Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) (17 page)

Daniel sighs. Gently extricates himself from me. It’s clear he’s not moving away because he doesn’t want me next to him — he doesn’t want
him
next to
me
. As if he’ll soil me, and I’ll catch his disease.
 

Daniel moves to my dirty living room window looking out on the back of Stuffy’s, a small dive bar that I insist “isn’t as bad as it looks.” Three blocks beyond, visible as an upward-facing triangle like an architectural mishap, is the building I so recently imagined buying to build my dream studio. We drove by it on the cab ride in. It’s still for sale. The sign even read,
Price Reduced.
Too bad I can barely afford Ramen, and Daniel — on paper, at least — can afford less.
 

I watch his broad, strong back, clad in such a fine garment. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s entitled to what he earned, what he built … and what the Eros board, circumstances, and Bridget Miller conspired to steal.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Bridget.”
 

I walk closer. I want to touch him, but his voice is hard to read, and he hasn’t turned to face me.
 

“I’m supposed to be strong for you. Even when this began, there was a part of me that only wanted to help. What you saw, when it seemed I loathed you, wasn’t true hate. It was pain. A lifetime of scars torn open. You caused a few of those scars, sure, but only a few. My parents did a lot of it. Other kids did more. And then I did the rest to myself. I was weak, inside and out. I decided I was worthless. I ate and got fat because that made me feel good. And by the time you met me, I was only a victim. Of course you mocked me. I
deserved
it, I hated myself so much.”
 

My hand finds his shoulder. Tentative.
 

“You didn’t deserve any of it. I had my own problems, and I took them out on the world.”
 

“And I’m glad you did. I’m a better person today than I was. I hated you so much. I hated you because I loved you and I couldn’t have you. So after I was done feeling sorry for myself, I made myself better. I decided to never let anything hurt me ever again. I cleaned up. I got in shape. And that confidence bled into everything else. I took risks. I started businesses. I always wanted to show you, somehow, wherever you were, that you’d been wrong about me. I
was
worth something. Everything I built, I did it with a grudge. Everything I have, I created, deep down, for you.”
 

Everything I
have
.
 

Have
, not had.

His incorrect use of the present tense puts a lump in my throat.
 

I wrap my fingers around his shoulder. It’s too big. I can only grip part of it. He turns to face me, his face different than I’ve ever seen it before.
 

“The experiment was Alexa’s idea. She’s searching for something that doesn’t exist. But I didn’t care. I’d read and read and read, trying to better understand myself and the world. Filling my head with knowledge that, on some level, I intended to impress you. Or seduce you, before making you pay. I learned about psychology. I studied the art of pickup — not lines for the sake of lines, but the triggers and mental scripts behind them. A lot of it was trash, but some of it meshed with what I’d learned about the mind, about evolution and the way men and women evolved to respond. Even the garbage attracted me. These were men who attempted to interest women by ignoring and insulting them so they’d seek validation that you could provide. It didn’t matter if it made sense. I wanted so badly to insult you. To hurt you.”
 

I rub my hand across Daniel’s cheek, a bitter smile on my lips. I want to interrupt, but I can tell this is a speech he needs to finish. It’s a burden he’s held for too long, and needs to unload.
 

“I have three degrees. I’ve studied with some of the best scientists and experimental psychologists in the world. It was easy, once Eros started rolling off money like the US Mint. Cash opens doors. It buys freedom to do what you want, when you want. But it was all aimed at that first time I found you. I had an advantage. I’d studied you like a reference manual. I knew how to hit all your buttons. Then, in the club, I hit the rest. Having you was a rush. I had all the money in the world. I could buy and sell you. You had nothing. I knew you were in trouble. So I applied my levers, and pushed. The experiment was highly researched, and the subjects were carefully selected, but I had sway — or at least, the board let me believe I did. So you became our twelfth.”
 

“It’s okay, Daniel.”
 

Finally, he turns, and takes my hands in his.
 

“What I did to you was horrible. Unforgivable. But I want you to know, as twisted as it is, that I wouldn’t have been able to hate you so intensely if I hadn’t loved you all along.”

“It’s okay,” I repeat.
 

“Even when I was hurting you, I wanted the best for you deep down. You needed money; I made sure you got it. You were as broken as I once was — as I
still
was until my true feelings for you stopped hiding behind the hate, I suppose — and so I tried to force a change on you as you forced on me. I know you, Bridget. I know you think you’re worthless. I know you think you’re mediocre to look at, boring to talk to, off-putting in relationships. I know you wonder how any man could want you. And so, by trying to break you … ” He trails off, sighs, then forces himself to finish the thought. “I suppose I hoped I could do you the favor you once did for me, all those years ago — of slamming you to rock bottom, and forcing you to see yourself as the beautiful thing you truly are.”
 

I want to tell him that it’s okay, but I know how it will sound. I know he’ll think I’m pacifying him. He knows me best, and that I won’t roll over and let myself be insulted or abused without a fight. So I say nothing, letting the strange feelings stew inside me.
 

There’s anger.
 

There’s shame.
 

There’s sadness.
 

There’s plenty of pain.
 

But lately, I’ve felt hope in there, too, and that’s a new emotion for me. I feel it even now when I shouldn’t.
 

And of course,
there’s love.
 

“Scream at me,” he says. “Hit me. Hate me. Leave me, if you must, but know that I’ll follow. But don’t you fucking
dare
feel sorry for me, and don’t you dare regret anything that happened. I made my choice at the mansion, and I won’t flinch. Nobody tells me what to do,
nobody
. And nobody takes what’s mine.”
 

