Chapter Five
Valerie was still in a state of shock.
Two weeks after getting back from Season Seven, she’d been innocently sipping a matcha latte at a waterfront café in Fort Lauderdale when a woman had walked straight up to her and thrown a cup of mango juice directly over her head.
“You quit the final challenge,” she’d hissed so venomously that Valerie had barely noticed the thick pulp drip down the bridge of her nose.
She’d driven home with her hands shaking on the steering wheel.
It turned out the woman was Margaret’s cousin, a woman drowning in debt who had pinned all her financial hopes on Margaret winning the million-dollar prize.
But the humiliation had been instant. Valerie had felt like Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel getting hurled with slushies in the school hallway. And for weeks afterward, she’d spent every public outing scanning the crowds for more haters. As it turned out, most of her haters preferred to hate online.
Even so, that mango-juice ambush felt less shocking than seeing Adrienne raise her hand and declare a swap. And not just any swap. It was a swap for Valerie. Which, frankly, had made her feel like livestock at an auction. Like she was a blue-ribbon heifer traded off to the highest bidder.
Adrienne cleared her throat.
For the last fifteen minutes, Vivian had reiterated the rules while the camera crew repositioned themselves.
She had also reminded everyone of the survival guide, which this season meant watching a YouTube video in their hotel rooms. In it, a sunburnt Greek man named Kostas, wearing a faded olive fishing vest, explained which animals on the island were dangerous and which were not, including the nose-horned viper and the weever fish.
Through all of it, Valerie had refused to make eye contact.
But she could only look at the pebbled sand for so long.
When she finally looked up, well, shit, Adrienne was watching her.
Her eyes were the color of denim. Her honey-brown hair was still damp from the sea and somehow stuck glamorously to her neck.
And the white linen shirt Valerie had watched flap around Adrienne like a loose sail was gone.
All that was left was a pair of white shorts and a black triangle bikini holding breasts that were far too plump to be contained.
“I think we should probably address the elephant in the room,” Adrienne said.
“Yes, we should,” Valerie agreed, because surely hijacking someone else’s partner was a massive elephant in a tiny bathroom.
Before Valerie could even open her mouth, Adrienne gestured to Sienna with a tilt of her head. “How does it work with your wife being the host?”
Oh. That elephant.
Sienna tucked an auburn strand behind her ear and smiled.
“The same way it does if she weren’t my wife,” she said.
“I’m here to play the game like everyone else.
There will be no favoritism. No advantages.
” She held firm against Adrienne’s gaze.
Good for her. Valerie would’ve snapped ages ago. “Does it bother anyone?”
It didn’t bother Valerie. She was more bothered by the sweat gathering beneath her sports bra and in other unfortunate places.
And it didn’t bother anyone else for that matter.
There were a few shrugs, a few mumbled “doesn’t bother me.
” Adrienne, however, seemed to disagree.
Her lower lip curled. But she didn’t say anything, and Valerie would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved.
The easiest way to be at the bottom at the first Sending was to swim against the current.
“Now that’s settled, should we do some introductions?” the woman with the tattoo sleeves said. She didn’t wait for anyone to agree or object. “I’m Eden Flores. I’m thirty-nine and I work as an ER nurse at Valley Memorial in Phoenix.”
Then a woman with smoldering, smoky eyes lifted a hand. “I’m Carmen Cohen. I’m thirty-three and I am a poker player.” She winked, and everyone knew what that meant... Carmen was a Sinner if there ever was one.
Tamera went next. Valerie only knew her name because she was her original partner.
That was until Adrienne swooped in like a falcon.
“I’m Tamera Andrews,” she said, her accent unmistakably Australian.
“I’m a professional volleyball player, and I represented Australia at the Olympics two years ago.
We won gold in beach volleyball. It was probably the second-best day of my life. ”
Adrienne parted her lips, and Valerie could see the question coming. If you’re Australian, why are you on an American reality series?
It seemed so did Tamera because the next moment she added, “The first best was marrying my wife. She’s American and we’ve been living in Santa Monica for the last ten years. We met at my first-ever Olympics.”
Adrienne shut her mouth, and Valerie felt a satisfaction develop hotly in her stomach.
“I’m Isla Stone,” Isla said, going next.
Valerie had recognized her immediately when she’d trudged up from the surf.
Although she looked different. Gone was the stick frame, the supermodel body.
She was softer everywhere the body curved, including her face.
She was even more beautiful in person. “I’m sure you all recognize me from the first season where I was voted out in a blindside, and then again in Season Five when I broke my ankle and ended up in hospital with a concussion. ”
Valerie nodded.
Isla had to be the most well-known Outlast Her contestant in all of history.
Probably even the favorite, despite never winning.
If there were one other person back on this show for redemption, it would be Isla.
Valerie would have to keep a close eye on her.
