Chapter Fourteen
Phoebe
THE BADGER GAME (CONTINUED)
At this abandoned lot with a boarded-up gas station, I wait with Rocky, Nova, and two other potential initiates: Claire and Kendra. Snow crunches under my feet near the broken gas pumps, and I hug my pink puffer jacket around my body.
Nova pushes the bridge of his horn-rimmed glasses. They’re actually prescription since his vision is awful, but with the style of glasses Rocky picked for him and the trench coat, he resembles a buff nerdy TA. Someone of importance, yet meek.
“It’s so cold,” Claire says with chattering teeth, rubbing her mittens together. I notice how she tries to grab Rocky’s attention, but he purposefully ignores her.
He’s playing Candy Crush on his phone.
“You want my scarf?” I ask, already taking off the classic taupe Burberry scarf.
“Really?” Her eyes light up.
“Yeah, it’s kinda warm for me.” I like the bite of the cold. My mind is alert and less at ease, and sometimes it’s better to be on edge. I’m not all altruistic. Partly, this also helps me have an ally going into initiation.
“Thank you so much.” Claire wraps the fabric around her pale neck that’s patchy red from the cold.
Kendra slips me a tiny smile, and I send one back. Her fiery red hair cascades out of a purple pom beanie, and her parka seems warm.
Not even five minutes later, a van rolls up to the gas station, exhaust pumping from the pipes. I glance warily to Rocky (aka my fake brother).
He straightens up and slides his phone in a long black peacoat.
No one exits the van.
Shit.
I breathe hard out of my nose, my breath smoking the air.
“What’s taking so long?” Claire asks.
They know Nova shouldn’t be here. Whoever is in the driver’s seat has to be counting five heads when there should only be four.
Taking matters into his own hands, Rocky strides to the passenger door. He knocks on the window. It slides midway down. He speaks for maybe a minute. No more than two. He’s being handed a phone, and all I hear is Rocky’s end.
“I know. He’s cool. Childhood friend.” Rocky laughs into the phone. “I know, I know. It is like that, isn’t it?” Pause. “Don’t go easy, man. Do your worst. I wouldn’t want anything less.”
Do your worst.
I’m antsy, and I retie my hair into a messy pony.
Once Rocky returns the phone to whoever is in the van, the window ascends, and my fake brother takes a few steps away from the vehicle.
Cloaked in a dark green robe, a person emerges from the passenger side. A hood is shrouding their hair, and a smooth gold mask conceals their face. I notice a firefly broach on the robe and silk cloths in their hand.
“Line up,” the masculine voice says. “Turn around.”
Yep, melodramatic.
I want to say that I hate every minute of this, but I’m forcing down the urge to full-on beam.
We do as we’re told, and the cloaked figure comes behind each of us, tying the cloths around our heads.
I’m blindfolded.
Erotic? The anticipation races my pulse, and the thrill of the mystery and tonight’s con is a heady, exhilarating mixture I’m guzzling. Without word, we’re whisked into the van and off to the next location.
Once we’re all piled out and directed in total darkness, my heeled boots clank on what sounds like cement or marble. The temperature lowers as we descend at least ten stairs. Colder... until we reach some type of opening, and a sudden heat bathes my cheeks.
Hands rest on my shoulders, halting me. A second passes, or two. Scary. I smile a little. Okay, I can admit that secret societies can be cool in their drama and clandestine spookiness. The Skulls might have been panned by critics, but I’ve always loved that movie. And I’m starting to feel like I’m on a set.
I wonder if my mom knew I’d enjoy this more than a sorority.
“I’m Number One.” That smooth bravado belongs to Matthew Wentworth. I recognize his prickish voice already. “The five of you have been granted a gift. Only the brightest and worthiest ever reach this stage, and if you succeed here tonight, you will wield and protect all the secrets of the Firefly Club, as every member has done before you since 1786.”
“Seventeen eighty-six,” people chant.
I smooth my lips to withhold a grin.
The Firefly Club isn’t as secretive as they’d like to believe. I’ve already done my homework and learned that there are ten active members—two of which were elated to spill the beans to me about Matthew and company—so I imagine Number One goes to Number Ten.
“This is your final test. You may remove your blindfolds.”
After untying the silk cloth, I scope out the candlelit cellar. A wine cellar. Behind the ten robed Firefly members, wine barrels disappear into the dark depths of the cavernous space. The circle of candles they’ve lit around us flame against the dank walls and crated bottles. Waxy residue drips onto the stone floor, and I notice the other initiates inspecting our new surroundings, too.
Rocky is beside me on my left, hanging at a protective distance that a brother would, and Nova is right next to him like a close childhood friend. On my right, Claire is still shivering, and Kendra keeps to herself on the end.
Number One (aka Matthew Prick) is the only Firefly member wearing red. The scarlet cloak makes his ashy white neck and hands look pallid in the light. With all their hoods drawn and gold masks on their faces, I can’t really distinguish who the others are.
I stifle asking them which one is the unfortunate Number Two.
