Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) Page 4

  “This isn’t about religion.”

  “It’s like a religion for Alexa,” I say. “For Welty, it’s about money. It’s about Eros cornering a market. Finding a path to Porn 2.0, if that’s where he narrow-mindedly thinks the company is headed. I can almost reason with Welty. But Alexa?” I shake my head. There’s no playacting with her. Talk to Alexa long enough, and you get the feeling she’s waiting for the Second Coming — but not of a traditional savior.

  Trevor looks around the room, and I know he’s thinking of the cameras and microphones.

  “The board can’t hear this discussion,” I say.

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  Because I’ll take this footage from the raw files and feed it back to Halo, just as I was instructed.

  But as much as I usually like and rely on Trevor, I don’t trust him enough to tell him about that. Not yet. But it’s possible that I’m making things worse by withholding. He’s already gone behind my back a few times with Bridget, and I need her in this. I need her focused. Most of all, I need her untampered with. I might have told the board a lie about her superpower being restraint, but there’s no question she has one. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind that will help Eros or the board. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Trevor hesitates. “Of course, man.”

  I know he’s lying. It’s okay. I’m lying, too. Halo isn’t choking, like I told the board. Halo’s being choked.

  “I need you to keep trusting me. Just until this is over.”

  “About what?”

  I hesitate.

  “Daniel. What? Talk to me.”

  “I love Bridget.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Is that why you’re fucking Jessica? Is that why you’ve been talking to Kylie so much? Are you fucking her, too?” But the words don’t come easily, and he looks at me sideways — the look of a man who can’t quite pass judgment, because we’re being the guys we’ve always been. Two dudes who don’t care, who think of the world as our oyster. Bros before hos.

  “You know that’s not how it is.” We’ve discussed this a few times already. But Trevor keeps jabbing because he wants to hear me deny it, again and again.

  “You’ve got a funny way of showing a girl you love her, Daniel.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “And just explain it all away.”

  I shrug. I don’t have the answer, and all that springs to mind is how Trevor told me, I care for her, too. Now would be the perfect time for him to make a move and steal her away if he hasn’t already. It wouldn’t be hard. She won’t easily forgive me. Trevor, with his boyish good looks and reputation for honoring women’s trust, must be much more appealing right now.

  The thought reminds me of why Trevor came here in the first place. I look at him, standing in his suit while I’m a mess. It’s been hard to get my head straight. I feel like an addict battling sobriety.

  “So,” I say, “I assume I need to get dressed?”

  “Probably. I didn’t ask.”

  I shake my head. “Jesus, Trevor. Look at us. This is our show. This is our house.”

  “It’s Eros’s house.”

  I ignore the interruption. “I designed this experiment. I’ve administered it as best I can. Caspian isn’t even supposed to be involved. He’s the company’s silent partner. Silent. Yet here we are, letting him call the shots and begging for permission.”

  “He’ll leave after this round.”

  “Maybe.”

  “He has to. He has an investor meeting in California. I got an earful about it yesterday.”

  Well. At least that’s something. But I wonder if he has plans to take someone with him. Bridget is firmly on his radar, and that’s a place no one wants to be. Trevor and I have agreed on the dangers for weeks, but I’ve an additional agenda Trevor doesn’t know about. It probably looks to him like our goals are different because I fought to keep Bridget in this competition while he was trying to get her to go. But in the end, we both want the same thing — in different ways.

  Trevor would protect her by forcing her out.

  Whereas me? I’ll keep her close … then simply protect her.

  “What’s he going to do, do you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And why do I have to be there?”

  Trevor looks uncomfortable.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I guess the sensible answer is because you’re the administrator. You need to observe what happens, so you can record your findings.”

  I think of that uncomfortable look. And for the tenth or so time since Trevor and I have been in this room together, I’m sure there’s a lie in the air.

  “That’s the sensible answer,” I say, “But it’s not what you think.”

  “Just get dressed. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Trevor? Why do you think Caspian wants me there?”

  His jaw works. Then his eyes soften. It’s not friendship or brotherhood I see. It’s pity.

  “Whatever he has in mind for Bridget,” Trevor says, “I think he plans on forcing you to watch.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bridget

  There’s a small anteroom outside the basement rec room. I’ve walked through the rec room numerous times, but I’ve never noticed this space. Part of me wonders if it’s something new, specially constructed for whatever the upcoming challenge with Special Guest Judge Caspian White might require. Or if it’s another forgotten area, sandwiched between walls in what was once thought to be null space inside the cavernous mansion.

  To me, it seems like the doctor’s waiting room in a Stanley Kubrick movie. It’s all white, from floor to ceiling to walls to chairs to a couch that’s somehow acutely uncomfortable. There’s a lamp with a white base and matching shade on the end table. The bulb must be fluorescent because the light is pure white. It’s too long for its width, giving the impression of being in a smaller version of a train car. I’m alone, sitting in a white chair on which it’s impossible to find a comfortable position. The chairs are bolted to the floor, and the end tables are fastened too close to the chairs’ feet. I can’t cross my legs, lean back, or spread out. I feel like a Tetris block.

