The Consequence of Revenge

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Aw . . .” Max looked wounded. “That’s hurtful. Now you have to do me a favor to save my pride and all-around insecure self.”

  “You are not insecure.”

  His shoulders hunched. “I can’t . . . believe . . . you don’t like . . . the real Max. The real M-dog, M-money, M—”

  “Stop.” I waved in his direction. “How about this? I’ll try, only because I’m pretty sure if I don’t do what you want I’m going to be stuck in this hut arguing with you for the next eight hours and I really want to go to bed.”

  “Don’t we all?” Max sighed. “Sleep is next to godliness.”

  “I think you mean being clean.”

  “Same thing.” He shrugged. “Now go stick my brother.”

  “Stop sayin’ stick!”

  “Stick him good.” Max winked. “Oh, and P.S.: If he makes a choking noise once the needle goes in, that’s totally normal.”

  “Max!”

  “I’ll be right behind you!” He shoved me out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BECCA

  Was I really going along with this plan? Furthermore, what exactly was the plan? Max still hadn’t told me anything, and I still wasn’t sure I wanted to participate. Then again, I wanted to hang out with Max. Being with him made me laugh, even if it was at his brother’s expense.

  I was getting in the way of family drama, but for some reason, excitement coursed through my veins as I approached Reid’s hut. What did I do if he was sleeping? What if the camera crew was in there? Last thing I needed was for it to be national news that I’d tried to drug the Bachelor’s brother. Sure, that would go over really well with future grad school scholarships and a career teaching little kids.

  Yeah, I highly doubted I would get a job at an elementary school if I was found guilty of drugging anyone or anything.

  I almost backed out—made an excuse, I mean this was my career he was toying with, and not just that, but what happened if we got caught? Max was already wealthy—the world was his oyster even if he didn’t want to work in it. I had everything to lose.

  Max turned around and flashed me a smile.

  I followed him, like a trained puppy.

  I put the needle behind my back and took a soothing breath. I could do this. All I needed to do was knock and then . . . stick. Damn you, Max!

  With a shaking hand, I knocked on the hut door.

  It flew open.

  Reid stared at me hard, his eyes taking in my dress and then looking behind me. “I knew you’d come.”

  “What?”

  “I could sense it.”

  “Are you high?”

  Reid’s eyes narrowed. “No, why?”

  “How are you awake?”

  “Aw, sweetheart, you rather I be sleeping so you could crawl into bed with me?” He laughed. “I knew it! Screw you, Max! She’s mine!” His gorgeous smile made me want to punch something. “Doesn’t do it for you, does he? I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, once you go Reid you don’t go Max. That would be like driving a Ford and then ignoring the BMW. It’s just ridiculous, and baby, my ride”—he smirked—“is very, very smooth.”

  “Funny,” I said through clenched teeth. “Because I like it rough.”

  The smile froze on his face.

  And then I jabbed the tranquilizer into his arm.

  “What the—damn it,” he shouted, stumbling backward. “I’ve been hit!” His eyes crossed and then he tripped over his suitcase as he went flying onto his bed. “I’ll get you, Max. So sleepy, oh, look, it’s Big Bird.” He started laughing hysterically, tears running down his face, and then the tears turned into a choked sob. “I’m so damn afraid of Jurassic Park.” He shivered. “Hold me, Becca, just this . . . once.” He grabbed the pillow. “Oh, that’s nice, make the T. rex go rawr! Rawr, T. rex, get your bitch.” Cough, cough, cough. “Why don’t you love me?”

  “Reid—”

  “Sing me a song.”

  I looked around the room. Why wasn’t he passing out? Should I just leave him? And where the hell was Max? “Demi Lovato is so damn hot.” He sighed. “Noooooo!” he wailed, punching the pillow with his right hand, then his left hand. “My girl! Jonas Brother suck-ass!” He lifted his leg and kicked, then fell off the other side of the bed.

  No noise.

  Nothing.