They were the only two returning players, and she’d be a fool not to acknowledge the huge bullseye on their backs.
“Maybe it’s third time lucky,” said a woman with gold-rimmed glasses. She smoothed her hands down the front of her khaki shorts, then adjusted the frames nervously. “My name is Amy,” she added. “I’m from Oklahoma and I work as a librarian in Broken Arrow.”
Valerie had guessed it.
“And I also write steamy romance novels in my spare time.”
Valerie most certainly had not guessed that. She was just about to ask Amy for a book title when Adrienne stepped forward. Literally.
“I’m Adrienne Vale,” Adrienne said, flicking a few locks of wet hair behind her shoulder.
For a moment Valerie found herself back at The Valentine, standing on that deck as Adrienne walked up the gangway.
Valerie had nearly lost herself in Adrienne’s cheekbones, and if she had to be honest, lost herself in a lot more than just that.
Part of the reason she was standing on this beach was because of Adrienne.
“I’m thirty-five and from New York,” Adrienne said. “Though I spend most of my time in Europe. My family owns a few hotels overseas, and I help them with their marketing.”
Help them with marketing? Really?
Adrienne’s family probably had a net worth of a gazillion.
There was absolutely no universe in which Adrienne ‘helped’ anyone.
Valerie felt the need to call her out, because why not just be honest about who she was?
But calling her out meant putting Adrienne in the line of fire and therefore Valerie too.
She refused to be tied to the same burning stake.
It appeared Adrienne knew this. The smile she gave Valerie was unsettling.
“I’m Niko,” a woman with a wolf cut said, going next. She waved a hand and smiled. “I work in LA as a celebrity hairstylist. The most famous client I’ve worked with is Sandra Bullock, but I unfortunately can’t tell you any secrets because I’m bound by an NDA.”
“I love Sandra,” said a woman with cropped auburn hair.
Valerie had spotted a burn curling up the side of her neck, pink and shiny beneath the sun.
“My name’s Hallie and I’m a firefighter with Portland Fire and Rescue.
” Then she touched her neck with her fingertips.
“Got this baby two weeks into the job. Apartment fire. Don’t worry, I’ve gotten a lot better at putting fires out.
Unfortunately for all of us, not so much at starting them. ”
There were a few laughs.
Right then, a gull swept low over their heads before it banked toward the cliffs. Nearly every head followed to where it settled on the twisted branches of a wind-bent olive tree growing out of the rocks. Every head turned except Adrienne’s. She was still staring at Valerie.
Valerie shrugged off the chill and opened her mouth to introduce herself. But then a woman with shaggy black hair wearing a faded Wishbone Ash T-shirt beat her to it.
“I’m Stevie,” she said, “I am a student at UCLA majoring in film studies.” She kicked a pebble with her Doc Martens.
Valerie wondered how she’d swum to shore with those because they were basically blocks of concrete weights strapped to her feet.
“I also play the drums in a band called The Tampons, and last spring we toured the East Coast.”
Valerie’s mother believed that absolutely every word in the English language could be used to make up the name of a band. It appeared that she was correct.
“Safiya,” a woman with blonde hair cut to her shoulders said. “I’m twenty-nine and from Colorado. I work for a nonprofit that helps women get out of abusive relationships.”
“That’s good work you do,” Eden said. Then, in the same no-nonsense manner as before, she clapped her hands. “Now that’s everyone, should we get started on the shelter?”
It was obvious she was taking the reins, and Valerie was glad for it. Someone had to do it. Although that someone usually never made it to the final Sending. For some reason, leaders never won. It was an Outlast Her fact.
At Eden’s command, everyone scattered momentarily, then grouped together in their pairs. Almost everyone.
Valerie watched Adrienne walk down to the beach.
When she reached the water’s edge where the waves frothed around her feet, she shrugged off her shorts and tossed them over her shoulder onto the sand.
Against Valerie’s will, she found her eyes tracing the impossibly long, golden line of Adrienne’s legs.
Then her gaze moved up, following the curve of her spine to her perfectly symmetrical shoulder blades.
“You’re going to have to watch out for her,” Eden said, stepping up beside Valerie.
She folded her arms across her chest. The flowers tattooed on her forearms were joined by somewhat accurate anatomical sketches of a beautifully rendered clavicle, the delicate bones of a hand, and the chambers of a heart shaded in fine black ink.
“I can already tell she’s trouble.”
Valerie nodded, tearing her eyes from the shoreline with surprising difficulty.
The way Adrienne had just dove under the waves and emerged, only to flick her hair back like she was in a slow-motion shampoo commercial, had woken up something between Valerie’s legs she would prefer to keep sleeping.
Besides, Eden was right. Adrienne was trouble.
And worst of all, she might just be the reason Valerie would get voted out of this game.