Page 31 of Bitter Rivals (Bitterwood Elites)

FOURTEEN

Ben

Cashel hasn’t been right since last night, and though I don’t blame him, I don’t know what to do about it. Granted, it would throw anyone off their game to know their dad is in on this whole thing, gambling on our lives and voting with The Gallery, but we can’t afford to be off our game here, to not be constantly aware of our surroundings. Cashel’s lost in his head, chewing his fingernails into nubs, snapping at everything I say.

And you know what?

I’m sick of it.

Even now as we sit here in the auditorium, surrounded by students anxiously staring at the white projector screen, wondering what the fuck is in store for us next, Cash stares blankly ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.

Each moment is an opportunity to take in surroundings, learn where locked doors and marked exits are, and see who sits with who. Knowing relationships gives us the upper hand, something we can potentially use to our advantage, and I can’t let Cash’s preoccupation stop me from scoping out our surroundings.

Scanning the students, I can’t help but pause when my eyes land on Remington. She sits at the far end of the row in front of us, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail on top of her head, one arm carelessly spread across the vacant seat next to her. She strums her fingers along the top and turns, locking eyes with me.

Her icy stare is dangerous, a challenge she can’t hope to win, but it’s the fight I look forward to more than the victory when it comes to her. The submission, the look of defeat in her eyes when I capture her, strip her, and play with her body like a seasoned musician is my reward. I’ll draw high notes from her pouty lips, pained moans singing in harmony with cries of pleasure.

You’re mine, I mouth, pointing from her to my chest.

She tilts her head back, and pushes out her chest, dragging her thin fingers down the long plains of her neck, and making it very obvious she’s not wearing a bra under the thin blouse. I have to give credit where credit is due, this woman understands the art of seduction. When she bites on her lower lip, my dick thickens, and I recall how she looked in the torture room, her supple tits pressed forward, back arched, strung up from chains, but then she locks her eyes on mine again and a malicious smile spreads across her pretty face. She slices her thumb across her throat and mouths the final threat.

Never.

Fucking bitch. She’ll regret this one day soon.

She turns away, and I shift in my seat, adjusting my hard on. My thighs still burn from Vaughn’s very accurate attack with a cane, and I punch my knuckle into Cash’s upper arm. “Snap the fuck out of it, Cash.”

He blinks hard, brows angling hard, and spits a torn fingernail onto the floor. “Hit me again and see what happens.”

“Cut your shit, Cashel. I’m the only ally you’ve got here, and I’m half a fucking second away from letting you figure this shit out on your own.”

Cashel deflates a little, the tension in his shoulders easing, and for once I think he might actually apologize for being such a stubborn, Irish asshole, but before he can, a recording flickers to life on the projection screen and the lights in the auditorium darken.

Principal Windsor’s face blinks onto the screen and the hatred within me blooms at the sight of his smug fucking grin. “Elites! What a pleasure it is to see you all again. I do hope the past two days have been enlightening for you all. I’ve assembled you all here this morning to inform you of our next game deemed by The Gallery to be played by theentirestudent body.”

Unease ripples throughout the assembly. The last time we ‘played’ together was our first night here—and we all know how that ended.

As if watching us live, Windsor waits for the whispers to die down before continuing. “I’m sure you’re all very anxious to learn what fun is in store for you but before we get into the more exciting parts of this morning’s announcements, there are a few school issues to discuss.”

An image of Cash and I scurrying down a hallway flashes across the screen followed by another snapshot, this one of Professor Vaughn taking a cane to my ass. I feel my face pale, and swallow hard. To my relief, a recording of the women Cash and I witnessed fucking with each other in the shower plays. Windsor reappears on the screen, shaking his head and wagging a single finger in disapproval.

“Though fornication is encouraged, it’s not for any students’ pleasure. Also, after you’ve been dismissed to your dorms for the night, none of you have permission to leave your dorms. Your doors are normally electronically locked, but here at Bitterwood we like to…test your mettle.” Windsor pauses, his gaze seemingly boring into mine. “Obviously, some of youfailed. Apparently, I need to make my punishments harsher, but in case anyone missed out, Cashel O’Connor and Bentley Lennox were marked with both a crop and a cane for not following the rules of Bawl or Brawl. Break my rules, suffer the consequences. This goes for anyone caught snooping aroundmyschool. Anyone, and I repeat,anyonefound breaking the rules will be punished accordingly. Those who did break the rules… your time is coming.”

I force a nonchalant look on my face, but my heart races at Windsor’s words and the tip of my dick stings where I remember the whip’s kiss. Windsor chuckles darkly, as if he can read my mind, the evil bastard. He drums his fingers together in front of his face like an egomaniac. “Now, I don’t want to keep the rest of you in the dark any longer about our next game.”

Windsor snaps his fingers and a pre-recorded reel begins to play, a montage of different rooms and places inside and outside of the school. Some are familiar, like the woods and the outdoor arena, but others I’ve never seen before. In particular, there’s a large room with a deep, dark pool, and another with ropes hanging from a tall ceiling dangling over smoldering embers that catches my eye. Everyone’s attention is fixed on the screen as Windsor’s face replaces the reel once more.

“Today you will all take part in a scavenger hunt—I don’t want anyone to think Bitterwood isn’t fun! Items of use have been placed throughout the school. Items that may become your key to success as your journey through Bitterwood continues. Available things will be marked with a red tag. Be alert and look carefully. To access some items, you will have to complete a task or challenge. Others will require… moresinisterdonations. You’ll have two hours to complete this task. Now, head back to your dorms and change into the awaiting outfits. When this bell sounds,” a bell tolls loudly, “that is your signal to begin. Good luck.”

With the guidance of many hovering guards, we’re escorted back to the dorms surrounded by dozens of conversations. A group of girls decides to work together while a single guy approaches Cash and me, wanting to join our “team”. His name is Royce Kensington, and I get weird-ass vibes from the guy.

A descendent of the great automobile company, Royce has a pompous arrogance about him, similar to Cash, in fact. I can deal with Cashel, but fuck if I need two of them in my life, but Cash sends me a look that says the fuckstick might be useful. Whatever. Either the two will get along great, or horribly. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Inside our dorms, Cash and I change into what might be the most practical uniform yet—a pair of Army green cargo pants and a white wife beater with a fresh pair of tennis shoes. Cash paces while I sit on the bottom bunk, elbows perched on my knees, fingers steepled. I let out a long breath. “Where should we search first? I’m thinking we should head outside.”

He shakes his head, and a length of blond hair falls over his eye. “I think we should try to find one of the rooms shown on that reel earlier. There has to be a reason those exact places were shown.”

“You think that was a clue?” I ask, folding my hands.

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