Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Me: Got here safe.
Thank you for the picture and kisses.
I miss you so bad.
I’m so sorry I had to leave like that.
I love you.
That about covers it. I stare at the screen for a few seconds. Did Remy pick her up like I asked? Is she home with him now? Is she crying? God, I hope not.
I hesitate over the keypad. Should I text Remy too? I can’t risk anyone finding out I have a phone. The more people who know and try to reach me, the bigger the risk of getting caught.
I flip it shut and tuck it back into the secret pocket, then leave the bathroom and store the backpack on a top shelf in the walk-in closet. No one should have a reason to go in there. I stand back and stare. The backpack isn’t visible unless someone’s really looking for something.
After the ugly way I had to leave Molly this morning, I’m more committed than ever to making all this misery mean something.
I’m staying till the bitter end and winning the big prize.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Griff
On the first night we’re all officially in the mansion—or “training house” as they keep calling it—we’re summoned downstairs for “cocktail hour.” Since I have no idea what one wears to that kind of thing, I throw on a T-shirt with the Zips logo on the front and a pair of cargo shorts.
Diane said they wanted me for my looks and fighting skills, not my fashion sense.
In a short amount of time, I’m introduced to so many people, my head’s spinning. I can’t keep the names of the other contestants straight. Nine other guys, probably ranging from eighteen to thirty. A mix of ethnicities. Everyone seems on edge. Sussing out the competition. Lots of cocky asshole vibes cloud the air. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.
On my turf, I run the show. People know not to fuck with me. Here, it’s like starting from scratch. Like prison, someone will probably pick a fight with the biggest guy just to try and prove they’re the top dog.
I’m certainly not small. But there are at least four other contestants bigger than me. One of them looks like he came straight from the Icelandic League of Heavy Lifters.
I’m here to win, so I plan to hang back and assess the situation until it’s time to make my move.
Another guy, maybe a few years older than me, seems to be taking the same approach. Diane had introduced him to me as Venom earlier. That name I remembered. I’d internally scoffed when Diane said it, but the more I observe, the more it fits—he’s silent and his movements are slow, but his calculating eyes seem to radiate deadly intentions. He’s one I need to watch.
I bypass the grand living room, a large, open-air space with cameras hanging from every available spot. Two large sectionals are set up in the middle, facing each other—like an annoying Tetris puzzle that can’t be cleared. A massive flat-screen takes up the wall across from the couch, making it impossible to sit and see the screen without craning your neck. Just looking at the configuration makes my neck hurt.
On the far end of the grand room, there’s an L-shaped corner to the right. A normal-sized sectional and built-in bookcases full of a variety of reading material fill the space. Looks like someone raided a used bookstore and threw everything on the shelf for decoration instead of potential reading interest. The cozy area reminds me of Molly, so that’s the territory I stake out. If I win, I’m going to buy a house for us with a book nook just like this for Molly to fill with all her favorites.
“Avoiding the inevitable pissing match, too?” someone asks.
I glance up from a shaggy copy of The Fighter’s Mind. Venom’s big frame takes up the immediate area. I’m not sure I’m willing to share my corner with him, so I answer with a disinterested, “Yeah.”
“I think Diane wants us to make friends.”
I snort. “I’m sure she does.” Fuck Diane. After ambushing me at my apartment and giving me less than an hour to pack and say goodbye to Molly, she can kiss my ass.
“She spring that shock-and-awe ambush with the film crew at your house, too?”
It’s like he stole the thought from my brain. Some of my indifference thaws. I set the book on the end table and nod. “Yeah.”
He sits in the chair across from me. “My wife was hysterical,” he confesses. “She wasn’t thrilled about this in the first place. Then them coming with no warning…” He glances away. “They won’t let me use a phone to call her until Tuesday, either.”
My contraband flip phone is right upstairs.
No. You just met this dude. What if he’s working for the producers? He could be trying to figure out if we’re breaking any rules and get me kicked off the show before it even begins.