22
The Brazilian, Laura, puffing from the run, delves into her bag to pull out her water bottle, having just reached me and blurted out the answer to the puzzle.
Right beside her the Italian rests with her hands on her knees after racing the Brazilian down the mountainside. As we wait, more and more of the contestants hurtle towards me to shout out the answer, ensuring they’re safe from elimination.
The winner, of course, will enjoy a coveted date with me.
Coveted, it seems, by all but one contestant.
It was clear as day as I’d watched Catriona and Laura run from the trees that Catriona had pulled herself up as she hit the beach.
If I’d been watching a horse race I would have said she was deliberately hobbled, the race obviously rigged.
At first, though, I hadn’t realised who I was watching, because she was wearing a white bikini.
‘How has she changed clothes? Did she? Did I imagine she was wearing red when she left? No, I have the image of her in that swimsuit seared into my brain. Who wouldn’t? No doubt I’ll learn all about it as the rest of the competitors arrive.’
As directed, I verbally acknowledge the Brazilian as the winner and catch the eye of Catriona as she raises her head and grins before fading back among the other competitors. Most, if not all, stand catching their breath and laughing in relief at having survived the first major challenge.
‘She obviously hadn’t wanted to come last, but she also hadn’t fought to be first. Smart. The winner has a target on them, and she’s always under the radar. Still, it would be to her benefit to get to know me. And I have a great many questions for her. Is that what she’s avoiding?’
I turn my attention swiftly from the Italian to Laura as the Brazilian model shrieks, dropping her bag and holding her hand to her heart.
Frowning, I step back, as do all the contestants, as a rattlesnake slithers from her backpack and makes for the trees.
Crying out, she falls to her knees holding her wrist where the serpent had quite obviously bitten her.
Kneeling down I place my hands upon her shoulders to support and comfort her.
“Laura! Gerry, get her some aid.”
‘Cut!’
Seemingly unconcerned by a dying contestant, Gerry shakes his head.
“Viscount, I know this is difficult for you, but the rules of The Game are very clear. No medical aid can be administered until a competition is over. We’re still waiting for at least four more contestants.”
I glare at him, and he swallows hard before stepping back behind the cameras and signalling for them to start rolling again.
“And…Action!”
Turning back, I consider Laura as she sobs and moans, a low keen emanating from her beautiful, long throat. She has about six hours before the venom will kill her, if she’s lucky.
‘Fuck this shit!’
Tearing off my shirt I rip it into strips and bind it firmly from her wrist to shoulder to slow the venom, before taking her hand in mine and holding her agonised gaze as her heartbeat races to a crescendo.
“Be calm,” I murmur, “we’ll get you the help you need, but you must remain calm.”
“It hurts, it hurts,” she cries, leaning in and sobbing against my bare chest.
I know this shot will be gold for Gerry, but I embrace her as she shudders. It’s one thing to know all these women will be killed, it’s another to stand by helpless as one dies in agony.
“How the hell did a snake get into her backpack?” Cherry asks petulantly from nearby.
“I said I hated snakes,” Miranda, the Australian, quips. “I never said I didn’t know how to manage them.”
My head snaps up and I stare at her.
‘Christ, this fucking game!’