Page 9 of Bitter Rivals (Bitterwood Elites)

FIVE

Ben

Present Moment

My head pounds and I groan as I roll from my side onto my back, trying to get my bearings. The last thing I remember was sitting in my dorm room alongside Cash when a sharp pain seared into my cheek. Then... there’s nothing.

Thunder booms in the distance and lightning flashes. Even from behind my closed eyelids, I can make out the brightness. But when the skies open and torrential rains pour down from above, soaking me to the core, I force my eyes open.

Holy shit.

I’m not in my dorm room back inside Oakwood Prep. Hell, I’m not inside at all.

A scream jolts my attention, and I jerk my head to the left, willing my body to sit up. Surrounded by darkness, it’s difficult to make out where I’m at. Have I been kidnapped? Held hostage? This wouldn’t be the first time my family has been targeted. When you come from generations of old money, you become almost numb to these kinds of things. A quick wire for the ransom or a sharp bullet to the brain usually ends these situations fast.

Money has always been my way out,ourway out. It can purchase the death of an enemy as well as preserve the lives of our family.

That’s just how it’s always been as a Lennox, even our last name boasts wealth and power.

But I’ve always been careful, at least I thought I was. Now, I’m not so sure.

It’s hot here, the air thick with humidity and the scent of rain mixed with wet dirt. I squint my eyes around the darkness, my hands pressing into soft, muddy earth as a firework explodes overhead, startling me. Just that little bit of light illuminates enough of my surroundings to make my blood run cold. I’m not just outside—I’m sitting at the very bottom of an enormous pit dug right into the earth. It has to be fifty yards long and twenty feet deep. Other students are here with me, judging by the way we’re all dressed in matching outfits, the same fear I feel etched onto their faces.

“Cash!” I cry, cupping my hands over my mouth, but rumbling thunder drowns out my calls.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins and I stand up on shaky legs, hands pressed forward as I run through the night. Crashing into the side of the pit, I dig my fingers in and claw my way up. Around me cries of terror and shrieks of pain erupt, escalating my own fear. Refusing to let a single climb get the better of me, I dig in a toehold and adjust my grip. Years of rock climbing have prepared me for an event such as this.

But the real question is—why are we all here?

As if the heavens opened up to answer my question, a voice booms from staticky speakers. “Rise and shine, everyone! This is your headmaster and director of this little game, Principal Windsor. I want to formally welcome you all to Bitterwood Prep!” Bitterwood? No. I committed to Oakwood Prep.Where the fuck are we?“Now, I bet you’re all wondering where you’re at and what’s going on, but I’ll explain more of that when you get to the actual school—if you live, that is. See, you’re in what I like to call ‘The Pit of Trials’. Not all of you will make it out and across the quarter-mile obstacle course to Bitterwood, and only the best of the best will survive. Which is what Bitterwood Prep is all about—the best—the rest of you will die like the worthless little heirs and heiresses you really are. Good luck!”

Pit of trials?

Bitterwood Prep?

Principal Windsor’s voice echoes through my brain—not all of you will make it out. Well I’ll be fucking damned and poor before I let these little assholes beat me in a game I was built to play. More determined than ever, I ascend the muddy slope, arms and legs pulling up my bulky body with ease in spite of the fact that I’ve clearly been drugged.

The pop of more fireworks blasts above, giving me enough light to know I’m only a few feet from the top. Another student climbs next to me, and our eyes catch for a moment before the world goes dark again. Her brown eyes are filled with fear, mud smeared across her face.

“Help me,” she begs, but like the gentlemen I’m not, I ignore her and scurry to the edge, pulling myself onto the safety of the grass. As I try to make sense of where I’m at, more students reach the top. And under the guidance of a bolt of lightning, I push two of them back down, their screams growing softer as they find themselves once again in the bottom of the pit. Principal Windsor said not all of us will make it out, and I believe him. Might as well make my chances of surviving higher by thwarting my competition.

Feeling clever as fuck, I start to inch forward, my arms held in front of me, wishing I had my phone or even a lighter to help me find my way. Thunder tears through the night, lightning ripping a streak across the sky as the canvas of a forest illuminates to my right. I consider heading in that direction, wanting the protection of the leaves from the rains, but too many students are heading that way.

Off to my left is an open plain with tall reeds, and that’s the direction I go. I start off at a jog, blindly moving on bare feet. There’s no time to calculate distance, no time to plan my next steps. All that matters is finding this new school, this… Bitterwood Prep.

Only, I have no idea which way to go.

Surging forward, thunder cracking again, dumping bone-chilling rain over my skin, I tear off my shirt and toss it behind me. My eyes strain to see through the endless blackness when another firework bursts in the sky, and I try to soak in as much of the terrain as I possibly can. Coming from money, I’ve spent many vacations hiking in lavish locations to the most primitive and revered monuments in all the world. I’ve spent nights in the jungles, spent days among ruins that most people would only dream of ever setting their eyes on.

One of the perks of being Bentley Lennox—having the world at your fingertips.

Only this doesn’t feel like I have anything at all, and if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s feeling helpless. A Lennox is never helpless, not with a means to finance my every whim.

Here in this moment, as torrential rains pour from the skies, as more fireworks crack above, all I have is my wit and experience. Luckily for me, I’m a well-traveled man.

I calculate the distance between lightning and thunder, knowing the center of the storm is almost upon me. Screams shatter the darkness, gurgled cries and shouts for help pummeling my ears almost as much as the storm. I ignore them—I have to pretend that people around me aren’t dying if I want to live.

Running harder and faster, I put distance between myself and anyone who might be behind me. Or at least I thought I had, but then a blow between my shoulder blades pulls me off course. I trip on my own feet and land hard on my side. I hiss as pain erupts in my wrist, which is bent awkwardly below me, and shift onto my back, rubbing at the throbbing joint.

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