The Next Contestant Read online

  It’s chilly and I can’t stop shivering, but I’m hesitant to ask Trena for her keys so I can get my jacket out of her car. She’s hot and heavy with Xavier. Shit, all my friends are occupied. I’m the only loner here.

  This sucks.

  “Trena.” I nudge her. “Trena, give me your keys. I need to get my jacket.” She grumbles but manages to fumble for her keys and tosses them at me, never unlocking lips with Xavier. Talented bitch!

  I push up and wade through the partygoers. Ten minutes of weaving through crowds, some sober, but most inebriated already, I take a sharp right and head toward the dimly lit area where there’s less bodies.

  I’m such a loser tonight. No boyfriend and none of Kolby’s friends will risk getting their ass kicked. Not after the bullshit with Devin…

  If I’d been paying attention, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I wouldn’t have drifted toward the group of guys leaning against a monster of a black truck.

  “Hey,” one of them calls out. I glance over at them, or him. He’s tall, probably six feet plus, with a possible shit-eating-grin on his face. No way am I going to respond. I keep walking, until he calls out again.

  “Hey, is that you, Kimmi?”

  I glance over my shoulder at him wondering how he knows my nickname. “Maybe, maybe not. Why?”

  “Yeah, it’s you. Kolby’s sister, yes?” He takes a long pull from the beer he’s drinking and then wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

  Okay, so he’s obviously a friend of Kolby’s and I recognize the voice, but can’t place it yet. “Have we met? Because I can hardly see you, but your voice…”

  “Yup. Kolby and I… well, we go way back. Haven’t seen him, or you, in a while.”

  Maybe he’s not drunk. He’s not swaying and his words are clear. And he’s Kolby’s friend. I walk toward him to get a better look. Maybe I have seen him, but he’s got a ball cap on and the bill is dipped toward his eyes and shadows his face. It’s as if he’s keeping his head low on purpose, not wanting me to get a clear shot. A spine tingling chill snakes down my back and I shiver.

  I tug my shirt down to hide the exposed skin of my lower abdomen, and then take a step back when it dawns on me, the voice, the deep tone, is different, yet the same. Or possibly… steroid induced? I shiver harder. Shit!

  “That isn’t gonna keep you safe, honey.” He steps forward. I take another step back. He continues to move toward me; I struggle to keep my footing as I move backward, until I bump into a body behind me.

  “Devin.” It comes out in a squeak, and before I have time to think, or react, the guy behind me grabs my arms and yanks me back. I struggle to get away, but now a group of guys surround me.

  In my fear stricken state, a scream escapes from my open mouth, but I’m quickly silenced. Devin grabs hold of me, flips me around, pins me against his truck, his body practically molding with mine, as his big, calloused hand clamps over my mouth. The pressure of his palm makes it hard to breathe or bite him. Funny how fear allows me to recall a small bit of information. Information that would have kept me from approaching them in the first place. Too late. These guys are probably all pumped up on steroids, and now I’m his target, Devin’s revenge.

  My stomach knots and acid is swishing with my dinner. I feel the puke creeping at the back of my throat, but swallow furiously to keep it down. I’ll probably die from choking on it if it actually comes up.

  “Bitch. You could have played nice, but now you’re gonna do what I want.” Devin presses a sharp object against my left side. “Now open that pretty mouth of yours and don’t you dare scream. Got it?”

  I nod. I’m going to have to kiss him. I know that’s what he wants. And if I bite his tongue, I have no doubt he’ll drive that knife beyond the skin of my ribs, where it currently pokes the surface.

  His lips press hard against mine, and his tongue separates them. It’s slimy and disgusting. He breaks away, but only long enough to place his palm on my forehead and press my head tighter against the cab of the truck. And then he’s forcing me to kiss him again, but this time, he snakes the knife under my shirt and slowly drags it up.

  Where’re his buddies? It’s frighteningly dark, other than the moonlight bobbing between the sway of the treetops, and quiet.

  When he rolls his hips into mine, I feel it, the hard flesh grating against my pelvis. Panic sets in. He’s sliding his knife down my belly and attempting to unbutton my jeans. I feel the marble of acid and food moving up my throat… hear voices getting closer… the ball of puke now bubbling forward….

