“TODAY’S TASK IS CAPTURE THE FLAG,” Amara announces as we gather on the beach in the Bahamas.
We docked after breakfast and spent the day exploring with a professional tour guide. It’s half past three in the afternoon, the sun high and scorching.
“Four teams,” Amara continues. “Last night’s winners get to pick three people to join them, and Ben will divide the rest.”
She explains that the team who have the most flags when the game ends—at seven, an hour after sundown—wins. She shows us a map, drawing boundaries and explaining that every team’s area has been taped off.
It’s amazing what kind of service you can buy when you have almost unlimited cash. The area we’re playing is pretty big—almost a square mile—which explains why it’ll take three hours.
I pull Colt to one side, my game face on. We won at Pictionary last night, so we’re back together and can choose who we want to play with. “Is there anyone you think will be useful on the team?”
“Your dad,” he says, turning to check who else might help. “Maybe your brother’s friend… Mark, is it?”
“Close. Marco. Fine, but I want his girlfriend, Tia.”
“Deal.”
As expected, Mom almost glows red when she’s not picked, but her mood quickly lifts when she ends up with Grant.
With a blue flag for our team, we’re wheeled off to our area on a local golf-cart-looking vehicle and left in the Amazon-like forest to play a children’s game.
“Dad, you hide and guard the flag,” I say. “Tia and I will grab the yellow team’s flag. Marco, you’re on red, and Colt’s green. Don’t get tagged. Back here as soon as we can.”
Marco kisses Tia before marching toward the red team’s territory.
“Have you always been this bossy?” Colt asks, stopping me when I try to take a step. “Turn around.” He slides off his beaded bracelet.
“She’s been like this since day one,” Dad says, amusement lacing his tone. “Better get used to never winning an argument with this one.”
With practiced ease, Colt ties my hair into a secure bun with his bracelet, then drops to his knees, unbothered by the dirt.
Grant would never.
Colt’s fingers skim up my legs as he gathers up my maxi dress to tie it in a knot above my knees, presumably so my moves aren’t limited in case I need to run. My heart picks up its rhythm with every brush of his skin against mine.
No more than eight hours ago, his lips were down there, rousing me from sleep. He headed north, latching onto my clit as soon as I uttered morning. I pray to all things holy that I’m not blushing in front of my dad.
Still unhappy with my jungle look, he shimmies out of the shirt he casually threw on over his t-shirt, twisting it here and there. Pleased with whatever he’s made, he ties it around my waist. One sleeve, tied in half, hangs loose down my hip and only then do I realize Colt’s made me a bottle holder.
“That’s cute, but I could’ve just carried it.”
“You don’t know the terrain, Addie. It’ll be better if you have both hands free in case you trip or need to climb.” He undoes his belt, ties it around me, and drops my phone down my cleavage. “Now there’s no chance you’ll lose it.” He stamps a kiss on my head and sends me on my way.
***
Half an hour later, Tia and I press forward, weaving through dense undergrowth in the yellow team’s territory. We don’t talk, careful not to draw any attention in case anyone’s lurking nearby.
Time stretches like bubble gum the deeper we venture into the island’s wilderness. The air is thick with the earthy scent of the forest, and sunlight filters through the canopy, casting a soft glow on the ground.
I hate Amara a little more with every small scratch, cut, and prickle from a bush or low-hanging branch I fail to dodge. I’m sure Ben had no say in the games or the cruise itinerary. He dances to every tune Amara plays. Probably because she was the first girl he slept with.
My muscles ache, sweat trickles down my back and I’ve tripped at least ten times already. The terrain grows more rugged, steep inclines and fallen trees littering our way. The sun and the horizon are well on their way to meeting when our not-so-stealthy march is interrupted by a rustling sound ahead.
We freeze, exchanging panicked, loaded glances and, without a word, we instinctively split up. I veer to the left, my heart racing faster than my legs as I sprint away from whoever’s approaching.
