Chapter 30: Cabin 3, Night 3
The energy in Cabin 3 was a live wire compared to the oppressive stillness of Cabin 2. Music pulsed from a Bluetooth speaker, something with a heavy, synthetic beat that Revan had chosen. He was pacing, a restless panther in a black tank top, his eyes glittering with unmet stimulation.
“One point? One?” Revan scoffed, running a hand through his gelled hair. “For a kiss on the cheek from Emilia? She kisses her grandmother with more passion, man. This is weak.”
Raze, stretched out on a sofa with an infuriating calm, didn’t open his eyes. “Patience, cousin. You don’t blast the quarry on the first day. You study the patterns. You learn what makes them… twitch.” A slow, knowing smile played on his pale lips. “Besides, my point was from Nicola. A real kiss. Not a grandmotherly peck.”
From across the room, where she was meticulously folding a sweater, Nicola let out a short, unimpressed laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. It was a game. It meant nothing.”
Dariana, perched on the arm of the same sofa, snorted. “Tell me about it. I got mine from Jim. He smelled like sunscreen and panic.” She shuddered theatrically, the movement fluid and athletic. “I think he was trembling.”
Revan stopped his pacing and zeroed in on them. “See? This is what I’m talking about. The talent here is wasted. We’re artists, and they’re giving us finger paints.” He gestured wildly between himself and Raze. “We could be creating masterpieces. Instead, we’re collecting participation stickers.”
“Speak for yourself,” Raze murmured, finally opening his eyes. They were a startlingly pale blue, and they settled on Dariana with predatory interest. “I’m quite happy with my canvas.”
The air shifted. It was no longer just about the game; it was a direct challenge, a territorial claim laid bare. Dariana met his gaze, her chin lifted, neither accepting nor rejecting the implication. She just watched him, a athlete assessing an opponent.
Nicola stood up, smoothing her shorts. “Well, this is getting profoundly unsubtle. I’m going to the bathroom. My skin is crawling from all that… boy energy.” She rolled her eyes and walked towards the en-suite.
Dariana pushed off the sofa arm. “Yeah, me too. I need to wash the Jim off me.” She followed Nicola, closing the bathroom door behind them with a soft but definitive click.
The moment the latch engaged, the atmosphere in the main room cracked open. Revan stared at the closed door, then at his cousin. “You see that? They’re conspiring. Probably in there talking about how disappointing we are.”
Raze’s smile was a razor blade. “Or they’re in there proving we’re entirely unnecessary.”
Inside the bathroom, the thumping bass was muffled to a dull throb. The space was cool, tiled in white, a sanctuary from the hormonal storm outside. Nicola leaned against the sink, letting out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“God, they’re exhausting,” she said, closing her eyes. “It’s like being stalked by two over-caffeinated weasels.”
Dariana laughed, a genuine, rich sound that filled the small space. She mirrored Nicola’s pose, leaning against the counter opposite her. “A weasel and a snake. Revan’s all noise. Raze… he’s the quiet one you have to watch. He’s already planning his moves ten steps ahead.”
“Tell me about it.” Nicola opened her eyes, her gaze tracing the lines of Dariana’s face—the strong jaw, the warm, intelligent eyes. “That kiss was his opening gambit. He thinks he’s marked his territory.”
“And my kiss with Jim was just… sad.” Dariana made a face, then her expression softened, becoming more contemplative. “You know, for a point, it shouldn’t feel so… transactional.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Nicola said, her voice dropping a fraction. The air between them, once filled with shared exasperation, suddenly felt charged with something else entirely. The proximity, the confidentiality of the locked door, the raw admission of frustration—it created a new, intimate vacuum.
Dariana’s brown eyes held Nicola’s. There was no judgment, only a spark of understanding, and something bolder. A challenge. “What are you suggesting?”
Nicola didn’t answer with words. She pushed off the sink, closing the small gap between them in one fluid motion. She brought a hand up, her fingers lightly brushing a strand of hair from Dariana’s cheek. The touch was electric. Dariana didn’t flinch; she leaned into it, her body still against the counter, but her eyes blazing with consent.
Then Nicola kissed her.
It wasn’t a tentative, questioning kiss. It was sure and deep, a release of all the night’s tension. Dariana’s hands came up to grip Nicola’s hips, pulling her closer. The kiss tasted of mint and rebellion, a silent, powerful act staged just feet away from the men who thought they were the players. It was heat and friction and a mutual, unspoken agreement to take control of the game, if only for this moment.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, a slow, wicked smile spread across Dariana’s lips. “Well,” she whispered, her voice husky. “That was definitely worth more than one point.”
Nicola’s smile was just as sharp. “Let’s see them try to calculate that.”
A soft, chime-like tone echoed from a small screen mounted on the bathroom wall. Text scrolled across it.
Dariana +1 Point.
Nicola +1 Point.
Outside, Revan was mid-rant about the strategic importance of ‘establishing dominance’ when the twin chimes sounded from the bathroom, clear and unmistakable even over the music.
He froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed, darting from the door to his cousin. “What was that?”
Raze, who had been the picture of languid confidence, was now sitting perfectly upright. All the casual ease had drained from his body, replaced by a rigid, calculating stillness. He stared at the bathroom door as if he could see straight through it, his pale eyes burning with a new, intense fire.
The game had just changed. And for the first time, he hadn’t seen the move coming.