Chapter 10 Beck
Beck
Beck felt uncharacteristically adrift as he waited to board the shuttle bus.
Around him, other teams gleefully rehashed the snag round.
Forming bonds. Making friends. Exactly how he’d imagined his evening would go.
But Sierra was leaning against the studio wall, arms crossed and scowling.
Carter was scrolling through social media feeds—she’d been quiet since her post-round interview with Fitzy.
She looked different, too, having changed out of her fancy clothes into a faded Mathletes sweatshirt. Adi was staring into the distance.
Or—not into the distance, Beck realized. His attention was on a vivid pink BMW parked on the side of the street. A slip of paper flapped beneath a windshield wiper.
“Sweet car,” said Beck, as the shuttle door opened, welcoming the contestants aboard. “Think it belongs to the executive producer? Or maybe Fitzy?”
Adi pulled his gaze away. “No clue,” he said, hiking his backpack onto a shoulder and climbing onto the bus. “But it’s already got a parking ticket. If they don’t fill the meter, it’s gonna get towed.”
Beck and Carter followed. Carter slumped onto a seat and let her forehead fall against one of the windows. Adi sat behind her.
When Sierra boarded, she didn’t even look at them as she walked past and claimed the entire back row.
As the bus pulled away from the studio, Beck could hear Adi muttering things like, “Ceiling. Collagen. Analgesic. Angel. Analogies.” Beck wanted to ask what he was doing, but each of his teammates was giving off don’t talk to me vibes, so he held his tongue, enormously disappointed with how this whole day was going.
Sierra was his biggest concern. The winning team is the one that has the best chemistry. More than a clue, it was the truth, and she should’ve learned that last season. Yet there she sat. Meeting every curious gaze with a challenging stare as the shuttle wound its way through LA’s crowded streets.
The right thing to do would be to move and sit next to her. Try to make peace. If he was stuck with her, it was in his best interest to reach a truce.
Except, Beck was sort of terrified. What was Sierra’s game plan? Was there a game plan? Surely she had one. She couldn’t expect to win if they didn’t work together.
Beck had almost convinced himself to talk to her when the shuttle bus pulled into a small complex. A paved roundabout led to six sandstone units that surrounded a courtyard with a bright blue pool in the middle, shaded by palm trees.
An overly chipper pair in their twenties climbed aboard. They were in polo shirts and cargo pants, looking like volunteer tour guides at a zoo. The guy was southeast Asian, with a mop of unruly brown hair.
Elijah, Sierra’s team leader from last season.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Everyone fell silent, twisting their heads to stare at Sierra, whose toxic glare was on the guy. “What are you doing here?”
Elijah’s serene smile remained fixed in place. A little too rehearsed. “Afternoon,” he said to the group. “Yes, I’m another former contestant returning this season. Ranielle Russell suggested I stay on to support the new recruits.”
Sierra guffawed.
Elijah continued as if he hadn’t heard. “This is Lisa.” He gestured to the pretty girl next to him. Her olive-green glasses were a contrast against her black skin, her curls short enough to frame her face.
“Heya. We’re your resident advisors, or RAs,” she said in a Southern drawl.
“If you have a problem, come to one of us. Our unit is closest to the dining hall. You’ve signed an agreement to follow the rules—any drugs, alcohol, or other illegal contraband will mean automatic disqualification from the show and a ticket home.
No visitors unless it’s parents or guardians.
No leaving the grounds without signing in and out. ”
Elijah referred to the tablet in his hand. “When we call your names, come and get the keys to your unit. Your luggage is already inside. Dinner is served from five to seven in the dining hall; after that, you’re on your own.”
He read out the names, one team at a time.
Beck’s team was called last. He took the keys and stepped off the bus, noticing Elijah move as far back as possible as Sierra passed him. She bared her teeth like a wild animal before jumping down the steps to the ground.
“Okay,” Beck said, spinning the key ring on his finger. “Let’s go, team!”
“Urk,” Sierra said under her breath.
Beck led the way to the villa on the other side of the pool.
As promised, their luggage was waiting inside the door—Beck’s zippy weekender; Sierra’s battered red suitcase; Carter’s matching carry-on, tote, and garment bags, all purple, all neatly clipped together.
Adi’s duffel was squashed beneath them. He yanked it out—it looked unusually heavy, like it was filled with bricks or something—and went straight to the front bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sierra stood at the lounge window. Her attention was on Elijah, who was leaning against the pool gate, conversing with some of the other contestants. Beck thought things might’ve changed between them after finding her sister’s body.