  “What the fu—”

  Oh, god! It’s Kolby… thank god! I’m trying to push this monster away, but he won’t budge. His neck and body is thick with muscle, obviously from steroids. To my brother, I’m sure it looks like I’m willingly kissing this disgusting asshole, but I’m sure Kolby knows better. Big brother will take Devin down no matter what.

  I feel the knife digging into my skin. My internal bargaining ends. Waves of nasty cramps squeeze my stomach.

  It all comes up, the single beer I drank, the enchilada, and the piece of cake I ate at the restaurant the girls and I went to earlier. It sprays out all over me, and all over him, the sick fuck, and he lets go of me. I inhale a breath of encouragement, and ignore the sudden sharp pain cascading down my left side. I feel rage at the man standing in front of me with eyes so wide, they might pop out. I’m sure I puked in his mouth, too. Well deserved, prick! That’s when I act fast, and with every ounce of energy, I kick him square in the balls. Not once, not twice, but three times for good measure. He keels over and I believe he’s threatening me, but his voice is so low, I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying.

  A crowd of guys rush forward and someone pushes me out of the way. As I stumble forward I feel a searing pain in my gut. Once I’m steady on my feet, I glance down at my shirt, and see blood. A lot of blood. I raise the blood soaked material to reveal a jagged cut gaping open, blood oozing from it. I think I’m in shock as I frantically search for Kolby, but there’s a mass circle of people surrounding him.

  Someone shouts, “Fight.”

  I stand there, unsure of what to do. I will my feet to move toward the crowd, to see if it’s Kolby who’s fighting, but I can’t move. I know it’s him, and I hope he’s winning, but pray he doesn’t kill the prick or the other way around. I don’t know. I’ve never seen my brother fight before.

  All these questions smother me, but my feet refuse to move. I’m standing here, shaking, and pressing my hand tight against my wound when I hear more yelling.

  “Call an ambulance,” someone screams.

  I collapse.

  I’m racing around the circle to see who’s hurt, but I can’t stop and I keep spinning. I catch a glimpse of Devin and his gang crowding into the black truck and they flee the scene; rocks spraying and dust clouds plume in wake of their departure.

  All shreds of light blink out….

  “Kimmi,” Kolby bellows. “Talk to me, Sis. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” Through the splinters of light, I see Kolby sitting next to me and I clutch his hand.

  I WAKE IN a stupor. Where am I? Oh, but I feel gut-wrenching pain in my abdomen and I moan.

  “She’s alive.” Kolby. He’s teasing me.

  “What happened? Why—” I flinch and rub my nose. There’s an NG tube irritating my nostrils and throat. I touch my abdomen, instantly remembering Devin’s knife. I lock eyes with Kolby. He has a black eye and a swollen lip. “Please tell me you won, that you beat the shit out of him?”

  “Yeah, I did, but the prick took off. Cops caught up to him later. Guess he got a DUI, and assault charges for what he did to you.” Kolby pushes from the chair and steps up next to me. Pointing to my abdomen, he says, “Doc said you’ll have a scar, but it will fade in time and it’s not that big. He punctured your bowel and they had to repair it. Did some sort of wash; a lavage, I think that’s what they called it, to clean out any leakage from your intestine.”

  A scar? I
so want to look, but sort of don’t. I guess if it’s that bad, I could probably have plastic surgery. “Where’s mom and dad?”

  “Down in the cafeteria. Hopefully done freaking out about all of this. They’re threatening to pull you from Mills College and make you transfer to a different school so Devin can’t stalk or harm you if he doesn’t know where you’re at.”

  I don’t think so. “I’m not transferring to another college. Mom and Dad will chill out.”

  MONTHS LATER, AFTER I’ve fully recuperated, my parents finally get the ridiculous idea of me transferring schools out of their head.

  I’ve adjusted well. Guess it helps that my girls were there for me. They get me going and drag me out again. Although I’m not so sure it was for my benefit, but more on account of my brother, who they’ve all crushed on, like forever. I don’t blame them, and I love them more for dragging me to my brother’s soccer game when I spy out something delicious.

