The Island Read online

  Others had started to leave, so there were only a few sparse hangers-on still mingling. Somehow, I managed to deal with them and get them all out the door within the next twenty minutes.

  I went to check on Carrie, and she’d fallen asleep behind her tablet. I laid the iPad on the table and covered her with an afghan from the couch, running my fingers down the intricate threading. My mother had crocheted it when she was pregnant with Sasha. Tears blurred my eyes for a moment, and I wished with all my might to have my mother back, so she could enfold me in her arms and protect me from the horrors awaiting.

  Since that wasn’t an option, I straightened my shoulders and went upstairs. Sasha was in my room, having taken refuge there to avoid the gathering downstairs after we attended my father’s service at the funeral home. She was asleep as well, and I left her sprawled on the right side of the queen-size bed, taking just a moment to remove her glasses and lay them on the nightstand.

  After that, I moved into the bathroom and quickly shed the black dress and pantyhose worn for the funeral. Once dressed in more comfortable yoga pants and a T-shirt, I left the room and went downstairs again. I returned to my father’s office, this time knowing I needed to investigate to see what kind of money he’d left, if any at all.

  I lucked out, and he hadn’t shut down his computer before deciding to kill himself. He used a password management program, and it was still signed in, so I was able to check his account balances and spreadsheets.

  It didn’t take long to realize we were fucked. There was eighteen hundred dollars in his checking account, and absolutely nothing in savings. My sisters had personal savings accounts tied to Dad’s, and they had another two thousand dollars between them, but I bet they would’ve expected to have more. I checked the history and discovered he’d been slowly borrowing from their accounts on months when he didn’t have enough to cushion the shortfall. Of course he had. If he would borrow from a loan shark, he wasn’t above emptying his daughters’ savings accounts. I was almost amazed that there was any money left in them at all.

  Fortunately, I had my own savings account in another bank, but it was rather anemic too. I’d used a majority of it to pay for my last two semesters of school after Dad cut me off. He claimed it was time for me to stand on my own, but now I realized why he hadn’t paid my tuition. He simply hadn’t been able to afford it.

  When he refused to give me his tax returns for grants and loans, I’d had to quit for a semester and work a full-time retail job in order to cover the two semesters myself, putting me off schedule to graduate. I’d been furious at the time, but it seemed inconsequential now.

  It got worse as I searched through a drawer full of correspondences. It seemed like he owed everyone. There were multiple collection agencies attempting to get him to honor his debts. I wasn’t so concerned about those, because they weren’t my debts now. Unlike Ivanov, none of those companies could try to force me to pay them off.

  My stomach sank when I came across a letter from the insurance company. It was short and terse, reminding him that since he hadn’t paid his premium for the last three months, his life insurance policy of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars had been canceled. The letter alluded to a refund check for the balance he’d paid into the policy that was attached, but all I saw was a stub. Going back to his bank account, I saw he had deposited a check that was for a balance of eighteen thousand dollars, and then transferred it to his business account. Apparently, he’d used it to pay payroll, which was admirable, but left us without any protection at all.

  I wasn’t even sure if life insurance would’ve paid out since he committed suicide. With a sigh, I leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen as I tried to think of what I could do. There was literally no way I could think of to get together five hundred thousand dollars in two weeks.

  The only other option seemed to be to take my sisters and run, but I was scared to do that. If we were caught, that would bring CPS down on us. I wasn’t officially their guardian, and I wasn’t sure if they would allow me to be since I wasn’t twenty-one yet. I’d planned to keep things discreet and try to stay off the radar of schools or anyone else who might cause us problems until my birthday in a few months.

  A pinging sound distracted me, and I looked at the screen in time to see a new screen pop up. I hadn’t touched anything, so it was completely unexpected to see the program loading. A moment later, a logo popped up, along with the words “The Island.”

  A British male voice started speaking, but the camera didn’t show the narrator. Instead, it showed scenes that looked like something out of a hunting show to start with. As I listened to the narrator recapping the last episode, one of the images featured a slightly overweight man grappling with a shorter black woman. He held her down, forcing her onto all fours before climbing on top of her.

  It was obvious he was about to mount her when the screen cut to another scene of a woman running. The footage appeared to be shot from a camera mounted to her head, so the audience could see what she was seeing. Abruptly, a man jumped out in front of her and grabbed her, and the footage skipped to another couple.

  I was appalled, yet still confused about what I was seeing.

  “That was just last week’s exciting recap. Sit back and prepare for the next episode. This week, we have four contestants, along with twenty-five hunters. Hold on as we see if they’re successful in evading their captors, or if they’re forced to give up everything.”

  Reluctantly curious, I leaned forward, able to see fairly well on my father’s large monitor. A disclaimer quickly came up, and it appeared to be reminding the viewers that if the men captured the women, there were no safe words, and anything went. The only things forbidden were murder and extreme bodily harm. Neither the women nor the men could kill each other. There was also a reminder that cameras followed every moment, and staff of the show wouldn’t hesitate to intercede if things got out of hand.