Obviously not.
“Those are new,” she grumbled.
“What are?” Beck said, startled she was speaking to him. Though she might have been talking to herself.
“Security cameras.” She gave a sardonic chuckle. “What a novel idea.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s nice to have . . . security?”
She cast him an irritated look.
His cheeks flamed. “I’m gonna make tea. Anyone want some?”
Carter paused in her effort to drag her luggage to the second bedroom. “Sure! That’d be great.”
Relieved to have an excuse to escape Sierra’s hostile glare, he walked around the island that separated the kitchen from the sitting room and pulled out a tray of assorted teas and Keurig cups. “We’ve got Earl Grey, chamomile, peppermint . . . Wait, let me check if there’s mil—”
The word shriveled in his throat as he yanked open the fridge door. The thick, metallic stench of blood hit his nose.
A heart—a real heart—sat on the fridge’s middle shelf. A kitchen knife was sticking out of it, a piece of paper skewered higher on the blade.
Without a plate to sit on, the blood made a puddle across the shelf that oozed into the crisper drawer beneath.
A body pressed up beside Beck, so close he yelped.
Sierra gave him an amused smirk and grabbed the knife. It pulled free from the organ with a squelch.
“That’s a new low,” she said, sliding off the note and showing it to Beck.
WE GET WHAT WE DESERVE
It was written in fat red marker.
“Isn’t—” Beck gulped and tried again. “Isn’t that what was written—”
“On my sister’s coffin?” Sierra’s tone was mild. “Yeah. All chicken-scratch caps like that, too.”
“And that’s . . .” He looked at the mess in the fridge.
“Cow heart. Easy to get at any butcher.” She added lightly, “High in zinc.”
Why wasn’t she more freaked out by this?
Psychopath.
Sierra tossed the knife into the sink and tore the note into pieces. “Welcome to reality television.”
“Sorry . . . what? But—but they don’t film in the villas.”
“Doesn’t stop them from playing with you like a wild cat toying with its prey.” Sierra let the note pieces flutter into the trash. “That’s what they do here. Prepare yourself for an absolute mindfuck.”
Beck furrowed his brow. “Don’t they want us on top of our game?”
“Aren’t you adorably naive.” Turning away, she pulled a satchel out of her suitcase and walked toward the front door. “You might want to clean that up. Some contestants got food poisoning last season. It would be a shame for it to happen again.”
Then she was gone.
Beck went in search of disinfectant. He wasn’t a squeamish person.
His family had raised cattle for generations before the ranch was sold, and he was no stranger to butcher floors and meat cellars.
It didn’t bother him to pick up the organ and throw it in the trash, or to mop up the juices with paper towels.
If anything, he was irritated more by the wastefulness.
An animal had lost its life for this insipid prank. The thought made his teeth grind.
Was it to throw Sierra off her game? Or had the threat been meant for all of them?
He couldn’t fathom who would do such a thing, or why.
His mind kept circling back to Elijah, who despised Sierra. He had keys to the villa and plenty of opportunity to sneak inside. Plus, he’d seen the message in Alicia’s coffin up close.
But there was no obvious motive. He wasn’t a contestant this season. He didn’t have stakes in this game.
Laser focus.
That irked Beck more than anything as he scrubbed.
He couldn’t afford to lose focus. And if he was stuck with Sierra Angelos, then he’d have to find a way to make it work.
“I wish she’d chosen a bed before she left.”
Beck stood next to Carter in the doorway of the second bedroom.
The room was minimally decorated, with white comforters on twin beds, a vase of yellow roses on a desk, and a framed reproduction of one of Monet’s water lily paintings on the wall.
The only thing that looked out of place were the prisonlike bars on the window, disrupting the view of the pinkening sky.
It was an unnerving reminder of what had happened last season.
Carter looked at Beck, her voice strained as she added, “What if I accidentally choose the one she wants?”
“She doesn’t strike me as the type to care,” Beck assured her. “Why don’t you just pick one, and then we can see what’s in those?”
He gestured to the large black tote bags at the foot of each bed. He would’ve loved to dive into one himself, but he didn’t want to disturb Adi, who’d already fallen asleep in the other room.
Carter moved toward the bed near the window, then hesitated. “Do you think she’d want a view? Or maybe there’s a draft there, and she’d be too cold?”
“Carter,” Beck said, “if she’s cold, she can add a blanket. Really.”
“Easy for you to say,” Carter grumbled. “Your roommate isn’t likely to kill you in your sleep.”