Pleasure Island (16 page)

Mia didn't know how to answer.

‘Intuition,' she said, finally. It was the best she could come up with.

A
ngelika was giddy
. Barefoot with her ditzy, floral, Chloé dress hoisted up to her thighs, she was dancing on the table with abandon, careering perilously close to the impressive five-tier cake.

‘God, I love this song!' she shrieked, breathless as she sloshed champagne down the front of her dress, soaking her cleavage. ‘Oops!' She laughed, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘Come on, Billie-Jo! Let's dance!'

Rupert was watching his wife with unconcealed derision. What in God's name did she think she was playing at? He didn't recognise her. This wasn't Angelika; sociable she may be, but an exhibitionist? He eyed her curiously as she tossed her long, caramel hair behind her and ground her hips up against the gazebo pole, kicking her legs in the air.

‘She's a better dancer than I thought she would be, I'll give her that.' Billie-Jo sniggered, watching Angelika's display through a mix of humour and mild jealousy. ‘And check out her fella's face!' She laughed. ‘He looks right pissed-off. Couldn't have fun in a prozzie parlour with a packet of Durex, that one.'

‘Jeez, he should let the girl have some fun.' JJ was standing next to her, a little too close to be wholly appropriate. ‘That dude has a real stick up his ass, man. He needs to lighten up.' He copped an eyeful of Angelika's thighs as she twerked on the table to the sound of Chris Brown.

Angelika was enjoying herself, lost in the moment, her head spinning as fast as her body around the pole. She felt light as a feather, as if she might float off into the night like a balloon if she didn't hold on tight.

‘It's good to be back on the island with you guys,' JJ said, and he meant it. The past few days had been all but a blur, a kind of weird psychedelic trip almost. If it wasn't for the very real cast on his arm (he'd discarded the sling, too cumbersome and uncool), he might've written it all off as a bad dream. He wasn't even in any real pain anymore.

‘Good to have you back,' Billie-Jo said, returning the compliment. JJ offered a more appropriate, appreciative audience for her narcissistic validation. She would enjoy him watching her perfect, young, fit-and-toned body as it paraded itself around the island in a perpetual state of near nakedness, his lustful wide-eyed stares and lascivious smiles as she did her best Halle Berry impersonations while exiting the swimming pool.

But she was worried; what had transpired between her and the masseur had seriously freaked her out and she was struggling to enjoy herself as a result. Following her unplanned intimate encounter, Billie-Jo had returned from the spa in a hazy state of shock and – something she wasn't used to experiencing – guilt. For all the layers of protection she had built around her fragile soul, manifesting itself in the form of selfishness, lack of empathy and general self-entitlement, she was not entirely without human conscience. She had not set out to cheat on her husband and certainly not in such a spontaneous and reckless manner, and now she was panicking. What would happen if Nate found out? She'd made a grave schoolgirl-error by shitting on her own doorstep, big style.

She thought about the question she'd been given in the game of truth or dare – ‘
none of the above … because I wouldn't cheat in the first place
' – and swallowed dryly. In her defence Billie-Jo had not been herself in that room. So she'd had a few lines of coke; that was no biggie, a regular occurrence, nothing she couldn't or hadn't handled before. She was a high-functioning user, and had never before found herself in such a precarious predicament. There had been plenty of opportunities for her to cheat in the past, men she'd been attracted to, men she might've considered fucking if it hadn't been for the fact that she'd already secured the golden goose itself. How had she allowed herself to have such a spectacular lapse of judgement and self-control? She swigged back some more champagne as she half-listened to JJ droning on in the background. To make matters worse, the sex had been the most incredible of her entire life, her orgasm more intense than any she'd ever experienced, so much so that it had fleetingly crossed her mind to go back for more. However, common sense had prevailed. What if the masseur told one of the other members of staff, confessed all after a few beers like blokes did? What if word got out she had screwed the hired help? Visions flashed through her mind of what it must have looked like when his impressive cock was sliding in and out of her from behind as she moaned with pleasure pushing himself slowly, deeply, gently inside her.
Fucking Jesus shit Christ.