  Delicious is off limits.

  I want delicious and off limits.

  Delicious and off limits is Jax Nash.

  I want Jax Nash.

  YEAH, SO WE’RE a bunch of rich kids—scratch that—young adults. Sounds much better. But damn. Living on dad’s money hasn’t taught me shit. See, here’s the deal. You’re not gonna read a story or cry me a river because there are no tragic moments or flawed fuck-uppery as far as my family or that of my fellow friends. Just me. I like to gamble and I’ve blown a ridiculous amount of my ‘allowed living expenses, college funds,’ as my dad put it, by gambling, partying it up, vacationing, splurging on chicks in my drunken stupors. I’ve got a nice house, but choose to live in the dorms with my soccer buddies. Easier to party and score some ass.

  But I’m fucking broke. Had to go to dear ol’ dad and ask for more money.

  “You have two choices, Jaxson Andrew Nash.” Ouch. Dad using my full name means only one thing. I’m toast. I can’t sell my house. Dad’s name is on it. For the sole purpose of protecting my future, my investment. Ha. More like his investment. Probably a good thing his name is on it ’cause I would’ve sold the house and likely blown that money, too.

  Dad gives me two choices, one of which he’s wanted all along. “You get a job if you want to stay where you are, or transfer to Berkeley.” Yeah, he’s wanted me to follow in his footsteps all along. Go to the same college he did and join the frat he was in. Getting a job doesn’t fit in with my soccer schedule, which is my passion, my future. But, Berkeley’s soccer team is at the top of their game and I’ve been invited countless times to pledge Kappa Alpha Omega, and scouted by the coach from time to time. Guess I only have one choice.

  “You know I can’t get a job. My only option is to transfer.”

  I know the history behind the fraternity thanks to dear ol’ dad, the legacy. I go through the formalities, the brothers accept me as Kappa Alpha Omega material, extend a bid, which I accept and become a pledge. The brothers and I ‘bond,’ like a bunch of girlies, but mostly because we all have a passion for soccer. And parties with no strings attached sex. Sorority sisters mostly.

  There’re codes, promises and the one big no-no is Kolby’s sister. Can’t remember what her name is, but yeah, we all take the oath to steer clear of any of the brothers sisters.

  I move in to the Kappa Alpha Omega fraternity house and I have to admit I love it here. The parties are kick ass and there’s lots of fine pussy.

  Why the hell not.

  I’m only young once so why rush into a meaningless relationship? Sure, don’t get me wrong, I do want that special someone, but until she comes along, I’m settling for nothing less than a good ol’ time.

  AFTER ANOTHER KICK ass game, which we won, again, the brothers and I are chilling, sitting at the oval kitchen table doing shots, drinking beer, getting trashed. There are people scattered everywhere; dancing and drinking in the living room, others on the deck, and some crazy ass bitches skinny-dipping in the pool.

  Kolby’s eyebrows are furrowed but his lips stretch into a devious grin. He’s got something wild and crazy going on in that head of his.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he says, raising his head then scans each of our faces, stopping on mine. “A little gambling that involves girls.”

  “Go on,” I tell him.

  “I think it’s time we let you and the new members in on a little secret. Our way of ‘hazing,’ if you will. Nothing life altering or alcohol induced, unless you choose to be intoxicated.”

  Ah, shit. I hope this doesn’t center around any of us being put on display. Fuck it. I can do whatever they throw at me.

  “Brothers,” Kolby announces. “Shall we show them the funhouse?”

  Some groan while others hoot their “fuck yeah” and my stomach stirs. Kolby puts some of the brothers in charge of the party going on here at the house, while he takes us on a grand tour of said funhouse.

  Six of us pile into his black Escalade. We drive a few miles down the road and park in front of Blaze. It’s some fancy college bar my dad mentioned but he didn’t expand on details or why I’d enjoy it. We enter the high-class digs and I assume we’ll have a few beers and be on our way to this fucking funhouse, but Kolby ushers us down a hall that opens into a wide space enclosed by three walls, each with glass doors.

