Burning Rivalry (Trevor's Harem #2) Read online

  I don’t ask.

  In my room, under the bed, is the item Daniel gave me yesterday after we cleaned ourselves up on the clifftop, dressing, trying to erase evidence of rolling around in the dirt from our clothing. It wasn’t long after my breathing returned to normal and I noticed the long scratches I’d carved into Daniel’s back with my short nails that we heard voices down one of the trails. Daniel slipped me something from his backpack and told me to rush along and find them. He told me to run so that they wouldn’t see I’d only made it fifty feet down the trail in the ten minutes we spent intertwined, and to preempt further questions by blurting out that I’d got lost.

  I did, though I’m sure neither Kylie nor Kat believed me.

  “Could you see where Daniel ran off to from up there?” Kylie asked.

  Trevor was checking something on his cell phone, as if he hadn’t heard.

  Kylie continued. “Maybe he went back to the house after hearing that someone did something to get herself kicked out again.”

  Kat handed me my pack, which I’d left below after starting my ascent. Somehow, she managed to infuse the simple act of handing me a bag with an aura of disbelief. I wondered if Trevor would want to hike all the way up, to repair the clifftop rope anchor that hadn’t actually broken.

  Right now, anyone watching us would think we were hanging out in a home-theater-type room to watch sports. There’s a basketball game on the big screen, but somehow I doubt most, if not all, of these girls would’ve cared about the game when it aired. There’s a team in white jerseys and another in green. Glynn and Rachel have instructed us to keep track of the number of times the white team passes the ball. So far, I have ten passes. Some of the other girls are making hash marks on paper, having found both pad and pen. I wonder if this is cheating.

  I see Kylie from the corner of my eye in the dim room. I don’t want to look too carefully, and miss a pass. If everyone else has the right number and I have the wrong one, I’ll look like an idiot. I don’t care about the action onscreen, but rules of the game say we’ll all get twenty-five grand in a few days, on top of my resumed stipends piling up for payday. Kylie hasn’t busted me yet, probably because she doesn’t have any evidence. She might not even know what happened yesterday on the rock, but she’s sure it’s something. Giving her reason to believe I can’t even count doesn’t feel like a good idea.

  “This isn’t what I thought we’d be doing here,” says Renee from my right. I like Renee. I haven’t talked much with many of my fellow contestants, but I like Renee because of her genuine-looking smile and atypical body type, at least in this group. Everyone here is a stick. All that’s different is height and hair color. Renee alone has curves. She’s not fat, but in this forest of model types, it’s comforting to see someone who maybe doesn’t live on wheat grass and salads. And of course, I’ve seen enough of Renee to make these judgments. These days, I know what all my friends look like naked.

  Although they can’t say the same of me.

  I think of what Daniel gave me.

  I think of the way, as we hiked back to the mansion, I kept waiting for Kylie to snap. About what, I’m not sure. I don’t even think it was my clifftop adventure that’s eating her; she might just think I was trying to get out of belay duty, or not climb again with her behind me so she could force me to fall. It’s something else. A grudge she won’t voice. Something new, percolating under the surface.

  Thirteen passes of the basketball. Fourteen.

  It goes on for another few minutes, then our hosts turn off the screen and raise the lights. Glynn or Rachel stands at the room’s front. She must not understand the point of this because she asks us to blurt out the number of passes, not write them down to make sure each of us got it right. I resent all of the attention I’ve been paying. My mind kept wanting to wander. To go back and do something I know I’m not supposed to do.

  “Sixteen passes,” says Ivy, the black-haired Italian-looking girl I’ve begun to think of as Kylie’s right hand.

  “Did everyone get sixteen?”

  Heads nod. That’s what I got, too.

  “Anybody not get sixteen?”

  Heads shake.

  “Okay. Sixteen is right. So did anything else happen in that video clip?”

  I’m not sure what that means.

  “Nobody noticed the guy in the gorilla suit?”

  We’re dismissed five minutes later. The idea of the man in the gorilla suit — apparently walking right through the basketball game we’d been watching in plain sight and stopping mid-court — is never explained. Our new single-serving friends simply take notes and send us on our way. More mind games, and still no explanations.

  I find Jessica and Erin, waiting for me as we exit. We’re becoming quite the three amigas, tossed together because these two are, out of all these women so different from me, the most similar.

  “Lunch?” Erin asks.

  Jessica is looking off into the distance.

  “Lunch, Jess?” Erin repeats.

  “Actually, I think I might find some of the boys.”

  Meaning our trio of studs. I keep forgetting they’re meant as studs, though I might be the only one. On day one, I feared I’d be expected to participate in all sorts of sexual shit if I wanted to stay, but the place has changed so much. Now the sex is this strange background to everything. People fuck with the doors open and it’s not at all uncommon to notice someone bouncing at one of our meals and realize it’s because one of the guys is sitting under her and she’s multitasking. Cameras record everything. Someone is always taking notes. But nobody’s told us what it means, or whether partaking is a plus or a minus. Jessica doesn’t care. She told me yesterday that God gave her a pussy and she likes using it. Erin’s more subtle, but it’s only a matter of time before I get another chance to watch someone shove her against a wall and have their way.