‘I heard from Mia that all the staff here are like mutes or something freaky like that, man,' JJ said, continuing with the one-way conversation, oblivious to the chaos taking place inside Billie-Jo's mind.

A light switched on inside her head.
Fuck, yeah, of course; they were all fucking mutes!
Maybe that would just be enough to save her pretty, little ass.

‘Do you think they talk to each other?' she asked. ‘In secret, I mean?'

JJ shrugged. ‘Fuck knows, dude. I mean, it's some kinda social disorder or some shit like that, isn't it, so I kinda doubt it.'

Billie-Jo gave him a smile of light relief which he translated as a sign she would probably, at some point over the course of proceedings, agree to sucking him off, just so long as Mia and her husband didn't find out, of course. He may have been doped up to the eyeballs the night he'd come back to the island and they had played that game, but he knew a sure thing when it saw it. He smiled at her as he threw back more champagne. He would look forward to it.

‘
W
hat's the matter
, Rupert?'

Mia sashayed towards him, her black, shiny bob swinging in time to her hips, her Heidi Klein kaftan flapping dramatically, affording him a waft of her cloying signature scent. It was the same perfume he remembered her wearing throughout the duration of the trial: Shalimar. He'd hate it then, too.

‘Is she having too much fun for your liking?' she asked, nodding at Angelika, who was still throwing shapes on the table with gusto.

Rupert inwardly groaned, though in all honesty he was beginning to loosen up a little himself, his feet subconsciously tapping along to the deep, urban bassline that was pumping out of the state-of-the-art surround-sound speaker system. He, nor, in fact, any of them, had the first inkling that their drinks may have been laced with a little ‘livener', as McKenzie had called it, and that, together with the music, a ‘special substance' was also being pumped out via the air-mist sprinkler system above them that was supposedly in place to keep them cool from the sultry evening heat. For tonight's special occasion, McKenzie had given staff strict instructions to be most attentive towards Angelika, ensuring her glass was always full. Bloody inquisitive bitch had been asking far too many questions and needed to be kept in check.

‘Do you remember that time you shut that mouth of yours and kept quiet, Mia?' Rupert addressed her with a saccharine smile, quickly adding, ‘no, me neither.'

‘Bothers you, doesn't it, watching your wife having a good time, indulging her sexuality?' She sipped at her glass, eyeing him from above the rim, enjoying his obvious discomfort. ‘Such a hypocrite, Rupert,' she mused. ‘Tell me, when was the last time
you
indulged
yours
…'

Rupert knew what Mia was getting at and resisted the urge to throw his champagne in her pious face. It would have been wasted on her.

‘Haven't you got some babysitting to do?' he spat. ‘Now that your manchild is back, shouldn't you be looking out for him? He's over there with the predatory WAG. I think he needs a chaperone.'

‘Careful, Deyton, you almost sound jealous.' She raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Ahh, but of which one?'

Rupert sighed. He cut to the chase: ‘What exactly do you want from me, Manhattan? Do you enjoy watching me squirm?'

Mia remained smiling, unfazed. ‘Yes, Deyton, as a matter of fact, I do. I consider it karma.'

‘Why can't you let it go?' he asked. ‘It was all a long time ago now. And you do realise that blackmail carries a heftier sentence than murder and rape? Besides –' he leaned in closer to her ‘– don't forget I also know about
your
past Mia, and
your
dirty little secret.'

Mia felt her heart palpate beneath the delicate fabric of her Cavalli kaftan but held her nerve. She knew it was dangerous to goad him but he'd kept quiet for this long and Mia could never help pushing people's buttons. It was instinctive to her contrary nature.