  The show started with a brief introduction of the four women, along with a few soundbites from them. The hunters, as they were called, didn’t get individual introductions, but the screen moved to what looked like a party. The women and all those men were mingling and appearing to chat amicably in a twisted get-to-know-you sort of scenario.

  I was starting to piece together it was some kind of show that was probably illegal, and if not, was definitely morally questionable. My father appeared to have a subscription to it, which made me uneasy. I never would’ve guessed he would like that sort of thing, but I’d never spent even a moment wondering about his sex life or sexual interests.

  In spite of that, I was still surprised when the camera footage moved to the next morning, and it showed the women outfitted in running shoes and sturdy clothes, all wearing backpacks. They split up when there was a siren, each going their separate ways.

  The camera panned to the group of hunters, who appeared to be waiting for their turn. A few minutes later, their siren sounded, and they took off after the four women. It was impossible to deny the show was about men who hunted women like prey, with the intent of doing whatever they wanted to them if they caught them. It appeared to be consensual, but it was shocking.

  I watched for the next twenty minutes as each of the women were pursued, falling one by one. Only a tenacious black girl seemed to be giving them a run for their money. The other three had been captured and taken to cottages.

  Each time they were “claimed,” as the narrator called it, the screen offered an option of following them to the cottage, or continuing to watch the women who were still running. I didn’t follow them to the cottages until the last contestant was captured by two men who appeared to be working together. There didn’t look to be any rules against it, because the show producers didn’t intercede, and they quickly had her in a cottage.

  I forced myself to look around the room for a minute as the camera panned, showing what appeared to be a level of luxury on par with a three- or four-star hotel, which was unexpected after seeing them move
through the dirty jungle for most of the day.

  I felt vaguely guilty as I watched the men wrestle her to the bed, one of them holding her down while the other one started undressing her. She was still fighting them and cursing when the white man between her legs pried apart her thighs and started licking her pussy. I was embarrassed to feel a throb of arousal shoot through my own.

  The other white guy tied her hands to the bed, and his hands were free to move over her body. He started squeezing her breasts, and I brought up a hand to play with my own nipple. I knew I shouldn’t be getting anything out of this except pure disgust, but I couldn’t deny I was turned on watching the two of them vanquish the black girl.

  She maintained her fight for a while, even biting one of them on the cock the first time he tried to put it in her mouth. Her reluctance gradually faded as they focused on touching and teasing her. I doubted they were contractually obligated to ensure she enjoyed it, but they seemed to want to win her over to their idea rather than hurt her.

  The one who’d eaten her out now slid between her thighs, his cock lining up with her pussy. The camera angle showed that, but not actual penetration. Instead, it went to her face. She was clearly shocked for a moment, and then it was obvious she was enjoying it. Her mouth fell open, and when the other guy pressed his dick against her lips that time, she took it with a moan.

  Watching the two of them fucking her had me slipping a hand into my panties. My fingers were drenched in my own cream, and that was before I started touching myself. I pumped my fingers into my opening in time with the guy inside her bucking his hips. I licked my lips and briefly wondered what it would be like to have a cock stuffed in my mouth while another was in my pussy.

  She was now quivering and crying out, and it was obvious her reluctance was over. The guy in her mouth pulled out and came on her face, which normally would’ve disgusted me, but I was so turned on in the moment that it started my orgasm. As my sheath convulsed around my fingers, the camera pulled back to show the other guy pulling out to come on her stomach. She was shaking, and so was I from the force of my orgasm as I came harder than I ever had.

  Afterward, I slumped in the chair, and guilt quickly overtook me for having participated in the show in any fashion. I should’ve shut it off the moment I realized what was happening.

  But the idea crept into my brain before I could stop it. How much money did those women make for participating?

  In an effort to find out, I started clicking links. At first, I ended up in one of the cottages, with a man who had vanquished one of the two blondes competing. He had her bent over the couch and appeared to be ramming himself into her ass as hard as he could. She was crying, and tears streamed down her face. It made my stomach clench, and I quickly exited out of that room.

  It was like a splash of cold water in the face, reminding me that not all the participants got an enjoyable time. My cursor hovered over the X that would close the program for a moment, but I forced myself to move back to the menu button, this time finding the page that detailed how to compete.

  I skimmed some of it, my eyes going immediately to the numbers. “One hundred thousand dollars,” I whispered aloud. I leaned closer, intent on reading the fine print, and discovered I could earn another fifty-thousand-dollar bonus for being a virgin.

  It wasn’t enough to cover the debt, but would maybe buy us some breathing room. It would certainly be enough to flee. I could get my sisters to safety with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and I doubted Ivanov would follow us if we went halfway around the world or something. The details of my plan were still sketchy, but I knew that kind of money was the difference between being forced into sexual servitude to the man and having my sisters at his mercy, or getting them somewhere safe.