  Quietly I got on the bed and peeked over the edge, just in time for Reid to shoot to his feet and make a gun motion with his hand. “Put ’em up!”

  I held up my hands. I was going to kill Max.

  “I’m a cop!” Reid burst out laughing, his eyes were crazy, wild, unfocused, and then he put the fake gun down and slumped. “I never knew my father.”

  “Good Lord,” Max said from behind me. “What did you do?”

  “What did I do?” I hissed. “I did what you asked!”

  “You broke him?” Max pointed. “Because there was enough tranq in that one shot to make him sleep for at least five hours, and right now it looks like he thinks he’s Jack on the Titanic.

  “Don’t let go, Jack, don’t let go!” Reid wailed, holding on to the bedpost.

  “Or Rose.” Max nodded. “No shame in wanting to be rescued.”

  “Curse you, iceberg!” Reid shook his fist at the sky, and then looked over at me. “Gummy bears kill.”

  “Max!” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Make it better.”

  “Oh, shit.” Max paled. “Give me the needle.”

  I handed it over.

  The minute Max read it his eyes widened. He quickly ran into the bathroom and disposed of the evidence.

  “Max—”

  “He’s high.”

  “No shit!” I slapped him across the shoulder. “What did I give him?”

  “Er . . .” Max swallowed. “Let’s just say Reid feels nothing.”

  “Absolutely,” Reid said slowly, joining in the conversation. “Nothing!” He laughed. “Watch!” And then he punched himself in the jaw.

  I winced.

  Max laughed.

  “Not funny.” I glared. “Fix this.”

  “Oh, I’ll fix it, all right.”

  Max dug through his black bag and pulled out duct tape and the iPad.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “I don’t have a drug past,” Max said, ignoring me. “I mean—I experimented, sure, but the thing about being high?” He looked at Reid and smirked. “Let’s just say fears are heightened, joy is heightened, and Reid, well, he’s never going to mess with me again.”

  For the next ten minutes I watched as Max adjusted Reid onto one of the chairs, duct-taped him, and then set an iPad in front of him on the desk. I was more confused after he pressed “Play.” It was a home video of a sweet old lady celebrating her birthday. How was that scary?

  And then that same sweet old lady winked at the camera and slowly licked off the candles. Only to hand them to the person on her right, who just happened to be a trembling Reid.

  “Makes sense now, doesn’t it? All the little pieces of the puzzle coming together.” Max wiped a fake tear and grabbed the Bengay, then started rubbing it on Reid’s chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Feels sooo good.” Reid laughed. “Harder, bitch, harder!”

  “I bet he’s so good in bed . . .” Max sighed. “Pity he may lose all ability to perform sexually after this, eh, Becca?” He slapped Reid lightly on the face with the Bengay and sighed. “Our work here is done.”

  “Wait, that’s it?”

  “Hey, Reid.” Max pointed at the iPad. “Look, a movie!”

  “I freaking love Disney,” Reid said in a serious voice. “Max, Bro, do you remember Up? Damn movie had me sobbing for days.”

  “Yeah, it was . . . good.” Max patted Reid’s head. “But this is so much better.”

  “Why?” Reid yawned. “Yawns are funny, so is breathing.” He then made a huge show of inhaling and exhaling so much he started coughing.

  “Because—” Max shut off the lights
. “Look, you’re starring in this movie.”

  “So cool!” Reid sighed.

  “Reid.”

  “Shh!” Reid snapped at Max and then whispered, “I’m watching my ass.”

  Max held up his hands. “Have fun, Bro, just remember, I love you.”

  “Love you too, Brother!”

  Max escorted me out.

  It wasn’t until we were almost back to his hut that I heard a scream pierce the night sky . . . and it was Reid’s.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  MAX

  “We should go back.” Becca grabbed my arm. “He’s in pain!”

  “So was I!” I scoffed. “Especially with you straddling me and . . .” Max looked away. “Stuff.”

  “I’m sorry.” Becca smirked. “With me straddling you . . . and stuff?”

