita would be pissed as hell if she heard you spouting that garbage. She doesn’t seem like the type who’d put up with that kind of thinking.”
I laugh despite everything, despite the guilt eating at me from the inside. “God, yeah. She would absolutely lose her mind. Would probably throw something at my head.”
“Good.” Jasper grins again. “A woman with fire. That’s exactly what—”
A loud clunk cuts him off mid-sentence.
The motor makes a terrible grinding sound. It sputters and coughs like it’s sick. Then dies completely, black smoke billowing from the back of the boat.
“Oh, damn piece of trash,” Jasper mutters, already moving. He’s stepping over boxes and equipment, navigating the cluttered deck toward the back where the motor is mounted. “I fucking knew we should have replaced this thing last month. Slater’s been putting it off.”
He’s pulling at parts now even as he curses. “Fucking hell. Goddamn rusty piece of shit. Come on, you bastard. Don’t do this to me now.”
More cursing. Something about the carburetor and fuel lines and whoever designed this motor being a sadistic asshole.
“I’ll text Slater,” I call out, pulling my phone from my jeans pocket. “Let him know we broke down.”
Jasper doesn’t seem to hear me, too focused on diagnosing the problem.
I pull up Slater’s contact, my thumb hovering over the message field.
How in the world am I going to come clean to him? To any of them?
The question sits heavy in my mind as I stare at his name on my screen.
Truth is, if I could do it all over again, if I could go back to that moment when I decided to come to Mistberry Cove, I wouldn’t have come to investigate Wilde Charters at all.
I would have gone after Reed from the beginning.
Focused on the real threat, the real harm being done to Omegas everywhere through his toxic messaging.
I hate that I most likely fucked things up.
So I start typing the message: Motor died. We’re about half a mile out from—
The boat gives a violent, unexpected jerk.
I’m thrown forward, hard, then whipped back, my phone flying from my hand and landing near my feet. Water splashes up over the side in a wave, soaking my jeans, cold and shocking. I’m scrambling for balance, grabbing desperately for the railing.
“Jasper, what the—”
I spin around toward the back of the boat.
He’s not there.
The back deck is empty except for the smoking motor and scattered tools floating in the water that’s pooled there.
Panic slams into me. “Jasper?” I call out, my voice rising, cracking slightly. “This isn’t funny!”
No response, just the sounds of the wind and the water lapping against the hull.
I scramble to my feet on the wet deck, nearly slipping, rushing to the starboard side of the boat. I lean over the railing, looking out into the gray-green water. Nothing. No sign of him.
I spin, checking the port side, my heart hammering so hard it hurts. Still nothing.
Then I race to the back, to where the motor is still spewing smoke, and I look out into the water.
There. Several feet from the boat. Floating facedown.
Jasper. Not moving.
“JASPER!”
I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Don’t consider the consequences.
I rip off the Wilde Charters jacket. Kick off my shoes, not caring where they land, and I dive.
The water is a shock that steals everything.
Ice cold. It feels like being stabbed with a thousand knives simultaneously, like plunging into liquid nitrogen. My lungs seize, my muscles lock up, and for a terrifying moment, I can’t make my body move.
But I force my arms to sweep, my legs to kick, feeling like the water is pulling at my clothes, my hair. Finally, I break the surface, gasping, choking on seawater, and immediately start swimming toward Jasper.
My clothes are dragging at me, heavy and waterlogged. The cold is already making my limbs feel sluggish, uncooperative. But adrenaline overrides everything. Terror for Jasper compensates for the cold, the discomfort, the rational part of my brain screaming that I’m going to freeze.
I reach him in seconds that feel like hours, my arm wrapping around his torso as he faces away from me, and I’m grabbing his shirt.
He immediately jerks upright out of the water, his back to me.
I scream, startled, my grip loosening, and I’m suddenly splashing wildly, trying to keep my head above water while my heart tries to beat out of my chest.
“Jasper!” I’m coughing, sputtering, trying to tread water with arms that are already going numb.
He grabs my arm firmly, pulling me closer behind him, his voice urgent and commanding. “Calm down. Stop splashing like that. You’re going to drown us both. Why the fuck are you in the water?”
“Why are you?” I gasp, trying to catch my breath, trying to process that he’s alive and upright and apparently fine. Not unconscious. Not dying.