  “Say, neither of you is into girls, are you?” Jessica asks.

  Neither of us responds. My answer is no, though I did sort of enjoy watching more than I’d have imagined. But Erin looks away. Strange to be shy here, but she is.

  “No,” I finally say.

  “Because your body is smokin’. If you were into it, I’m just saying, I would be, too.”

  “No thanks, Jess.” I wonder what it says about my life that this is such a casual discussion.

  “Erin?”

  Erin kind of demurs. It’s all the opening Jessica needs.

  “Come on. Come with me. We don’t need the guys. Let’s see if we can find Trevor and give him a show.”

  Erin sort of giggles. She’s blushing.

  “You know that guy wants a wife who’s into girls. You know he’s going to want threesomes and shit. And there’s an elimination in just over a week.”

  “Hey,” I say.

  Jessica looks over, eyes wide. Like she thinks I’ve changed my mind.

  “Did you do anything yesterday, when Kat and Kylie and I went with Trevor?”

  “Hung out. Fucked.”

  “Do you think it means anything? The date?”

  “I know that Ivy wouldn’t shut up about you. Why he chose you, of all people. So at least Ivy thinks it means something, like you’re a favorite.”

  “But I’m not doing anything.” I’m not, either. I haven’t so much as had my tits out in public, and around here that makes me an insufferable prude.

  “Who knows? Are you changing your mind or something?”

  “About Trevor?”

  “Sure. Trevor.”

  “I don’t want to be Trevor’s wife, Jess. No worries.”

  “Good. Because I need you to have my back.”

  “Through the first elimination, anyway. Then you two will have to have each other’s backs.”

  Jessica runs a slow finger down Erin’s back, giving the thought a double meaning.

  “What was that all about in there, anyway?” I ask, nodding toward the deserted theater room. “Why is it all bullshit? I mean, a guy in a gorilla
suit? Are we just supposed to accept that there was one?”

  “There was,” Jessica says.

  “No, there wasn’t.”

  “Sure there was. He walks in just as that tall guy with the big nose almost trips. Remember that pass? He takes eight steps, faces the camera, and then stands there like Frank the Rabbit.”

  “Frank the Rabbit?”

  “From that movie Donnie Darko.”

  “I don’t know Frank the Rabbit,” I say.

  “When number fifteen passes to number twenty-one, the ball goes right by him. Then Frank walks off just as the girl in the second row spills her drink on her feet.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “Go back in there, if you don’t believe me,” she says. “I’ll bet the DVD or whatever is still in the machine.”

  But what’s the point? I’m tired of playing. Tired of being screwed with. The feeling of being constantly pre-guessed is like a constant cloud over this place. Every single thing I do, I keep waiting for some dickhead to jump out and yell, “A-ha! I knew you were going to do that!”

  There’s movement below, and I look down to see that the girls are holding hands. Erin gives me that blue stare of hers and says, “You sure you don’t want to come with?”

  Is it terrible that I’d kind of like to, just to watch? But it’s not like that’s something I’ll admit. Besides, I have a date. Not with a person, but rather a task.

  I tell them no, but that they should have fun, and tingle a bit at the thought as they walk away.

  Who the hell am I these days? And what have I become?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bridget

  We had a few minutes, Daniel and I. Before we heard those voices coming up the path to the cliff’s top, we lay on our backs, completely naked, my arm draped across his broad chest, my fingers idly outlining the crevice between his collarbone and prominent shoulder muscles. He’s built enough and lean enough that I could count the individual muscle fibers. I ran my fingers across them like the wheels of a car riding over a washboard shoulder.

  “It’s my fault you’re here,” he said.

  I turned my head. We’d been quietly staring looking up at the cerulean sky. Hearing him speak — just speak like he did, without his usual intensity, was disarming.

  “I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can. But … it’s complicated. But by the time I changed my mind … ”

  “Changed your mind and decided you didn’t want me here?”

  “That’s just it. There’s no way to say.”

  I came up on one elbow. He turned to face me, those soulful eyes meeting mine.

  “There’s no way to say whether you wanted me here or not?”

  “It’s complicated,” he repeated.

  “I could go, if you want.”

  “You need the money. For your mother.”

  “She’s handled. Someone handled her situation for me.” Then, without knowing what I was doing, I kissed him, softly. Not like what we shared before.

  “Then you need the money for you.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “You want it, then. For your studio.”

  “How do you know so much about me?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “You said I was a wild card. That I wasn’t supposed to be here, like the others.”

  “Then I guess I know because I’m obsessed. Because I’ve always wanted to have you. And if I couldn’t have you, I’d do the next best thing.”

  “Stalking?”

  “Maybe a little.” And he smiled.

  “You act like we’re old friends.”