‘My secret – should it ever make the light of day – would no doubt illicit empathy, as indeed would your own “dirty little secret”, only the empathy wouldn't be for you, would it, Rupert?' She glanced over in Angelika's direction once again. ‘Poor girl.' She gave an over-exaggerated sigh. ‘She hasn't the first clue, has she?'

‘Why didn't you die in that crash, you evil old witch?' he said, contempt billowing from his lips. ‘You really are a spectacularly vindictive cunt, do you know that?'

Mia cackled.

‘Oooh,' she said, mockingly, satisfied she'd got a rise from him, ‘and less of the vindictive, if you don't mind.'

She realised, however, that she had probably overstepped the mark. Rupert's secret, should it be revealed, would undoubtedly destroy his marriage, and despite the loathing she felt for the man himself, she rather liked Angelika.

‘Have you explored the island yet?' she changed the subject, attempting small talk, she wasn't in the mood to fight with him again. ‘It really is rather spectacular, reminds me of one of the Greek islands. Santorini was a particular favourite of mine and Dick's … Anyway, now that Joshua's back safe and well, I may do a little sightseeing.' She paused. ‘You could accompany us if you like,' she added in a spontaneous and uncharacteristic flash of olive branch.

‘I'd rather contract Malaria,' Rupert remarked, though it lacked real contempt. He was tired of the banter between them already. Perhaps Angelika had been right; maybe it was time to bury the hatchet. ‘And no, I haven't, not yet, though I intend to before we leave … if we ever bloody get to leave that is. Apparently the phone lines are still down.' Rupert pulled a face. ‘Can't work it out myself. I mean, we're on an island. It's not the third world, though I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't the Third Reich.'

Mia laughed. Deyton had always been a wit. She reluctantly admired him for it.

‘What do you think McKenzie really wants with us?' he said, genuinely interested in Mia's take on it. He might despise the woman but she was nobody's fool. ‘If this was simply a PR exercise for McKenzie, then surely he would've invited the press exclusively. I mean, what can us mere mortals bring to the table?'

‘Speak for yourself,' she quipped as Remi approached to refresh their glasses with more fizz, though she had to concede that Rupert did have a point. ‘Who knows what goes through that bastard's mind … personally I'm not sure I even want to.'

‘Hmm … indeed.'

Rupert strained to recall the small print of the contract he had scan-read before his stupid bloody wife had gone behind his back and signed their lives away, almost quite literally. He was sure it had said something about being required to partake in all publicity requested of them prior, during and following the duration of their stay on the island.

‘Well, he'll certainly make headlines if that's what he wants. We could've all died in that crash. No doubt I will be forced to go on some ghastly talk show to relive it all once we're back in Blightly.'

Rupert shuddered at the idea and Mia once again laughed, although she herself was beginning to ruminate on what a great press opportunity the air crash may potentially afford.
Global singing sensation cheats death at 30,000 feet!
There would inevitably be myriad TV and media interviews desperate to hear about her brush with mortality, giving her the chance to make headway with her comeback while exposing her to a whole new audience in the process. Every cloud, Mia thought, suddenly quite enamoured by the whole idea.

Rupert smiled at Raj as he refreshed his flute and thought he caught a familiar look in the man's dark, chocolate eyes as they briefly met, though he could not be entirely sure. It was a look he'd only been privy to on a couple of occasions.

He glanced over towards Angelika again, suddenly seeing her celebratory antics through slightly different eyes. Perhaps he
was
missing out on something fun and exciting. Billie-Jo had already stripped down to her barely there crochet string bikini and was submerged in the sunken Jacuzzi next to the pool swigging Cristal from the bottle, JJ was struggling to undress himself with one good arm in a bid to join her and Nate was behind the DJ decks seemingly unperturbed by his wife's close proximity to the guest of honour and instead smiling and laughing as Angelika entertained him with her risqué impersonation of a stripper. Rupert necked his glass of champagne in one.