One thing I know—every Firefly Club initiation is different. It’s designed to push boundaries. I’m hoping this is mostly Fear Factor style, and they bring out plates of worms for us to eat. But I know it’d be better for the con if it’s something worse.
Do your worst.
Rocky has already started provoking him, but I still don’t totally understand how this will play out. Because Rocky needs to maintain a trusting friendship with Matthew. Even by the very end. He can’t feel slighted.
He can’t be pissed.
Scarlet-cloaked Matthew parades himself in front of the other members. He walks the short line of initiates. “And so we begin.” His blue eyes flash through the holes of his mask, skimming the five of us, but when he lands on me, he lingers with a gleam.
He’s going to test Rocky through me. He knows we’re brother and sister.
I can already feel this switching into not-so-fun territory.
“All of you,” Matthew says, thankfully referring to every initiate and not singling me out yet. “Take off your jackets. Set them behind you.”
I shed my pink puffer.
Rocky strips off his black peacoat with a grin. He eyes the space like this is cool shit. There is absolutely no way he’s truly entertained by Matthew’s display of dominance. It would naturally irk Rocky. But I wonder what he’s really thinking, and sometimes I wish I had a front row seat inside his brain during our jobs.
“Shirts and pants next,” Matthew decrees.
Claire balks. “Seriously?”
“Do as he says, roach,” a green-robed figure pipes in.
Roach? I guess we’re cockroaches until we become fireflies.
Rocky avoids eye contact with me. And I sheepishly look away from him while I shed my pink top. Though I can’t see Matt’s mouth through the mask, his blue eyes are grinning at me.
Fuck you, I want to shout.
With pissed off haste, I start unbuttoning my jeans.
I’m happy that Rocky is blocking my view of Nova and my brother’s view of me. Both guys quickly strip down, and I try to squash the desire to peek at Rocky’s ass and how the boxer briefs mold his package.
Do not look.
Kendra follows my pace and sheds her long-sleeved shirt.
Claire is gaping at me like this is unbelievable, but I shrug, trying to be encouraging. A pit forms in my stomach, knowing she’s sort of caught in the cross fire tonight. I’m sorry. This initiation can’t be easy, but Rocky was the one supposed to be in the driver’s seat as a Firefly member dictating what Oliver does. I was just supposed to advocate for Rocky.
This isn’t how we wanted it to be.
Claire more reluctantly pulls off her blouse.
Matthew walks the line of initiates again, but this time, he makes an elaborate show of stopping in front of me.
Rocky is starting to feign confusion.
I narrow a glare on Matthew. His pompous eyes hover over my breasts, pushed up in a lacy white bra that leaves little to the imagination. My matching panties ride high on my hips, and I pretend to be virginal and shy and hide my bare stomach.
Claire takes a tense breath beside me.
And I’m glad she’s okay.
At least he’s only looking at me.
A tracker is stitched in the lining of my bra, and the only thing I need to ensure is that he doesn’t grab my boob. Which I sincerely thought would be unlikely.
Yet, here we are. With this sleazebag pretending to be Mr. Hotshot. The difference between him and us—we don’t believe in these delusions.
“Abigail Miller,” Matthew says my fake name. “Take off your bra.”
“Come on, man,” Rocky tells him lightly with raised brows. “That’s my sister.” A threat lingers in his deep voice, but then he laughs into his next words. “Be a little more creative.”
He’s not just my fake brother tonight, but a vile asshole of a fake brother.
Matthew laughs, skin stretching at his eyes. He must be smirking. “You have my word, roach.” I keep my bra on.
He snaps his fingers. Firefly members come forward with trays of shots.
A fear of mine is now unlocked. I’ve maintained a massive fear of being drugged since I was a little kid and my mom drilled into me the horrors of roofies.
The clear liquid resembles vodka, but it could be laced with GHB.
“Oh, I’m allergic,” Claire poorly lies, her breath hitched.
“Take the damn shot, roach!”
I put the shot between my lips. Pretending to down the shot, I cough hard and roughly, and while they’re watching me hack, I buckle over and pour the vodka onto my coat behind me.
Rocky and Nova have other sleight-of-hand tricks, but I can’t watch them fake the shot.
“Swallow, roach,” Matthew tells me.
I swallow and grimace.
“On your knees!”
All five of us obey, and another Firefly member emerges with a wooden paddle.
Okay, this is kinky.
While our asses are paddled one by one, Matthew crouches down to me and reaches toward my face. I flinch a little, but that hardly dissuades him from going in. He tugs my hair tie.
And the long tendrils of my hair spill out around my cheeks. He twirls a dyed-black strand around his finger. I bite my tongue to keep from spitting in his face.
“All fours,” Matthew tells me as the Firefly member finishes Claire’s spanking and reaches me.
Placing my palms on the cold stone, I remain on all fours and try to focus on the ground, but Matthew pinches my chin and forces me to look at him.
The paddle strikes my ass with a light smack.
I try not to smile. It’s not terrible. Could be a lot worse.
“Harder,” Matthew instructs.
The next whack jostles my body forward, and the sting burns my skin.
“Again,” Matthew says.