  “No, Bridget. Definitely not old friends.” He turned his head against the ground, looking up again. “I don’t want you participating. It won’t count against you, in terms of elimination, I promise. You’ll be tempted. I know you will. But I didn’t like it when you put your hand on Trevor’s leg. And I barely contained myself when he put his hand on yours.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Maybe. But maybe not. I don’t mean to be patronizing, Bridget, but you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. You can’t.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  I thought of Trevor, the billionaire. Daniel obviously has money, seeing as he just sent my sister thousands of dollars without a thought. But that money comes from Trevor and Trevor’s company … and who knows what kind of blacklist sabotage a company like Eros might keep under wraps for people like Daniel when they say too much.

  This time, Daniel came up on his elbow, looking at me earnestly, making me melt all over again.

  “It’s all just games. That’s what you need to understand. It isn’t real.”

  “What do you mean, ‘It isn’t real’? I don’t even know what to do with that.”

  “Just keep telling yourself that everything here is a game. Don’t take anything at face value.”

  “So mysterious.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t say more.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Everything is designed to provoke a response. But that means you can’t just accept it as meaning what it normally would. Like Trevor.”

  “What about Trevor?”

  “I think he likes you.”

  “It’s nice to be liked.”

  “I’m serious, Bridget. Don’t let him get close.”

  “I think I can resist, even if he gives me his best moves.” I smiled, but Daniel was straight faced.

  “Everyone thinks they have free will, but in the end, we don’t choose things the way we like to think. Not really.”

  That struck me as unnecessarily glib, so I laughed it off. “I chose you,” I told him.

  But Daniel just said, “Did you?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Daniel

  There are a few video confessional rooms along the gallery hallway. Every day, ideally twice or more, contestants are supposed to visit one and record that day’s thoughts. I’ve reviewed some of them myself — Kylie and Jessica for sure, given how they’ve lined up with Bridget — and had assistants review the rest. I get a voyeuristic thrill from Jessica’s confessions because she has a little bisexual crush on Bridget and sometimes talks about her in terms I appreciate. Kylie’s confessions, I watch mostly for analysis. But it’s armchair analysis, and all the biometrics are dumping into the database along with everything else we’ve collected. Everything that, as an undifferentiated mass of data, might make sense when it meets what Caspian White will be bringing. But it’s not like he’s coming to help. His GameStorming (and now LiveLyfe) dataset makes ours look microscopic. Alexa, as she’s started some bigger thinking, has been drooling over the possibilities for months.

  Jessica is along for a ride. Exactly the kind of girl this Trevor, if this were what we’re pretending, would want. She’s a good time, neither overly fazed by our freak show nor indifferent. She’s a good friend to Bridget, and I like that, too. And I like that I like it. Once upon a time, I was sure I’d enjoy Kylie’s opinions more.

  Now, I watch Kylie’s confessions with an unwanted chip on my shoulder. All she says about Bridget — things I anticipated agreeing with before this began, pumping my fist and silently telling Kylie to Go, girl in the good fight against her rival, now make me angry. I intended to hate our wild card. I figured she’d be ground through the gears of this machine whether she took it at face value or sensed the underlying purpose. It barely made a difference. It only mattered that she was humiliated, coerced, bent until she broke. But now, those are all things I fear.

  The same pressures I was so sure would weigh on Bridget, I’m still sure will weigh on her.

  She’s barely been humiliated, coerced, or bent toward breaking. But it can still happen.

  If Trevor has his eye on her, then I’ve got a problem. Because I can’t intervene the way I w
ant to without showing my true thoughts and intentions, or argue for the exclusion of someone I fought so hard to include back when I hated her guts.

  Things would be so much easier if I could still loathe her.

  I’ve watched Bridget’s video confessions, alongside the others. But they’re unsatisfying. I watch them like a needy fool, hoping to hear my name. Hoping she’ll fall under the spell and truly confess. I want to hear the other side of what we’re doing. When I take her, I want to hear her tell the camera how she felt being taken. When I touch her, I want to hear her tell the nonjudgmental lens how it all felt. I watch her confessions on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear of some transgression or another that I missed because I’m not constantly manning the cameras. I sit with clenched fists, waiting to hear that she’s surrendered to what everyone else — everyone but me — wants them all to succumb to.

  Dear diary: Today, Trevor kissed me.

  Dear diary: Today, I touched Trevor’s cock, just to see how it felt. I laughed when I did it, but it felt good, too, and later I masturbated thinking of having it inside me.

  Dear diary: Today I gave in. I had Trevor behind me, his dick in my ass because I just had to have it, even though I’ve never done that before. Tony in front of me, coming on my tongue in great hot spurts.

  Every video I watch, I’m irrationally sure I’ll hear her confess to something in the spirit of the contest. Something that, thanks to the experiment’s design, she wasn’t asked to do … and yet felt compelled to do anyway.

  I watch her videos, from her room. She goes to great lengths not to expose herself to the cameras. It’s probably not that she’s shy. It’s because she wants to fuck with us, and not let us see what we shouldn’t.

  Up on the cliff yesterday, Bridget came so hard and so fast, it’s clear she’s been pent up. Holding it in like a champion abstainer. There are no blind spots in Bridget’s room, and I somehow doubt she’s heading into the kitchen or onto the lawn to spread her legs and rub herself. So she’s simply waiting it out.