  The room must be soundproof, like my former cinderblock den of amour, because I haven’t heard a thing since Jessica left upon Caspian’s call. I entered one end of the overly long, intestine-like room just as she was heading out the other. I saw a glimpse of a room that appeared to be the opposite of this one, all black and likely huge — the rec room transformed. Jessica glanced back at me. I tried to glare, but she looked terrified. Before I could gather my wits and adjust my expression (possibly to one of, You’d better be scared, bitch), she was gone.

  Barely audible music is being piped in from somewhere — like something from an orchestra of the dead. The instruments are all out of tune, but they keep on playing. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard, and yet the dirge continues. The air smells vaguely of rubbing alcohol, reminding me of my deep-seated fear of doctors and dentists.

  I sit as best I can, and after ten minutes my back is so stiff I have to get up and walk around, fighting spasms. But eventually, I return to my seat because there’s a large video screen on one of the walls that flickers with static whenever I stand. For some reason, it makes me dizzy and nauseated.

  The door to the black rec room cracks open. I think it’ll be someone calling me in for my turn, but instead it’s Jessica. She walks toward me, her face blank. I tense, but then she grabs and hugs me, hard. She takes my hand, and I shake it off. She moves back toward the still-open door to the rec room and says, “Come on.”

  I guess she’s here to summon me. I want to resist on principle, but this is Caspian in Jessica’s skin. So I go.

  I hear a door behind me as we’re entering the black room. I look back to see Kylie enter. Our eyes meet, but the same thing happens as when I looked a
t Jessica. She looks hateful, then shocked. And I realize that this time I must look terrified.

  I can’t stand the thought of talking to Jessica. But the black space seems so much larger than the rec room, with only two lit areas. One is a chaise, under a spotlight. The other is a more diffusely illuminated spot opposite the chaise, where Caspian White sits impassive atop a large ornate chair like a king.

  This watchful silence is unbearable. Somehow, I’m sure there are others in here, hiding in the shadows. Sitting. Staring at us as my eyes struggle to adjust from the bright white room.

  “What is the challenge?” I ask.

  Jessica says nothing. We’re approaching the chaise. It’s soft-looking and upholstered in tan fabric, larger than it needs to be. Lots of room to spread out. Spread out and …

  “Jess. What’s he going to do?” I look up at Caspian, but he might as well be made of marble. Every hair is in place. Every seam on his shirt and slacks is pressed to a sharp peak. He’s wearing a pale blue tie. I can’t see from here, but I’m sure the color perfectly matches his eyes.

  “Jess!” I hiss.

  “Be you,” is all she says.

  And then she’s gone.

  I’m alone across from Caspian, waiting for a cue. I tell myself that I should’ve left this place instead of staying for spite, three full times before realizing he’s not going to speak first.

  So I sit on the chaise, beneath the harsh light. Knees together. I’ve changed from earlier, wearing something more conservative. In unconscious imitation of his fashion choice, I’ve selected a below-knee-length blue-green dress that matches my eyes, just as Caspian’s tie matches his.

  “Your friend Kylie told me about your mother,” Caspian says. “About a certain … solution … you’ve hired to help her.”

  “She’s not my friend.” I hate the way my voice echoes in this place. The sound makes me uncomfortable. I want to shut my mouth, and never speak again.

  Caspian reaches up and snugs his tie. Then his big hands return to the arms of his chair.

  “I can help you with that situation,” Caspian says. I see a tiny smirk. “Or I can hinder you.”

  I swallow.

  “If you perform to my liking today — if you pass this test — then Linda and Jenny will never need to worry about their past again.”

  I don’t like what I imagine coming, but the threat is too thick to ignore. I can’t believe Kylie, but don’t doubt this man and what his money can do. When he promises help, I believe him.

  I must do well.

  “So how do I pass?”

  I wait for instructions. I wait for rules. I wait for expectations. I wait for parameters and guidelines. Instead, Caspian repeats what he’s already said:

  “You pass.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bridget

  My inner wiseass wants to say all sorts of stupid things. I use humor as a defense. I guess it’s supposed to prove that I’m so at ease with a situation that I can kick back enough to make witty rejoinders. But this time, in this place, no jokes rise to my lips, and I only repeat what he’s said in the privacy of my mind:

  To pass, I pass.

  Deconstructed, so I can have a step-by-step guide, that means step one is to pass.

  And if I do that, I’ll pass.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re not supposed to.”

  “But it would help if I knew more of what you wanted.” I force out the rest, knowing it sounds stupid: “So I can do my best to please you.”

  “I’m not being enigmatic, Bridget. I actively want you to not understand. I want you confused.”

  I think of the waiting room, where I couldn’t get comfortable. The sights and sounds that unsettled me for unknown, nonspecific reasons.

  Before I can shut myself up, I say, “Why?”

  “When you meditate, you clear your mind. You experience nothingness to find the truth within.”

