Burning Rivalry
Aubrey Parker
(Trevor’s Harem, #2)
Publication date: February 16th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Romance
Good girls finish last.
The contest is heating up in every way imaginable.
Bridget still only wants one thing: the money she needs to sort out her life, and the lives of those who depend upon her. And so far, nothing has broken the boundaries of what she’ll do for that money—though that edge keeps pushing further and further each day.
But now, battle lines are being drawn. Kylie versus Bridget, and everyone else falling over themselves to choose a side.
Kylie’s convinced Bridget wants to win, no matter what Bridget tells her to the contrary. And Kylie is determined that the top spot will go to her, and to her alone.
And all the while, Daniel Rice lurks at the edges of the contest—an unforgettable, unforgivable thorn in Bridget’s side, a ghost haunting her steps, a desperate need in her yearning core.
They say the competition can only have one winner. But the way things are going, Bridget isn’t sure there will even be that many.
Choose a side in Inferno Falls’ sexiest adventure yet.
Sequel to:
—
“Welcome to
your first official day,” he says, crossing his arms. The small motion makes his
chest swell enough to press into the fabric of his white shirt. “As we
explained last night, you are here to participate in a competition with each
other. The goal of the competition is to win the favor of your host, Trevor
Stone, and eight weeks from now Mr. Stone will choose his wife from among you.”
I glance at
Jessica. Kylie intercepts my eyes and gives me a level look. It’s not angry
or confrontational or jaded or vengeful. Its sheer placidity is somehow more
daunting than any negativity or hate she could throw my way, but now that I’ve had some
time to process, I can handle it. She caught me off guard last night, but I’ve dealt with
bullies and bitches plenty before. Oh yes, I can handle Kylie just fine.
“Many of you
have taken full advantage of all this situation has to offer. Tony. Richard.
Logan. Each other. Our many rooms and play sets.”
This time, I
catch Roxy’s
profile. She’s practically licking her lips. Practically rubbing herself. Gunning her
internal engine, ready and all too willing to show Trevor and Daniel she can
out-slut the rest of us.
“But what’s any
competition without contests? So that’s where we begin today. I should reemphasize: Simply
by staying, you’ll receive a
stipend.” Daniel looks
right at me, surely to remind me I won’t be receiving a stipend for several more days.
But there’s more in his
eyes than before, and I can’t put my finger on it. Gone is the softness I saw in
the limousine. I know I’m being jittery and insecure, but I’d swear he’s back to being angry. Maybe he’s had time to
reevaluate. Maybe he’s decided that if I can’t take a few insults without breaking down, I’m only worth
pity — a word that Kylie’s already implied is the strongest bond between us. I’d argue, but
does Daniel’s
out-of-pocket payment to Jenny, for my mother, prove or disprove that? Does it
strengthen Kylie’s accusation
or dismiss it?
“It’s important
that you understand,” Daniel says, taking a long, panning look at the women standing across
from him in a horseshoe. “The stipends are yours regardless, for as long as you
remain.”
I’m sharp
enough to read between the lines. Daniel is Trevor’s right-hand man, and right-hand men
handle so many things for their bosses: organizing affairs, hiring, firing, the
delivery of news, both good and bad. They chastise when needed, direct when
required. And in the case of sexfests like this one, they make things crystal
clear to the participants:
You are paid
for being here, not for what you do. You are being paid for your participation
in a contest, and quite separately you may or may not choose to participate in
rampant, primal sexual activity. In no way, shape, or form are you being paid
for fucking, because that would be illegal.
Perhaps what
you do with your own bodies, and ours — on your own — will weigh in our
decision to keep you, but we’re not saying that at all.
Wink
wink.
Meaning that
in theory, we could just hang out and they’d decide to keep us based solely on
our personalities or Hula-hoop skills. Officially. Technically speaking. By the
rules, as they’re written.
Wink fucking
wink.
