The Consequence of Revenge (Consequence 2)

“Seems so.” Amazon nodded.

I tried to get Max’s attention, but he was held captive by Rex, who was explaining more rules. At least they sounded like rules. But he did say something like “Death, bites, creatures” . . . poor Max.

“Hey,” a male voice said from behind me. I turned and came face-to-face with one of the most gorgeous guys I’d ever seen in my entire life.

“Um, hi?” I swallowed. “Can I help you?”

He winked. “I’m part of your production crew. The rest of us just got on the Island a few minutes ago and made our way up the beach. Most of us lost our luggage so we were trying to make arrangements.”

“Cool.” I looked down at the sand immediately.

“So, you having fun?”

“Are you supposed to be asking me these questions?”

The camera was forced into my face by the crew, and the guy smirked. “Yeah, that’s kind of my job while I’m here. Now tell me, what do you think of our Bachelor?”

“He’s . . .” My gaze flickered to Max. “He’s really great.”

“He peed the bed when he was little,” the guy said helpfully.

“Oh, um, okay.”

“Had a deathly allergic reaction to shellfish when he was eight, puffed up like a balloon, swear he still screams when he sees a clam.”

“Uh . . .”

“Oh, but he has his strong suits. Did you know his favorite thing in the world is spinach? Seriously. He used to eat it in bed at night because he thought it would make him gain muscle.”

“Um, wow, that’s a lot of information for you to know.”

“Fact sheet.” He pulled out a white piece of paper, then tucked it back in his pocket. “So you ready to do this?”

“Yeah.”

“Payback,” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

We started walking toward the rest of the groups.

“Oh, nothing,” he sang.

When we passed Max he winked at me, then slowly looked at the film crew with us. When his eyes fell on the guy next to me his eyes dripped with hatred, then irritation, then hatred. The guy gave Max a little wave and blew him a kiss. What the heck?

“Damn it!” Max shouted.

“What did you say your name was again?” I inquired once we were a few minutes away from the beach.

“The name’s Reid.” He grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MAX

I watched Reid disappear into the jungle with Becca . . . my Becca. My friend! The only girl helping me keep my sanity! The gummy-bear-loving bastard son of a SLUT! I stomped toward the edge of the tree line but was held back by Rex. “Sorry, you still got five minutes on the clock, buddy.”

Side note. Being called buddy? All it did was made me think of the stupid Buddy movies . . . damn those golden retrievers for making me sob. And right now? The last thing I needed was to think about the golden retrievers who could play all sports with such talent that it made me feel like less of a man.

Stupid dogs. I hated dogs. Well, any dog but my own—but he was more human than animal.

Shh, don’t tell. Women say it’s a bad sign when man isn’t a fan of man’s best friend. But I had my reasons. After all, it’s a proven point that dogs get more play from a girl when you are in a relationship. When your significant other comes home from a long day? What does she do? She grabs a bottle of wine (women lie when they say they just drink one glass). At any rate, they grab the “glass” (notice I use the term loosely) and sit on the couch. And what happens next?

Man’s “best friend” jumps onto her lap.

There’s petting.

There’s kissing.

There’s cuddling.

And where does that leave me? On the other side of the couch with blue balls and a dripping hatred for the traitorous canine.

“You’re up!” Rex slapped me on the back.

Gathering my thoughts, steering them far away from dogs, goats, and even Reid, I trounced through the first part of the forest.

“Map me.” I held out my hand to Big Al.

“No map.” He sighed. “You’re supposed to follow the trail of the girls and then when you get close enough, use the power of scent to find the food before anyone else.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.” Big Al grinned. “So, sniff away.”

“Right. I’ll just . . .” I looked down at the footprints and sighed. At least they led somewhere. I could only imagine what other fabrications Jason had come up with for my application. Why the hell didn’t they fact-check? My Facebook profile wasn’t set to private! All you had to do was scroll through my many pictures of shopping in Vegas and vacationing in Miami Beach and you’d get the hint.

Max doesn’t do nature.

I mean nature’s fine and all, and I’m glad we have trees and sure I’ll support Save the Rainforest. I donate to the Peace Corps, for shit’s sakes! All right? I donate money to those who enjoy dying in the jungle—so I don’t have to be in it. Not everyone’s made to actually explore, all right? I’m more like the king who sits on the throne and tells Christopher Columbus to get his ass in the ship and discover the New World, while sipping wine and eating grapes.

With a groan I followed the footprints and swore when three sets all went in different directions.

Following those women into the jungle was like following a blind cat that couldn’t swim across the Atlantic.