No way I’m getting tagged. Colt and I will have to split again tomorrow if we lose today. We’re docking in Miami shortly after lunch, but Amara has one last game planned for the morning. I’m not losing Colt on the last day. No way. No freaking way I’m getting paired with Grant again after their brawl.
He’s got a black eye to rival all black eyes, and his ego has been bruised so badly, said black eye has not looked at me for two days now.
Panting and wheezing, I stop when I reach the yellow tape marking the perimeter. There’s not much water left sloshing in my bottle, but I down it all, dropping onto the ground behind a huge tree until I catch my breath.
It takes a few minutes before my legs stop feeling like jelly. I should work out more. I’m such a weakling.
Once I can move again, I look beyond the tape, assessing the peak of a hill in the distance. My mother and Grant are on the yellow team. Knowing their lack of imagination, I’m willing to bet they hid the flag as far up as possible.
If not for the gruesome possibility of being paired with Grant again, I’d say fuck it and turn around, but… obviously, I don’t.
I start walking, careful not to make any noise.
No way will I sprint again if someone crosses my path. Good job Colt’s not here because my legs ache and I’m still wheezing like I’m eighty, not twenty-two. It’s embarrassing.
Maybe he’ll take me to the gym with him on Monday.
The hum of the nearby river grows louder the higher I climb. I’m relieved because, according to the map Amara showed us during the game briefing session, the river marks the border between blue and yellow territory. After what feels an eternity, and tripping over at least another ten times, covered in dirt and a thin sheen of sweat, I stumble upon a clearing.
My thigh muscles are on fire.
Instead of the gym, I should ask Colt to let me go on top. I hear bouncing up and down on a cock makes for a great leg day.
Towering trees and boulders surround the area, creating a natural fortress—a perfect place to hide the flag.
A flash of movement catches my eye. Mother dearest perches on one of the rocks, no more than a hundred yards away. Her attention’s on her nails, but I still retreat behind a tree.
Really? They chose Mom as the guard? She looks bored out of her mind, picking her cuticles or maybe chipping away the nail polish. If not for the bottle of bourbon beside her, I doubt she’d still be participating.
The flag moves in the wind, tied to a low-hanging branch just ten feet from her. Too close for a snatch-and-run strategy without running the risk of being tagged. Besides, I really don’t think I can move fast enough now.
My mind races as I plan my next move, casting a quick look around for the best escape route. The blue tape is somewhere on my left, so if I run that way, I’ll stumble into our territory. The only downside is the open space. I’ll have nowhere to hide if Grant or another yellow team member jump out of the bushes when I snatch the flag.
I think it’d be wiser to run straight ahead. From where I stand, it looks like we’re at the top of the hill, so passing the line of trees on the other side of the clearing should lead down.
Taking a moment to consider my options, I settle for the most obvious distraction: I throw a rock as far to the right as I can. It lands with a sharp crack, startling some birds into wing-rustling flight.
My mother’s ears perk up, her attention moving from her nails to scan the trees. She doesn’t move at first, but then, as if deciding she should at least make the minimum effort, she saunters ahead. As soon as she’s far enough from the flag, I muster what little strength I have left and bolt like a burst of energy across the clearing, certain my sophisticated mother does not have it in her to chase me.
She doesn’t.
Her only line of defense is a theatrical hey! as I snatch the flag, stuffing it down my bra, and then I’m gone, running toward what I hope is a way down the hill.
“Why are you just standing there?!” Grant’s voice bellows behind me. “Run, Victoria! Catch her!”
So he was somewhere nearby.
Good luck catching me, I think as my feet pound the ground, the thrill of the chase and the inevitable taste of victory coursing through my veins. The excitement fades when I emerge into another clearing. Much smaller… and ending with a cliff. Damn it. There’s no way down this side of the hill, but…
There is a way across.
An ancient-looking rope bridge stretches over the river. There are planks missing, those that are left look rotten, and the ropes are all dried out and frizzy.
“There’s no way out of here,” Grant yells from behind me.
