Chapter 17 #2
I try conjuring the kind of person who’d willingly participate in this and get caught waffling between the ocean breeze and the twisted coercion.
We pass under a breezeway, and a server offers champagne like we’re royalty. We exchange our beers for full glasses. I wait for Jake to drop his guard before continuing, already more comfortable with him than I should be.
“And we’re not supposed to talk about any of this?”
Jake clinks his glass to mine. “You’re not supposed to get caught talking about it.”
A helpless one-note laugh slips through my cover as a knot ties between my shoulder blades.
The layers to me not needing to get caught just keep stacking.
Don’t get caught talking about the game, or being undercover, or for god’s sake, don’t get caught in whatever Alistair is planning for my second test.
Jake’s waiting for an explanation, and I give him the simplest one.
“I’m thinking about tonight. How worried should I be?”
“Well, unfortunately for you,” he says, “it’s unlikely you’ll get your second test tonight, which means you’ll be witnessing someone else’s.”
“Unfortunately?” I ask, and his face quirks enough that I realize I’ve misspoken.
Jake wants the next test. They all do. They want to pass three tests as fast as possible and get out of dodge. That makes a lot more sense than hanging out here—not on the island, but in the game—and I recalibrate.
“I mean last night kind of fucked with my head, and I’d love a night off.”
He nods, like that makes sense, but nothing makes sense.
“Alistair likes anticipation almost as much as he likes control. You just had your first test. Probably safe to assume he’ll point the spotlight at someone else tonight.”
“Probably?”
“Some of that depends on you.”
My shoulders bunch together as the knot tightens, and dammit, Jake notices again. His ability to do that should make me more nervous, but his smile finds the knot between my shoulder blades and tugs it loose.
“Stick with me,” he says.
He leads us away from the beach house down a sand-dusted stone path toward the bungalows. Unlit torches line the edges, waiting for dusk. The grove is manicured into little pockets of leisure with hammocks, cleared sand, and palms trimmed back enough to feel wild without ever getting there.
Up the slope, a glass-walled building sits above the canopy with dark windows swallowing the sun.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Jake doesn’t answer right away. He slows half a step to scan the path and the open stretch of beach behind us. Every visible angle is inspected before he speaks.
“Marky, I can tell you’re not being straight with me.”
“How—How do you mean?”
His easy sparkle stays put, but the harder layer beneath it rises, watchful and calculating.
“I mean I shouldn’t trust you,” he says.
“And you shouldn’t trust me this fast, either.
” His hand closes around my bicep. “You’re becoming a problem.
” The words sound annoyed, but his grip feels anything but.
“I’ve watched guys smile and swear loyalty, then trade somebody the second it buys them another hour in the game.
” His attention drops to his own hand, like he’s only just realized what it’s doing.
“I’m here for my company’s future, not for some stranger with sexy fucking arms. Even if you are…
” His thumb drags slow enough to make heat climb my neck. “Wildly distracting.”
“Oh, come on.” I force a laugh and flex under his hand.
Useful. A lie. At least now I know where the rush is coming from.
Jake’s inhale catches before his expression hardens, as if his own reaction pisses him off.
“Level with me. Why are you here, Marcus Wilder?”
It’s a good question. Too good.
I need Jake to trust me, but that doesn’t mean I can afford to trust him back. Not with the office up the hill, Alistair’s cameras everywhere, and Jake reading me this easily.
So I get back to doing what I came here to do.
“Money,” I lie. “I want a house.”
“A house?” Jake snorts, and the thrill of a failed lie surges through that same vein at his fingers. “The funding I need for my company would be enough to buy, like, twenty houses. No way you’re putting yourself through this with a dream that small.”
“My dream house is very nice,” I say, committing as my only option.
“Marcus.”
He says my name like he’s tugging on a thread knowing the whole thing will come apart if he pulls hard enough. My pulse stutters. I hate how badly I want him to believe me, to approve, and to keep his hand right where it is.
Instead, he lets go.
“This is so fucked,” I say, letting a sliver of truth out because it costs me nothing. “All of it.”
“Totally fucked,” Jake agrees, and this time his smile looks real enough to irritate me.
“And also kind of fun. Look around. The water, the houses, the men. The prize. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t nice to let someone else make decisions for me this weekend.
” He lifts his glass toward the beach as if toasting the whole island.
“Isn’t this the same billionaire playbook everyone pretends to hate?
It’s just that this time, it’s built for us. ”
“And the Kink List?”
“It’s a contract,” Jake says.
I laugh, but when Jake doesn’t join, the sound dries up fast. “Wait. You mean an actual contract?”
“Practically.” He turns his champagne flute by the stem, watching the bubbles climb. “It tells Alistair what you want, what you’ll tolerate, and where he’s not allowed to go.”
A cold feeling slides through me. I filled mine out by guessing and copying everyone else’s answers more than thinking through my own. Half the words had been nonsense, kinky vocabulary on expensive paper, not instructions for what could happen to my actual body.
“He films the whole weekend too,” Jake adds. “It’s basically a timestamped record showing we all asked for whatever we get.”
I choke on the champagne. “There are recordings?”
“Honey, nobody’s looking at your tape compared to what he’s got on file. Besides, Alistair would die if any of it ever got out.”
“And there’s really no connectivity?”
Jake glances uphill again. “You think the CEO of the world’s biggest company goes without Wi-Fi?
” He tips his drink toward the dark, glass-walled building above the canopy.
“That’s his office. Only place with a connection.
And yeah, the recordings live there too.
” His voice flattens. “Don’t be dumb enough to try anything. ”
“Sure,” I say, letting my face agree while my mind argues.
Jake keeps us moving down the path, but the office stays in the corner of my vision, a fixed point I can’t stop triangulating around.
The bungalows come into view as identical shapes spaced along the beachfront with their tinted windows turned toward the water. The wood and thatched roofs are all warm, but even the gaps between them feel measured.
Jake stops at #7. “This is you. Half an hour ’til dinner. Don’t be late.”
I catch his hand before he can go. The contact lasts a second too long, and when his mouth curves, I drop him fast, like my fingers have been caught.
“Hey,” I manage. “Seriously. Thank you. For all of this.”
He pulls me into a hug that feels dangerously close to being exactly what I need. Sweat, beer, and skin close around me, and I lean into him before I remember not to.
He says something I don’t catch before adding, “You’ll be fine.”
I watch him walk away before turning to my door. His confidence is somehow steadying, even as it leaves me exposed. I want him on my side so completely he forgets there was ever a choice.
Inside, the bungalow is paradise. The room spills onto a shaded patio and private plunge pool, nothing between them but sheer curtains lifting in the breeze.
Sunlight catches on polished wood and moving water, softening every edge of the luxurious facade.
Somewhere in all this open, tasteful excess, cameras are probably recording my reaction. I should look for them.
But the room gets to me first.
On the maroon sheets sits a fresh copy of the kink list, my completed answers set in elegant type and filed alongside the others.
No more secrets. Beside it is a single black towel, a bottle of champagne sweating in its cradle, dark leather loafers, and a white linen outfit folded with surgical neatness.
Alistair wants me to wear this. He’s commanding me to wear this.
I thought my past made me fireproof, but it’s making me vulnerable, exposed. This is only the first of many things I’m sure he’s arranged.
My father used to lay out my school uniform the same way.
I punch the mattress and fling the clothes to the floor, exactly like I used to.