  “It’s late.” I fake-yawned. “I can’t think of big words when it’s late.”

  “It’s midnight.”

  “Your watch is upside down.” I pointed at her wrist.

  Becca lifted it closer to her face, giving me time to pin her against the side of the hut. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “The combination of Bengay and Reid watching an elderly woman got you all hot and bothered, didn’t it?” Her voice was teasing, breathless, but I knew it was a front. She was pretending not to care about kissing or sharing another moment with me.

  But she cared.

  More than she wanted to admit.

  More than I wanted to acknowledge.

  So I gently lowered my head and brushed a soft kiss across her lips. “Thanks for helping me torture my brother tonight.”

  Becca shivered in my arms. “What are partners for?”

  “You can be my partner any day. Dibs for when we play laser tag, for real. Those kids won’t know what hit them, especially Jimmy, damn bane of my existence. What ten-year-old plays that dirty?”

  “Laser tag?”

  “One of my many”—my lips massaged hers—“many”—I dipped my tongue into her mouth—“many talents.”

  Becca pulled back. “What other talents do you have?”

  “If you have to ask . . .” I sighed. “Do you really deserve to know?”

  “Cocky.”

  “Extremely insecure.” I tried to look humble, making Becca laugh out loud. I would freaking Thor my way through life if I could just hear that laugh every second.

  “I should go to bed.” She sighed.

  “Every sidekick needs his rest.”

  “Um, sidekick? I’m pretty sure I was the main event.” Becca slapped me across the chest lightly.

  “Sure, you drugged him.” I peeled myself away from her. A few days, I’d only known her a few days. I couldn’t invite her in even though I desperately wanted to. “But who taped him to a chair?”

  “Right.” Becca nodded. “So when the FBI questions us I’ll be sure to let them know I was just the sidekick. Glad we got our stories straight.”

  I grinned.

  “Night, Max.” She returned the smile, her hand lingering on my arm.

  “You know you can stay,” I whispered.

  “Probably not a good idea.” She didn’t meet my gaze. “You know, since you have Bengay all over your hands.”

  I burst out laughing. “Don’t knock it until you try it.”

  “I’d rather not feel that kind of tingle.” With a wink she walked off, her hips swaying the entire way toward the huts.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  MAX

  To say Reid gave me a wide berth over the course of the next week would be an understatement. Pretty sure he was still planning his revenge, because every once in a while I’d see him glare at me, then scribble something down in a notebook.

  Normally he’d be the type of guy to give me hell during all the competitions, but aside from laughing when I fell out of the coconut tree, an incident that would probably cause me to wince when I saw coconuts at the grocery store, he was quiet, the perfect professional.

  My head hurt, my ass hurt, everything hurt. When they’d said we’d be competing they hadn’t meant that I’d get to sit around and watch the girls vie for my favor . . . um, no, each competition was getting harder and harder, stretching my sanity to the limit until I felt like snapping.

  There was the Survivor-style canoe race.

  The “What type of foreign animal am I eating?” competition that nearly sent me to the set doctor after I had a bad reaction to fish eggs.

  The night volleyball—played with oversize balls that had a tendency to break upon being touched too hard.

  And finally, my favorite, what would probably be called the Carrie episode, where we had to hunt and kill a wild boar.

  Blood had been everywhere. Swear mine had no meat, just blood.

  We were ten days in.

  Eight girls were left, including Becca, and, staying true to my promise, I kept all the crazies away from her. We were an unstoppable team. Anyone watching the show would know she was a favorite. But I mean, look at her. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was . . . hilarious, intelligent, going to school to be a teacher, she had direction.

  And I didn’t.

  I rubbed my chest. I admired everything about her and even though I had a lot of money and what people would probably assume was a lot to offer, I didn’t feel good enough for her. At all.

  We only had eleven days left . . . so we were close to halfway. But rather than feel relieved, I was panicked because in eleven days I wasn’t going to be seeing her daily.

  Rex cleared his throat. “Max? I asked you a question.”