  It’s a strange thing to say. It also seems to be the only answer I’m going to get. I try to see the room as a meditation of sorts, and find it’s not impossible. There’s little to see from under the spotlight since my eyes won’t adjust to the gloom. The chaise is so soft, it’s almost as if I’m sitting on air. It’s like a sensory deprivation tank, robbing me of inputs so I can hear my inner voice.

  Which, by the way, is freaked right the fuck out of its mind. This is too weird. Normal people don’t do things like this. I consider the rumors spread about Caspian White. When most women hear them, they say they’d love to indulge the oddity … but they haven’t sat where I’m sitting now, and if they had, maybe they’d know better.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “I want you.”

  “You can’t have me.”

  He laughs as if this is the stupidest thing anyone has ever said. “Not like that.”

  “How then?”

  “Do you really not know who you are?”

  I can’t help myself. I give him a condescending squint. Like the jokes that wanted to bubble up earlier, the squint is meant to let him know I’m above all of this, that he isn’t getting to me. But my heart is a triphammer. My breath is short. I’m lightheaded. Almost nothing has happened, but I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a heavyweight.

  I wonder if I’m supposed to answer, but Caspian beats me to it.

  “No, of course you don’t. Nobody knows who they truly are.”

  “I know who I am. I know where I’m from. I know what I want.”

  Caspian seems surprised that I’ve spoken. His eyebrows rise and finally — finally — I see a strange smile lift the corners of his lips. I know we’re in a total mind fuck of a room, and that intimidation is the primary objective. It’s working — but even through it all, I can’t help responding to what turns out to be an irresistible charm. There’s a reason everyone is talking about this man. He looks like a Norse god; he commands every situation; he has a manner and smile that, when it finally emerges, magnetizes the air between the man and his victim. I’ll bet Caspian can talk his way into anything. I’ll bet that when he enters a room, ears perk and legs part.

  “Do you?” he says. “And yet you’re so ashamed.”

  “I’m not ashamed at all.”

  “Of course you are. You don’t participate in the gatherings. You shower quickly and keep yourself covered. Apparently, you masturbate, but it’s mostly under the covers, where no one can see.”

  I don’t know if I should deny what he’s saying or ask how he could possibly know. I’ve been loud and proud a few times, but usually I do it in the dark, squeezing a pillow, and come like a whisper. Yet I get the feeling he knows how many orgasms I’ve had here, down to the digit.

  So I answer him obliquely, neither confirming nor denying.

  “Privacy isn’t the same as shame.”

  “So if we were together,” Caspian says, making a little finger circle in the air to indicate something highly hypothetical, “you would let me watch you.”

  It’s a shit test. I want to tell him to knock it off, but he’s not being lecherous; he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Jessica’s earlier words echo through my head, and I realize they were meant as advice: Be you.

  So fuck it. I’ll be Bridget — and yes, Mr. White, I know exactly who Bridget is.

  “Of course I’d let you watch.”

  “Then why didn’t you let Daniel?”

  The simple question, said with the same charm, cuts me a little. That, I wasn’t quite ready for.

  “The situation never came up.”

  “But you would. You would have let him watch.”

  Shit. I guess I’m in this now. “Yes.”

  “What if I told you he’s watching now?” Caspian looks over his shoulder, but I see nothing.

  “I’d say, ‘Good for him.’”

  “And what if I asked you to perform for him?”

  “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  “No, no.” He laughs, but it’s
somehow a parody of a genuine laugh. “What I’m asking is if you’d fuck yourself.”

  “No.”

  “You just said you would.”

  “For Daniel. Not for you.”

  Caspian gestures over his shoulder. Daniel comes forward, and my heart gives a leap as he, dressed as immaculately as Caspian, comes to stand beside the chair, his face unreadable.

  I don’t want to see him. I’ve been trying to avoid him. But do I want to do this? I know where Caspian is going … and still, I have no idea what he wants from me. He says that if I pass this test, he’ll help me with Linda, and I believe him. He suggests that if I fail, he’ll hinder me with Linda, and I believe that as well. But do I pass by submitting, or resisting?

  Be you.

  “Daniel,” Caspian says, as if I don’t know the newcomer’s name. He doesn’t repeat his question, because it’s implied.

  When I do nothing, Caspian shakes his head. “Shame. See?”

  “Just because I won’t masturbate in front of two men and God knows how many other watchers doesn’t mean I’m ashamed. It means I’m normal.”

  “Quite the contrary. If you are a sexual being, then claim your sexuality. It’s not just frustrating when people like you self-censor. It’s cruel.”

  “To you.”

  “To yourself.” Caspian crosses his legs. Daniel looks uneasy beside him. “You only have so much time to be at your peak. Just look at you, Bridget. So young. So sweet.”

  “I’m not sweet.”

  “So wounded,” he continues, ignoring me. “So innocent, in your own way. You think you can take care of yourself. You think you’re whole. But someone hurt you. It’s worse than being hurt by your father, isn’t it? Your father abandoned you so completely, it’s clear he never wanted you at all.”

  Daniel shoots Caspian a glance. I see his fists tense up, then forcibly relax.