He’s not running, perfectly aware I’m trapped and afraid of heights. Either I face my fear (recent events don’t inspire much faith in my abilities) or I get tagged and spend tomorrow’s task with Grant. My mother will see that we’re “randomly” paired once again. I don’t know the task, but part of me is scared about what will happen to Colt and me once we’re back in Newport. I’m not losing the time I know I still have with him.
Win or lose.
I blame the decision on adrenaline and endorphins. Under normal circumstances, there would be no question of stepping onto the bridge, but today, determination outweighs fear. With a deep breath, I steel myself, checking one last time for an alternative route. Nothing. It’s either across or straight into Grant’s grubby hands.
He barely sent two punches Colt’s way the other night—far less powerful than the ones he got back—but the knuckles of his right hand are scraped. The black eye looks ugly and out of place on his pretty, aristocratic face.
I bet Colt would look mighty sexy with a few bruises…
Grant emerges no more than ten feet behind me, a glint in his eyes. “Well hello there, sweetheart. Game over.”
I look down at the river below. The churning water makes my head spin.
“It’s not that high,” I whisper. “The bridge isn’t that long. At full speed, I’ll be across in fifteen seconds.”
Grant starts closing in on me, a triumphant smile stretching his lips. “You’ve got nowhere to go, pumpkin.”
Swallowing my fear, I ball my fists. No way I’ll give up so easily. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
This bridge has probably been here for years. No matter how old it looks, it’s survived storms, heatwaves and all kinds of weather. There’s no reason it won’t survive me.
“It’ll be fine,” I whisper, stepping onto the first plank.
Giving myself no time to panic, I quickly move onto the next one, working my way across as fast as my shaking legs allow.
“Addie! What the hell are you doing! Get back here!” Grant booms, his heavy steps growing louder.
“Don’t follow!” I scream. The panic I’m trying hard to suppress is clear in my voice. “Stop!”
“Shit! Baby, this doesn’t look safe! Get back here!”
“Don’t look down, just don’t look down,” I chant, my heart pounding an anxious rhythm as the wooden planks groan beneath my feet. “It’s not that far. Just a little further. Just a few more seconds.”
The coarse ropes cut into my palms as I grip tighter, each creak and sway tightening the knot in my stomach. I focus on the opposite end, ignoring the dizzying drop beneath.
I’m halfway across. My pulse roars in my ears when a plank gives way, snapping with an echo that resonates across the canyon.
My foot goes through.
I drop to my knee with a scream, clutching the ropes so hard my palms sting.
“Addie!” Grant booms. “Hold on, I’m coming!”
“No!” I cry out, maneuvering my leg back through the hole. “It’s not stable! Stay where you are!”
“Oh my God, Audrey!” my mother shrills in the distance. “What on earth are you doing?! Get back here!”
A look down sends my heart into my throat. The river looks much further down than I initially judged. I cling to the ropes, listening to its loud roar, my fingers white-knuckled.
I’m stuck. No way in hell I’ll move now. What if the other planks give way as I try to cross? What if the rope snaps?
The sickening swinging makes things even worse. My heart feels like it might hammer through my ribcage, a tidal wave of panic surging through me, threatening to pull me under like the river below will when I fall.
With a shaking hand, I fumble for the front of my dress, retrieving my phone. It feels like a lead weight as I pull it out, the bridge swaying with my every move. My breathing comes in shallow gasps, the pounding rush in my ears drowning out everything else.
I blink against the tears threatening to spill over, the metallic taste of blood thick in my mouth. I bit my lip, or maybe my cheek. I find Colt’s number, dial, and press the phone to my ear but, as the first ring echoes, the bridge swings under Grant’s weight as he steps onto the first plank.
“No!” I scream, and the phone slips from my grasp. “Don’t come closer!”
“Okay, okay, calm down. I’m here, pumpkin. I’ll help,” Grant says, soft and pleading, as he drops to his knees at the edge of the bridge. “Come here, you can do it…” He pulls his phone out, switching the flashlight on and making me realize the sun has officially set.