As I’m spanked once, twice, three times, arousal builds from the stinging pressure, and I imagine Rocky watching. He shouldn’t be—he’s my fake brother tonight. But the idea that he could be pulses a need, and my pussy throbs.
On the fourth spank, when I begin to refocus on the mark, my head floats away from my body. And then Matthew—with his ugly little hand gripping my chin—he tries to rotate my head toward my fake brother.
I fight against him. “You’re sick,” I sneer.
“Look at him.”
Rocky can’t protest too much, and reluctantly, I set my scorching gaze on him. He’s looking away while the paddle strikes my ass with force. I jolt forward, breathing hard. That’s leaving a welt.
“Look at her,” Matthew says to a kneeling Rocky.
I see the tic of his jaw muscle. I see his nose nearly flare. He tries to maintain composure, and like a lever is flipped, he lets out a dazzling laugh, one that glimmers his gunmetal eyes. “You think I care about her? This is nothing,” Rocky says.
The next smack is more painful than the others. Like the paddle shot-putted my heart a million feet out of my body, I feel hollowed hearing him say that out loud.
Until Rocky looks at me.
His eyes aren’t his eyes. They belong to Cole Miller, but he’s in there. With his tensed jaw and the slight dark crinkle of his brow, Rocky is in there, and my pulse beats again, at a fast rhythm I like and need.
Matthew is watching Rocky watch me get spanked. The power play is disgusting. I hope we’re the first this secret society has done this to, but it’s hard to believe we could be. After what happens tonight, maybe we will be the last.
And thank God Rocky isn’t my actual brother. I’m banking on the idea that Nova is tuning this out on the other side of him.
“Harder,” Matt orders.
Rocky’s lip twitches in rage, just barely.
With a hard whack, the paddle pushes me forward again, and I curse under my breath. Matthew holds my face upright, so I won’t look away from Rocky. Jesus.
I’m smacked. Jostled. Incredibly aroused each time Rocky and I lock eyes. My heat pulsates like a heartbeat between my legs. Each low thump just reminds me that I would rather be turned on than feel the nothingness crawl into me. But I’m thankful no one can see my arousal. My wet panties are the only evidence.
Rocky clenches his jaw. He has to rub his mouth and pretend to slightly smile like it’s hilarious, but I see past that. I see him gripping onto his willpower and struggling not to end this here.
Whack. That one hurt, and not in a good way. I lurch forward, and Rocky almost reaches out to me. No. We have this in the bag. We’ve come this far. We’re okay.
“Harder,” Matthew orders again.
I’m smacked so hard, my arms buckle beneath me, and I fall on my chest.
“Stop,” Claire cries out. “You’re hurting her.”
“I’m okay.” I breathe sharply, not wanting her to capture any heat. “Really, I’m fine.” Now my elbows throb and my ass burns.
“Satisfied?” Rocky asks with a slanted, cocky grin.
Matthew finally distances himself from me. “Next.”
After the paddles, I’m no longer the center of Matthew’s obsession, and more tasks are doled out in a frenzy. Firefly members pour freezing buckets of water over our heads. Animal blood is smeared on our faces. Run-of-the-mill hazing that has Kendra vomiting after being told to down a cement-mixer shot and has Claire silently weeping and shivering.
Any minute now, our fifth should be barreling through the wine cellar so we can finally pull the rope. My wet hair sticks to my cheeks, and the biting chill from the ice water and the dank cellar is pounding my temples.
I hug my arms around my shaking body.
“Stop,” Nova snaps and spits out a cement-mixer shot someone tries to force in his mouth.
I swing my head in his direction. He wipes his lips roughly with the back of his hand. The curdling mixture of milky Baileys and acidic lime would make anyone puke.
“Take the shot, roach!” Matthew shouts.
Rocky is on his feet and laughing, animal blood streaked on his cheeks and abs. “It’s not that big of a deal, man. It’s a shot.” He says it like it’s child’s play. “Give it to me.” He motions with his fingers, biding time for our fifth to show.
“Another, roach,” a Firefly member orders, busy funneling shots to Kendra, even after she puked. Her eyes look glassy.
“She’s already drunk,” I snap at him.
Matthew hears us. “No more shots.” He raises a hand to the Firefly members, and they fall back behind him. “On your feet, roaches—you two only.” He addresses Rocky and me.
Rocky is already standing, but I pick myself up, cold puddles beneath my bare feet.
Matthew laughs while eyeing my body, and I’m not the fucking dummy here. After being drenched with water, my white panties and bra have become see-through. He tips his head to Rocky. “Your sister has nice tits.”
Nova is a brick wall. He’s scowling at his feet. Unmoving.
It takes Rocky the longest second to answer Matthew. With a level tone, he asks, “What do you want, Matt?”
“Number One,” he corrects.
Rocky just forces a smile.
“You like your sister, roach?” Matthew wonders.
“She’s my sister.”
I breathe harder like I’m being hunted, and most of the nauseous anticipation is real. I have no idea what Matthew is doing, and our fifth is late. He should be here.
With a cock of his head toward me, Matthew suddenly says, “Kiss her.”