  “Brothers, this is party central for college students. There are three bars, hence the three entrances.” He points to each set of double doors as he speaks. “Blast is older rock, pop, hits from the nineties mostly. Slam is a sports bar, but the one straight ahead,” we follow him to the entrance, “this one is Muze, the most popular of the three. They play top 100 and a mix of other music.”

  There’re musical notes, C-D’s and guitars, both real and stenciled pieces on the wall. On the far wall there’s a stage and behind it is a large screen made of squares where music videos play. The rest of the area is littered with round tables and stools. We head toward the stage, pass it, and push through the exit door. Kolby digs a set of keys out of his pocket, jiggles one into the deadbolt on a door marked PRIVATE, and we take an elevator to the next floor.

  We exit to what resembles a mini Hampton Inn with marble floors, wingback chairs, and expensive trees at each end of the hall. At this point, I don’t get what the deal is. All I see is six rooms with long mirrored windows. Odd.

  We enter one of the rooms and there’s not much to it other than a king size bed with expensive pillows and threads. A small bar and bathroom make up the rest of the room.

  I’ve heard the brothers like to gamble and I get the feeling we’re about to be the subjects of some bet.

  AFTER KOLBY GIVES us a brief run down, we leave. I’m sitting in the Escalade wondering if this is the kind of shit our fathers did back in their day. Blaze was built a long time ago but has obviously been remodeled and added on to. More specifically, the top level. Oh well. I’ve got plenty of money since dad’s happy with my kick ass grades, my devotion to the team, but mostly because I’m exactly where he’s always wanted me to be. I can afford to throw out some cash on a group gamble. Hell yeah I can. It’s a fraternity brotherhood thing.

  “How’s this gonna work?” I ask.

  Kolby taps his lips then glances at me in the rearview mirror. “We have to work around our tournaments and we’ll still have to practice our asses off for one of the biggest games of the year, which we intend to win ’cause we haven’t lost a game yet this season. But it all depends on who wants in on the bet. Jaden and Duggar, the computer geniuses will keep score. The rooms are already rigged with voice-activated recorders and hidden monitors, which are linked to their laptops. There are four rooms rigged and two spares available for private use. Say… for a special girl. You don’t want to take a potential hit to one of the spares. There’s nothing in them to record or monitor the game. You want points then you go to whatever room you’re assigned. The money we wager will all go to the winner, but you don’t get to keep it. There’s a huge party where several colleges get together, and since we host it, we alwa
ys get the first place prize.”

  “And what exactly is the prize?” I ask.

  Kolby chuckles. “Man, it’s fucking beautiful. It involves some seriously hot chicks and a contest. There’s a panel of judges and they decide which chick is the hottest and one of us lucky bastards will get to take that chick on a… date, if you will. The money we wager is always more than the other fraternities can raise so we’re the lucky fucks—well one of us will be—who gets the hottest prize of the contest.”

  Fuck yeah. Sounds like my kind of gamble.

  Kolby pulls the Escalade over. We place our hands down for the bet, including Kolby, and we wager five grand like it’s fifteen bucks. Works for me. I’ve got a pretty good idea on how I’m gonna rack up the points, but that’s my secret, my key to winning.

  The party is in full force when we return to the house. Sometime later, the subject of Kolby’s sister is brought up and it piques my interest.

  I ask, “So what’s the deal with Kolby’s sister? Is she real because I keep hearing how hot she is, but she’s never been to a party and I don’t see any family photos in his room.”

  “Dude, she’s so fuckin’ hot, the kind of hot that belongs on a pinup calendar, the kind of hot you wanna bend her shit over a table, strip her bare, and fuck her five ways till Sunday. And do it again and again. But Kolby… man, he beat the shit outta this guy… long story, but you don’t wanna go there. She’s off limits to the brothers.” Jaden shakes his head.

  “Over some guy. Huh.” Not that I’m interested, but she’s a big girl who shouldn’t have to answer to her brother.

  Jaden laughs. “Seriously? If you had a sister, would you want her dating any of us? ’Cause that’d be fucked up.”

  “Ah. You’ve got a point, and hell no, I wouldn’t want any of you slimy bastards touching my sister… if I had one.”