  My confessionals were every morning at seven. I hated freaking seven a.m. I glared at the camera. “Care to repeat it?”

  “Sure.” I wasn’t his biggest fan, and I’m pretty sure he regretted casting me after my very first confessional, where I asked him how to get a spray tan on Love Island.

  “Eight girls left . . .” Rex gleamed. “Falling for any of them?”

  I cleared my throat and looked down. “A few. Then again, I fell for that goat that hung out by my hut too, so who knows.”

  His teeth clenched so hard I was surprised a crown didn’t come flying out of his mouth and smack me in the face.

  “Max.” Rex chuckled. “Here on the show we’re firm believers in allowing family to help us . . . make those tough decisions in life. Wouldn’t you agree it’s helpful having friends and family around?”

  My eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

  “We thought so. And so did they!”

  Wait, what?

  I heard shouting.

  And when I turned around I experienced a full-on panic attack as Jason, Milo, and Colt stepped off of a boat and ran down the dock toward me.

  “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled.

  “Surprise!” Reid said from beside me.

  I glared.

  Little G poked his head out of my pocket; I shoved him back in, nobody needed to see what was about to take place. Because if I knew my friends, they weren’t going to make these last eleven days easy. They wanted to win their damn bets, and they wanted me to finally get my head out of my ass, by any means possible. I was pretty confident they didn’t really think any sort of law applied to them, and the thought of prison clearly wasn’t a deterrent if our past circumstances were any indication.

  Milo had been sending me job applications via e-mail for the past month.

  Jason had been worse, actually setting me up on a job interview, which I’d thought was a date. Let’s just say I didn’t get the job, especially since I told the lady interviewing me that I liked the way her dress hugged her hips. How the hell was I supposed to know I was interviewing to be the new HR manager for a hotel chain?

  My friends were ruthless.

  Which meant only one thing.

  Becca was going to see the real Max, all right, because they brought out the worst in me, and she would either run screaming in the other direction or find me endearing.

  My money?

  Was on th
e screaming.

  “Max!” Jason was the first to reach me. He held out his arms, and I seriously contemplated gut-punching him but hugged him instead and may or may not have wrapped my leg around his waist and grabbed his ass.

  “Hate you,” I whispered in his ear.

  “Love me.” He jerked away from me and laughed. “Besides, Reid’s been saying you’ve . . . found . . . someone.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Little G, he’s cool.” I pulled him out of my pocket and showed everyone.

  “He has no tail,” Milo pointed out, clearly unaware that Little G had recently suffered a trauma to his little body via Hades chasing him. She tilted her head in my direction. “You look awful happy for being so against doing the show.”

  Ignoring her, I shoved the little guy back in my pocket. “Don’t be so insensitive, Milo! God, not all animals can have tails! All right? Just drop it!”

  “You a little tense?” Colt smirked.

  “I’m totally and completely in control.” I managed a very tight shrug.

  And then Becca walked by.

  And my heart did that irritating little flip thing where it starts beating really fast. Even Little G started squirming in my pocket.

  “That her?” Milo whispered to Reid.

  “Only one way to find out.” Jason looked at all of us, then jogged in her direction.

  “Noooo!” I ran after Jason and tackled him to the ground, thankfully not squishing Little G in the process.

  “What the hell, man?” Jason swore from underneath me.

  “Sorry.” I quickly got off of him. “Island fever makes people”—I coughed—“weird.”

  “I’ll say.” Colt eyed me up and down. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Max?”

  “He has no underwear.” This from Reid.

  “Helpful.” I glared. “Thank you.”

  Milo squinted. “Why don’t you have underwear?”

  “Oh”—I shrugged—“Hades ate it.”

  Milo’s face fell. “Max, you know I love you, but do you think you’ve been on this island maybe . . . too long?” She gave my arm a little squeeze.

  “He’s real!” I argued. “He’s in my room! In the corner!”

  “Aw, champ.” Colt shook his head. “We had no idea this show would cause you to go insane.”