“During your
time here, we’ve arranged
contests, challenges, and other situations that will show us what kind of people
you are, and whether you’re a fit for Trevor. At each round of elimination, we
will look at your performance and other factors and decide whom to keep and who
should go home. The first elimination will happen in two weeks and will reduce
your number from twelve contestants to six. Those who stay receive a fifty
thousand-dollar bonus in addition to their daily stipends, the weekly bonuses,
and all you received before stepping through the door. The next, at five weeks,
takes your group to two finalists, each of whom will receive a half-million
dollars.”
I’m doing the
math in my head. If I could somehow stay, I’d never have to worry again. Even
Jenny’s most
ridiculous ideas about Linda would become suddenly possible. But of course I’ll never make
it that far. Daniel’s only indicated that first elimination at two weeks, so I sort of infer
that barring something stupid like last night’s near-miss with Kylie, nobody will
be kicked out before then. I earned a five-day stipend suspension, but beyond
that I should start earning again. I could make a hundred grand here. It’s not enough
to do much with Linda, so really, selfishly, I could probably keep it. I’ll help where
I can, of course. But I could also move into a better apartment. Rent that
studio I’ve been dreaming
about, plus the professional mixer and mics that will get me producing for
real. Make the move from being voice talent to an entrepreneur who hires it.
And then, with the money I earn after that little parlay, who knows what might
be possible?
I can make it
two weeks. I haven’t heard anything in the rules about getting kicked out for not sucking
every dick that presents itself, so I’m thinking I can slip through a loophole and milk
this bullshit without getting dirty. How bad could the challenges be? If Daniel
is being this careful with what he says about sex being an augment to this
experience but not strictly necessary, then Trevor’s lawyers must be insisting. Even if
the challenges are filthy, I can refuse to participate. If they won’t pay me as a
result, I can threaten to sue. I’m sure I’ll come out scarred at the end of two weeks
regardless, and surely get the axe, but who cares? What I told Jessica was
true: I don’t want to
marry a billionaire. And really, let’s be honest. I’m so fucked up already, a short stay in Sodom is
hardly going to damage me much further.
“Right about
now, I suppose you’re expecting me to tell you what we have in store for you today. But I’m afraid that
would ruin all the fun.” Daniel smiles. But there’s something weird in that smile, and I imagine echoes
of every odd little interaction we’ve had. He’s so mysterious. So guarded. I’m sure he’s trying to
imply that it’s a
surprising sex contest ahead, but somehow I doubt it. It’s not that he won’t tell us
because he’s being playfully
coy. For one reason or another, he’s not telling us because we aren’t allowed to know, like at all, ever.
Daniel walks
forward. He moves to the far end of the arc of girls, standing in front of
Blair. He touches her shoulder and says, “One.”
He touches
Malory. “Two.”
Ruby, beside
Malory, is “One” again, not
three. And I realize: He’s counting us off into two groups, just like in grade
school. Ones and twos, all the way down.
Daniel
reaches me, and my heart accelerates. I look away, brush the hair from my face.
I’ve been
standing perfectly still, but all of a sudden I’m fidgeting like a restless little
girl.
He tapped the
other girls on the upper arm, but Daniel takes me by the wrist. Fingers tight,
his eyes on me. He stays there until I look up and meet his gaze. I’m unsure what
I see. It’s not quite
pity or affection or compassion. It’s not quite irritation or anger. It’s almost
blank, as if he’s holding
something back.
“Two,” he tells me.
The hand
squeezes my wrist.
Then he’s on to Ivy,
who’s a One.
Erin, who’s a Two, like
me.
Roxy is a
One. She actually licks her lips at Daniel. He’s off limits, apparently, but that’s not
stopping her from swinging his vote.
Looking down
the line, I watch him touch Kat, next to Kylie, and say, “Two.”
Thank God.
Kylie will be a One, so I won’t have to be in her group for whatever’s next.
But as Daniel
touches Kylie, he says, “Two” again.
About the Author
I love to write stories with characters that feel real enough to friend on Facebook, or slap across the face. I write to make you feel, think, and burn with the thrill that can only come from getting lost in the pages. I love to write unforgettable characters who wrestle with life's largest problems. My books may always end with a Happily Ever After, but there will always be drama on the way there.
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