Chapter 34: Trial 3's Morning
The morning sun was a brutal, cheerful lie. It glittered off the turquoise water and baked the white sand, a postcard scene that felt like a mockery. The contestants gathered in a loose, uneasy semicircle, the previous night’s secrets hanging between them like ghosts. Briv stood close to Alya, his arm around her waist, but his grip was tight, possessive. He’d seen the way Kofi had looked at her during the first challenge.
“Relax,” Alya murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Her angelic face was tilted towards the sun, but her brown eyes were worried. “It’s just a game.”
“Is it?” Briv shot back, his voice tight. He couldn’t stop thinking about the shower in Cabin 6, the sounds he’d heard, the points that had flashed. He felt dangerously behind.
A ripple of forced laughter came from their left. Joaquin was holding court, his muscular frame oiled and gleaming. He winked at Fatima, who offered a cool, appraising smile in return. Nearby, Sean and Logan stood like sentinels, their expressions unreadable. Elena stood a few feet apart from them, looking serene, but a faint blush crept up her neck whenever someone glanced her way.
The air crackled with a sudden burst of energy. Chris McLean strode onto the sand, his smile a weapon. He wore a crisp, short-sleeved shirt and sunglasses, the epitome of casual control.
“Good morning, tempters and temptresses!” he boomed, his voice effortlessly cutting through the ocean’s rhythm. “I hope you all slept well. Or, you know, didn’t.” A knowing smirk played on his lips. “The leaderboard has been… active. Let’s see who’s playing checkers and who’s playing chess, shall we?”
He produced a tablet, tapping it dramatically. A large screen flickered to life behind him.
“Here are your updated standings,” Chris announced, his tone shifting to a game-show host’s gravitas. The list appeared, stark and undeniable.
1ST - JOAQUIN - 31P
A wave of muttered curses and sharp intakes of breath rolled through the group. Joaquin pumped a fist, a loud, triumphant “¡Sí!” exploding from him. He looked around, his gaze challenging every other man there.
2ND - FATIMA - 17P
Fatima’s red lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. She adjusted her posture, making the most of her narrow waist and round ass.
3RD - CARMEN - 12P
Carmen, standing tall and pale next to Nicola, let out a gleeful squeal and hugged her friend. “No way!”
4TH - EMILIA, PATRICIA - 10P
Emilia, the pretty strategist, simply nodded, her dark eyes already calculating. Patricia, the doll-faced influencer, beamed, flipping her blonde hair.
5TH - NICOLETA - 8P
The goth DJ didn’t react, her tattooed arms crossed over her chest. She just stared ahead, a bored, almost annoyed expression on her stunning face.
6TH - VALENTINA - 7P
Valentina clapped her hands together, a little too eagerly. “Oh my god!” she chirped, already looking around to see who she could gossip with about this.
7TH - NASEER, RAZE, REVAN - 6P
Naseer, the bald, intimidating rich guy, scowled. It wasn’t high enough for him. Raze and his cousin Revan shared a look of competitive fury.
8TH - DARIANA - 4P
The athlete, Dariana, just shrugged, her tanned, toned body relaxed. She was here for the long game.
9TH - BIANCA, ALYA, THOMAS, NICOLA, SEAN, LOGAN, ELENA - 3P
This cluster caused the most stir. Bianca, the kind psychologist, offered a gentle smile. Alya’s face fell slightly; three points felt like a failure. Thomas, the feminine charmer, pouted. Nicola looked relieved. Sean and Logan remained stoic, but a flicker of satisfaction passed between them. Elena’s serene mask finally broke into a genuine, proud grin. Two points from a single, steamy encounter. Not bad.
10TH - BRIV - 2P
Briv felt the number like a physical blow. His stomach dropped. Two. He was in the bottom three. The air left his lungs. Alya squeezed his hand, but he pulled his away, shoving his hands in his pockets. Humiliation burned his cheeks. He saw Jim, the awkward porn addict, still at zero, and felt a surge of irrational anger that he was even grouped near him.
11TH - DILETTA, KOFI - 1P
The gorgeous Spanish TV hostess, Diletta, maintained her positive vibe, though her smile was a little tighter. Kofi, who had called Sean and Logan amateurs, let out a disgusted snort. One point. He glared at Elena, Sean, and Logan, his jaw clenched.
12TH - KIM, ANDRE, JIM - 0P
Kim, the manipulative party animal from South Korea, looked genuinely shocked, his friendly facade crumbling for a second. Andre, the moody, aggressive giant, just stared ahead, his dark eyes promising violence. Jim, skinny and goofy, looked utterly bewildered, as if he’d misunderstood the rules of the entire game.
Chris let the silence hang, soaking in the fractured emotions. “There you have it, folks! Some of you are off to a roaring start. Others…” He let his gaze drift over Briv, Kim, Andre, and Jim. “…have some catching up to do. The temptation is just getting started. Better get in the game.”
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The silence after Chris’s words was brittle, shattered by Joaquin’s loud, gloating laugh. Briv felt the sound like a physical blow, his two points a brand of shame. He couldn’t look at Alya, couldn’t bear the pity he was sure he’d find in her eyes. His gaze was fixed on the sand, on the crumbling edge of a footprint.
“But we’re not done yet!” Chris announced, his voice slicing through the tension. He gestured to a production assistant who wheeled out a small table with two chairs. “It’s time for Trial Three. Let’s thin the herd a little, shall we?”
A deck of cards was slapped onto the table. “Strip poker. One on one.” Chris’s smile was a razor blade. “The winner gets to give the loser a challenge. Either get completely naked, right here, right now… or accept whatever other challenge the winner dreams up.”