‘You'll probably only ever hear me say this once,' he said to Mia, adrenalin suddenly buzzing through him like electricity, the need to move his feet to the music reaching the point of unbearable, ‘but would you care to dance?'

M
artin McKenzie sat back
into the plush, cream, leather seat inside one of his fleet of private jets and prepared for take-off – destination Beijing. Flipping his iMac open, he loosened his Tom Ford silk tie and settled down to enjoy a little in-flight entertainment. The party was kicking off just as he'd planned, his guest's inhibitions disappearing as quickly as the ground beneath him. He sipped his drink, a smooth, vintage cognac, pulling his lips over his teeth as the strong liquid scorched his palate, and watching intently as the blonde discarded her pink bikini top with a shriek and that dumb American fuck began to fondle her impressive tits with his good hand. Soon enough that bitch journalist woman practically fell into the Jacuzzi next to them, closely followed by the footballer, already in a half-state of undress, his shirt discarded along with all sense of morality. The blonde, the footballer, the journo, the uptight lawyer, the rock star and the has-been; to refer to them by name would be to humanise them. These people were simply actors, players in his latest production. And right now they were headed for a collective Oscar.

He hoped the Super Eight were relishing the show with as much anticipation as he was. An orgy in a Jacuzzi would round the day's proceedings off nicely. But where was that bitch, Mia? And the journo's husband for that matter? He clicked on another screen to search for their whereabouts - and it wasn't long before he found it.

‘Well, well, well,' he said aloud, viewing the scene with morbid interest. This was far better than even he could've hoped for. Ahh, the wonder drugs that were MDMA and Rohypnol, they really did get to the truth of a person. The champagne had been spiked with a measured amount, just enough to loosen everyone up, but not enough to be traceable in the blood after forty-eight hours, according to Elaine's research anyway, and as an added bonus he'd arranged for amyl nitrate to be pumped out through the water sprinkler system that was hidden underneath the shady bougainvillea-covered pergola. McKenzie finished his drink, clicked his fingers to request another and settled in for some decent viewing content in the knowledge that the Super Eight Club were all glued to their screens at this very moment. Still, if they thought they were getting their money's worth now, they were soon to be in for an even bigger surprise.

C
ody Parker was feeling pleased
with himself. In less than twenty-four hours the link he had posted to a select few had already caused a major stir within the higher echelons of the hacker community, fast-tracking him to the top of his game and affording him the praise and admiration he so voraciously sought from his special ‘family'.

He grinned, clicking a ring pull on a diet Dr Pepper and guzzling back half of it in celebration. He had sent the link out to a selected few of his contemporaries, hackers he knew would be impressed not just by the content itself but by his ability to have found a way in. He'd added the message: ‘Dear friends, my latest discovery: a game show with a difference; one where the contestants have NO idea they're being filmed...viewing figures (present company excluded) eight. The source: TOP SECRET!' Cody knew he couldn't take all the credit for uncovering the site's host, but he wanted to give the impression that he had, and steal the lion's share of the glory. It was risky, however; he knew that by sharing his find with fellow hackers there was a chance of it being leaked. As insular as the world he operated in was, and as much as there was a code of conduct between fellow hackers, a discovery such as this was too good not to share, in which case it wouldn't be long before it infiltrated the mainstream. If this shit hit social media anytime soon, the exclusive Super Eight would be looking at adding a healthy few noughts onto its membership within hours. Hell, now that was PR for you right there. However, Cody was keen to keep it within the hacker's secret society, for the time being anyhow. In spite of his glory-seeking fantasies, he was still aware that he might get into trouble and would need to remove all trace of himself before this thing went public, which it would, eventually. And when it did, Cody wanted to be able to sit back and watch McKenzie's public fall from grace with a sense of
schadenfreude
and bask in the glory that it was he who had brought such a powerful man down. ‘I'm making a polite request for you keep this one on the low-down, guys, so just sit back and enjoy in private,' he'd added, ‘for now at least.'

As it was though, he was already too late.