A shiver runs through me. Anyone who knew our story would say that the Eros board just took everything from Daniel, and that he’s deluding himself by defying it. But he doesn’t mean money or cars or planes or stock or an empire rich enough to nudge the world. He’s talking about
me
. His
mate
, to use the scientific language he’s used so often. According to Daniel, the worst offense one can commit against any male animal is trying to poach his mate. That’s how blood spills, wars start, and nations are overturned.
 

But I can’t help myself. “Choosing me cost you everything. I’ve ruined you.” I hear the self-pity in my voice. The words are about me and my damage, not Daniel and his.
 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “That’s my woman you’re insulting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Apparently, my cell phone was on the company plan because it goes dead while I’m driving Bridget’s loud little car out to the wholesale club to pick up toilet paper. And when it does, I learn that there’s something more humbling than being forced to buy bulk off-brand toilet paper after growing used to
haute cuisine
and bespoke suits after all. Worse than my errand, it turns out, is losing the GPS signal and getting lost on the way to run it. While driving a Subaru with a rusted-through muffler.
 

I stop at a gas station and ask for directions. Apparently, nobody has done this in ten years (especially not a man, har-har) because the gas station guy looks at me like I’m nuts. He finally tells me where to find the club, I buy the fucking toilet paper, then manage to get lost on the way back, too.
 

Bridget asks me how it went. I tell her
great
. I love this. I love counting every penny and shopping for my clothes at discount stores. It’s awesome. I’m not plotting every night and scheming every day. I’m not trying to find the right lever to recover my fortune — not just so I have money, but so I can destroy those who took it.
 

But did they
all
take it? I’m not so sure.

I spend some time on Bridget’s computer, researching Alexa Mathis. Of course I only find her books, and of course there’s no indication she’s anything but an author of erotic novels. But I do eventually find mention of her in an article on an obscure spiritual school of thought called anthroposophy, whose followers believe that technology will one day be the key to allowing humans to access their higher, innermost selves. Jokes that others on the board made at Alexa’s expense make more sense as I delve into research. Searching for Digital Jesus, indeed.
 

This was always a higher-mind pursuit for Alexa. Her own little erotica-front empire was impressive enough to buy her way onto the Eros board and attract the attention of her various partners. She’s a long-term thinker content to wait, and that’s something I’ve always known. So why go for such a petty power grab? The more I read, the more I’m convinced: She wouldn’t have. This was Welty’s doing. Alexa knows I’m an asset. I built Eros, and I — arguably alone — understand the mentality required to underpin it in the future.
Especially
if Digital Jesus is out there waiting for his Second Coming.

It’s after midnight when I slip out of bed and leave the comfort of Bridget’s warm body behind. I don’t try hard to be quiet. Bridget’s like a guy. After we’ve made love, she’ll fall right asleep if I let her. Then explosions won’t wake her.
 

I slip on a pair of boxers, snatch Bridget’s phone from the end table, and sneak out into the front room. I shut two doors between me and Bridget, then dial.
 

It rings then goes to voicemail.
 

I dial again, and again it rings. Again, it goes to voicemail.
 

On the third try, a sleepy female voice answers.
 

“This had better be good,” she says.
 

“Alexa. It’s me.”
 

There’s a pause, and I imagine Alexa pulling the phone from her face to look at the screen. But I’m not calling from my phone, I’m calling from Bridget’s.
 

“Daniel,” I say before she can ask. “Daniel Rice.”
 

I hear the quick shifting of bedcovers. I don’t know if Alexa sleeps alone, but at least I’ve made her sit up and pay attention.
 

“Daniel?”
 

“I’m sorry to call so late. I don’t want Bridget to hear.”
 

There’s another pause.
 

“So you’re with her.”
 

“Of course I’m with her.”
 

Another pause. It almost sounds like Alexa is disappointed in me for bottom-feeding, but she knows full well what I chose when Welty cornered me at that final elimination. A different explanation for her tone dawns to give me hope: Maybe Alexa’s only heard Welty’s side of the story. She would have seen the elimination footage live as it happened, but wouldn’t know all the context. She might not even know about
 
Peanutgate, if that little squealing shit Tim only called Welty, and not the board as a whole. It’s a closed environment. Welty could have told the others whatever he wanted, then erased his tracks to hide the unfiltered truth.
 

Then Alexa says something I don’t see coming.
 

“Daniel, I’m sorry about what happened.”
 

“Then help me fix it.”
 

“I can’t. I’ve tried. You broke too many rules. You went behind our back.”
 

“For the good of the company.”
 

Alexa laughs. “Right.
That
was why.”
 

I’ve thought a lot about how to approach this. It’s almost down to a script. Still, my heart is beating hard and uncertain.
 

“How do you test faith?”
 

There’s a long silence. Then: “What?”
 

“How do you test faith?” I repeat, knowing that
faith
— even if not in a traditional deity — is right in her wheelhouse. “Do you just believe something blindly to have faith? Do you avoid any alternative ways of seeing things, and
choose
to believe what you want?”
 

“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
 

“Sure you do. So tell me: Is an untested faith one worth having?”
 

Slowly: “Okay, Daniel. I’ll play. No, I suppose it’s not worth having.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because if it’s too weak to stand, you’d be stupid to believe it.”
 

“Exactly.”
 

“And? Why does this merit a middle-of-the-night phone call?”
 

“Because you’re right. I did break a lot of rules. I tried to cheat the system from every angle. I brought Bridget in when she never should’ve been at the mansion. I gave her special treatment. I chose challenges I thought she’d do well in, and in the group challenges, I paired her with people she could defeat, like the rock-climbing day with Kylie. I urged alliances. I used my knowledge of the systems to my advantage. I erased footage when I could, then once Jessica found the glitch in Halo, I exploited the hell out of it. I cheated to keep Bridget in the game.”