He let the implications hang in the salty air. “Our first match… Raze versus Alya.”
Briv’s head snapped up. “No,” he muttered, but the word was lost in the crowd’s sudden stir. Alya’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic in their brown depths before her actress’s training smoothed her features into a mask of cool acceptance. Raze, pale and dangerously confident, simply smirked and took his seat.
The game was a brutal, quick affair. Raze’s luck was as cold and precise as his gaze. Alya lost a card, then another, her hands trembling slightly as she discarded. The final hand was a rout. Raze laid down a full house. Alya had nothing.
“Game,” Chris said, his voice dripping with theatrical sympathy.
Raze stood, slowly circling the table to where Alya sat, frozen. He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, his voice a low, intimate threat that everyone could hear. “So, Alya. Get naked… for all of us… or…” He paused, letting the horror of that option sink in. “Remain in your swimsuit, but let me kiss you. Hard.”
Alya’s eyes darted to Briv, wide and pleading. He took a step forward, his fists clenched, but a burly producer moved subtly to block his path. This was the game. This was what he’d signed up for.
“The kiss,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Raze didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her, one hand tangling in her brown hair, the other snaking around her waist, and crushed his mouth to hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was a conquest. His tongue forced its way past her lips, a brutal, violating invasion. Alya’s hands came up, fluttering weakly against his chest before going limp at her sides.
He broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their mouths. His free hand came down hard on her tiny, round ass, the sharp crack echoing on the beach. A gasp, half-pain, half-shock, escaped her. Then he cupped her small, firm breast through the thin fabric of her bikini top, his thumb roughly circling her nipple.
“Raze…” she breathed, a weak protest.
He ignored her, burying his face in her neck, his tongue and teeth working against her skin. He licked a hot, wet trail down to the space between her breasts, his breath hot and ragged. Alya’s body arched, a traitorous, involuntary response. A low, shuddering moan escaped her throat.
Raze pulled back, his eyes locking directly onto Briv’s. He was still holding Alya, his hand possessively on her breast. His smirk was a vile, triumphant thing. He had taken what was Briv’s, and he had made her moan.
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The sound of that moan was a shiv in Briv’s gut. He stood paralyzed, the sun beating down on him, as Raze released Alya with a final, contemptuous pat on her ass. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her bruised lips, her eyes desperately seeking Briv’s. He looked away, the heat in his face a mixture of shame and a rage so pure it felt clean.
“What a start!” Chris McLean’s voice was obscenely cheerful. “The points are adding up, and the stakes are getting personal. Let’s keep this energy going.” He consulted his tablet, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Our next match… Briv versus Dariana.”
Briv’s head snapped up. This was it. His chance. Dariana, the tanned athlete, met his gaze with a cool, challenging lift of her chin. She looked entirely unimpressed by his two-point standing.
They took their seats at the small table, the cards dealt by a silent assistant. The game was a blur of nerve and chance. Briv’s heart hammered against his ribs, each card flip feeling like a verdict. He saw nothing but Alya’s stunned expression, heard nothing but Raze’s smug laughter. He played with a reckless, desperate aggression, pushing all his chips forward on a bluff that, by some miracle, Dariana folded to.
“Briv takes it!” Chris announced.
Briv stood, his legs feeling unsteady. He walked around the table to where Dariana waited, her arms crossed over her athletic torso. He could feel Alya’s stare burning into the back of his skull.
“So,” he said, his voice low and tight. He was mirroring Raze’s words, his posture, his vile confidence. “Get naked… or…” He paused, letting the option hang in the air, his eyes locked on Dariana’s. “Remain in your swimsuit, but let me kiss you. Same like Raze did… before.”
Dariana’s smile was slow and knowing. She uncrossed her arms, placing her hands on her hips. “The kiss,” she said, her voice clear and unafraid.
Briv didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her, one hand tangling in her brown hair, pulling her head back. His other arm snaked around her narrow waist, crushing her against him. He slammed his mouth onto hers, his tongue thrusting past her lips in a brutal, imitative invasion. It was nothing like the kisses he shared with Alya; this was about ownership, a performance of dominance for an audience of one.
He broke the kiss, saliva shining on both their mouths. His hand came down hard on the firm, round curve of her ass, the sound a sharp, satisfying crack in the air. Dariana let out a sharp, genuine gasp, her body jolting against his. Then he groped her, his hand roughly cupping one of her small, firm breasts, his fingers digging into the flesh through the thin fabric of her bikini top.
“You like that?” he grunted into her ear, the words foreign and ugly in his mouth.
In response, Dariana arched her back, pressing her chest into his hand. A low, theatrical moan rumbled in her throat, loud and unmistakable. As Briv buried his face in her neck, his tongue licking a hot, wet trail down to her cleavage, she opened her eyes. She looked directly over his shoulder, past him, and locked eyes with Alya. And she smirked. A wide, triumphant, vicious smirk.
The soft chime echoed across the beach.
Briv +1 Point.
Dariana +1 Point.
Briv finally released her, stepping back, his chest heaving. He turned to face Alya. The look on her face wasn’t one of understanding or shared strategy. It was pure, unadulterated betrayal. Her eyes, wide and glistening, stared at him as if he were a stranger. Then she turned and walked away, her shoulders stiff, disappearing into the crowd of contestants without a backward glance.
Briv stood alone in the sudden silence, the taste of Dariana’s skin and his own revenge sour in his mouth. He had won the points. He had lost everything else.