  As I read on, I discovered that if I managed to evade all the hunters, I would win a million dollars. They were quick to point out that only one woman had been successful in doing so in the three years the show had been broadcasting to its elite subscribers. There was a link to her profile, and I clicked on it out of curiosity. She was a lovely woman with dark hair and dark eyes. The site didn’t give her full name, but her first name was Rachel, and her background included two years in the Israeli army, along with another four years is the Sayeret, which were Israeli special forces, according to the website. No wonder she managed to evade all of her hunters.

  I had to go into it realistically, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to avoid them. I hadn’t been camping in years, and I certainly wasn’t an outdoorsperson. I had no special skills for evasion, so if I signed up to participate, I was likely to be captured quickly. The most I could hope for would be a scenario where the hunter who claimed me didn’t hurt me too badly. It could also be something far worse, but I was guaranteed to be mostly safe and able to walk out at the end of the weekend.

  So the question became, did I want to trade my body for one weekend for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars and secure my sisters’ safety, or be stuck for ten years as a sex slave to Ivanov and his operation—assuming he even let us go at the end of that time, or that all three of us survived that long?

  That made my answer crystal-clear, and I quickly filled out the form.

  A few minutes later, my phone dinged, telling me I had a new email. I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it, finding it was an in-depth questionnaire. I logged into my email account on Dad’s computer, needing to be able to see it easier, and filled out the PDF form.

  Some of the questions were embarrassing, but I forced myself to persevere. When it asked if I was a virgin, and I marked yes, the next field asked if I was willing to submit to an exam to verify that. It was the only way to qualify for the fifty-thousand-dollar virgin bonus. I marked yes reluctantly, understanding it had to be done.

  The final step of the application was to send photos of myself. Not just any photos, of course. I had to send a face shot to ensure I was photogenic, but I also had to send them a picture of my naked front and back, along with close-ups of my genitals.

  The task was daunting, but was probably one way they weeded out the girls who weren’t actually serious about competing, or who might change their minds. I could still change my mind up until the morning of the hunt, as they so carefully called it in their paperwork, but I imagined they knew a girl who’d surrendered all those details about herself and pictures was less likely to quit than someone who didn’t have to give any personal information.

  My dad had a webcam in his computer, so I was able to take the pictures after shooting a brief video of myself and taking screenshots. I attached them to the email along with my completed form and didn’t allow myself to back out of pressing “Send.”

  It was done. If they accepted me, I had a way to get my sisters to safety. I had to have a backup plan though, because it could take weeks or months before I even made it to the show, assuming I was selected.

  I went back upstairs and slid into bed beside my sister, my thoughts weighing heavily on me. The next forty-five minutes ticked past slowly, and I could see the numbers on the clock change each time a minute passed. I was nowhere near sleeping and was toying with the idea of getting up again when I heard my phone chime to alert me I had email. I opened it with a lump in my throat. Realistically, it would probably be from a friend, or perhaps some kind of advertisement. It was too early to be hearing back from the producers of “The Island,” wasn’t it?

  When I opened the program, there was an email from someone named Sid Moreau. I didn’t recognize the name, and I opened it cautiously. I stared at it for half a moment, waiting for the words to sink in. It seemed unbelievable, but there it was:

  Ms. Russo, you’re an answer to my prayers. One of our contestants lined up for this weekend broke her leg. I have an immediate opening if you can come prepared to participate. Get back to me as soon as possible, and I’ll send you the contract and travel arrangements.

  I stared at it for a moment, certain I was dreaming. It seemed to fall into my lap, and whi
le it wasn’t exactly an ideal solution to my problem, it was certainly better than the one Ivanov offered. My hand hovered for a moment before I clicked reply and confirmed I could be available for the next taping that weekend. Ready or not, I was about to be a contestant on “The Island.”

  Chapter Two

  I slapped on another layer of makeup, trying to hide how tired I was. I had to leave a day later than Sid had hoped, since it took me a little time to arrange for my sisters to both stay with friends while I was gone for the weekend.

  I hadn’t yet broken the news to them that we were going to have to move out of the house, because I didn’t want them to let it slip to anyone else. My plan was to get the check, which Sid had promised me would be delivered to me at the end of the weekend, cash it somehow, and get my sisters to pack a bag. We were going to flee in the middle of the night as soon as I could arrange it once I returned home.

  First, I had to get through this weekend though. Travel had been grueling, because it was truly a remote island. I honestly had no idea where I was. The last place I’d known was at Denpasar Airport in Bali, where people from the show had met a few of us, and we’d spent the last ten hours traveling by yacht to reach the island.

  I knew how dangerous it was to be here with no one aware of where I was, but I couldn’t see an alternative. I was scared, which had probably made the physical exam they made me take upon arrival—after collecting an introduction and brief soundbites—more painful and embarrassing.

  At least a woman doctor conducted it, and she’d been quick and gentle in her own way, though her attitude was brusque. After confirming my assertion, she had me take emergency contraception to prepare for the weekend—after assuring me the hunters had to submit clean health reports with their payments—since I wasn’t using anything, and sent me on my way. Another staff member had brought me to the dressing room to prepare for the meet-and-greet party that was already underway.