Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
My victory lasts as long as the first oyster, one cold, expensive swallow before everyone moves on to caviar and cocktails.
I nurse my drinks, keeping the buzz low enough to watch the laughter grow louder and the gestures more animated.
Beneath the surface something is loosening, a knot from which we’re dangling above whatever’s waiting for our fall.
If anyone else feels it, they’re drinking the awareness away. Maybe I’m wrong to keep my wits sharp. Since there’s no way to avoid what’s coming, I might be better off ensuring it arrives fuzzy.
Lobster bisque and heirloom tomato salads are replaced with Wagyu beef tenderloin and pan-seared sea bass, excess far beyond this group’s appetite.
Brad barely touches his food, but others have seconds and some thirds of each course.
I scoot my food around with a fork, keeping myself from enjoying the tantalizing flavors and eating my way closer to “playtime.” Even seated beside Jake, there’s no way to whisper questions about what’s coming, how to prepare, or where I can hide.
My best hope is to watch. I’ll step to the side when whatever happens happens, like everyone did during my first test.
Dessert never arrives.
One moment, a server is collecting my half-finished plate with the same serene invisibility they’ve maintained all night, and the next, Alistair sets his wineglass down with a soft click that carries because every conversation at the table has died.
The staff move faster, hurrying to make plates and crumbs vanish. Glasses are refreshed. By the time I realize their haste is so they can retreat out of sight, the deck has become a stage with Alistair at its center.
He smiles at us, cheeks flushed from wine and attention.
“Well,” he says, drawing the one-syllable word out until it has a full audience, “being that it’s our first night, I’m feeling generous. I need three volunteers.”
Several hands shoot up, and my stomach shrinks back behind my other organs.
Linus was first, but two others are practically wagging their arms through the air. Jake plays it cooler, his hand lifting with lazy confidence, like getting picked would be fun and not getting picked would be someone else’s loss.
Same as I’ve done all day, I start to follow his lead. Doing nothing feels like the fastest way to announce I don’t belong here, but Jake’s other hand catches my wrist beneath the table before I can raise it.
The move is smooth enough that nobody else catches it. His face stays turned toward Alistair, smile easy, hand still in the air, while his knuckles press into my thigh and his fingers lock around my wrist hard enough to make the warning clear.
Don’t.
For one hot second, I consider fighting him. I don’t want the next fucking test, and he knows that. I just don’t know how to avoid that happening.
Stick with me, replays in my head.
Across the table, Alistair’s gaze moves over the volunteers—most but not all of the guys—and I have the span of one breath to decide whether to listen to the man gripping my wrist or yank free and play my part.
I give in to his signal, and Jake’s grip loosens. He pats my wrist once, then pulls his warmth away.
Alistair hums to himself, enjoying the selection before he’s even made it. “Linus, sweetheart, you’ve been glowing all evening. Come here.”
Linus springs up with the bubbling excitement of a game show contestant.
“And Dae,” Alistair adds. Only Dae’s hand wasn’t raised, and my pulse spikes.
Brad’s fork hits his plate as Dae smiles and pushes back from the table. “Lucky me.”
“And…” Alistair’s attention drifts down the table, lingering too long in places that make my skin tighten.
Did he see what happened beneath the table? Is Alistair about to make me pay for the pin still on my shirt by proving Jake can’t save me?
“Evan,” he says at last, choosing the eager man sitting beside Jake.
The chosen three stand.
Applause breaks out, more befitting a vocal trio than whatever the fuck is about to happen. I clap half a second late and then too hard, trying to blend in while my pulse slams against my ribs.
A door opens behind us, and staff return with efficient silence.
Two of them carry heavy wooden chairs, high-backed things with arms and restraints worked so neatly into the design that they don’t register until the staff lift them onto the dinner table, set them facing each other, and start opening the straps.
Another rolls out a cart draped in black cloth.
The table shudders under the new weight, and my mind fills in possibilities while my back presses flat against my chair.
Linus whistles, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, she came prepared.”
Evan laughs, but Dae is too busy trying to play it cool while his jaw’s still hanging open. Dae didn’t volunteer. He threw his earlier test too, and I’d bet Alistair picked him because of it.
Alistair waves his people away, watching them disappear into the house. There’s nobody left on the torchlit deck but his inner circle, our collection of half-finished wineglasses, and two restraint chairs perched where a five-course meal sat sixty seconds ago.
If this counts as dessert, I’m sure Alistair considers it his finest course.
With his three selections standing before him and the rest of us still seated, he addresses the table first. “Everyone wants transformation,” he says.
“Very few people respect what it takes to get there. They want the body without hunger. Devotion without surrender. Power without discipline.” He gestures toward the chairs.
“Tonight is about restraint. Desire is easy. Control is what makes it useful.”
Through the legs of the closest chair, I catch one of the men leaning forward, excited, or playing the part well enough I can’t tell the difference.
Alistair turns to the three standing before him. “Which of you is feeling particularly generous?”
Dae stares back, and Evan shifts his weight like he’s trying to decide whether standing still is safer than the trap hidden in the question. Linus seems to spot the opportunity in their hesitation and shoots his hand up.
“Excellent,” Alistair says. “Linus, you’ll be giving. Evan. Dae. You’ll receive.”
Relief flashes across Evan’s face before twisting into dread.
Beside me, Jake reaches for his wine. The movement catches on my nerves, scraped raw enough to trigger on something as harmless as the man beside me raising his drink. His gaze stays on the volunteers as he takes a sip.
Around us, the others are settling deeper into their chairs or lifting their glasses, and though everyone remains angled toward Alistair and his volunteers, nobody’s as jumpy as I am.
This is entertainment, I realize, except no, that’s not right. It’s a test, and thanks to Jake, it isn’t mine.
I lift my wineglass to give my hands something to do, and the wine trembles against the crystal as I keep it in front of my face, absurdly aware I’m using something transparent as a shield.
Alistair rises and strolls toward the cart.
When he draws the black cloth away, leather, metal, glass, feathers, clips, and too many things with handles or cords catch the firelight in a single, horrible reveal.
The purpose of some pieces is obvious, but it’s clear enough what the cart holds from the way Linus’s mouth parts watching the instruments settle with a soft clatter.
Evan and Dae stare at the collection in silence, each taking slow, deliberate breaths.
Alistair smiles. “Linus, your second test is to give generously. Bring both men to the edge and keep them there until I’m satisfied.”
A ripple of laughter moves around the table, and my hands curl into fists beneath it.
“Our beautiful recipients,” Alistair continues, turning to Evan and Dae, “will do their best to withstand Linus’s generosity. Evan. Dae. Whoever comes first fails.” He turns his smile toward the rest of us. “Everyone else, enjoy the show.”