Taking the Heat (30 page)

‘Ladies, I must ask the question … do we think Dante is attractive? I mean, if you can move past the fact that he's a narcissistic sociopath? How does he rate?'

This is getting weird …
Most of us looked to Dante, sitting at the front of the room. With his manicured hair, straight nose and fit body, he was a reasonably good-looking guy. The girls made ‘meh' noises.

Miles continued. ‘So, you might be interested to know that Dante hasn't always been such a svelte chunk of Italian sausage.'

Dante rose slowly, shaking with homicidal fury. ‘
Frocio!
Do not do this!'

‘Oh, my poor, sweet Dante,' Miles taunted. ‘I'm afraid I must! Behold! The real Dante!'

A picture appeared on the screen so revolting, people actually spat their drinks out. I thought that only happened in cartoons. Those who weren't spitting, yelled in disgust.

The shirtless man on the screen was morbidly obese, helping himself to a massive plate of food—while still in bed. His face was like a hideous caricature: buckteeth below a squishy nose. Bushy clumps of hair sprouted from between his voluminous fat folds, each one deep enough to hide a small cat inside. The grainy picture wasn't very clear, but he appeared to be shiny with sweat and clots of food clung to him in places where food had no right to be. He was absolutely nauseating.

‘Yes, girls, this was Dante only a few years ago! He conned a sweet rich Senorita some fifty years his senior into marrying him. When she died, Dante used her fortune for a full makeover. Teeth, hair, lipo, body sculpting, laser, nose, the whole shebang! The only original parts left on him are his genitals. Oh, wait …'

Oh, surely not.
I glanced down to Dante's groin, where his trademark bulge pressed against his beige pants. He clapped his hands to his junk and looked around nervously.

‘I'm afraid even Dante's delicates have gone under the knife more times than Joan Rivers! Lengthening, widening, implants. Dante, old boy, I hear the numbness never goes away and full use is almost impossible, is that right? But at least it looks pretty!'

By now, people were laughing. Chase guffawed so hard that he fell from his seat to the floor, while the French girls had tears of hilarity running down their faces. Dante stood like an Italian statue, apparently unable to move.

‘And now, for the last piece of our juicy secret puzzle for the evening. Dante, I'm so very pleased to announce—you are out of the competition!'

The room exploded into cheers. I leaped up and hugged Megs and Clara in a big group cuddle, the three of us dancing around in a circle.

Dante finally retaliated. ‘What? What do you mean, you
faccia di culo
? Dante has one strike left! You can't do this!'

‘Actually, you have zero strikes left.' Miles smirked. ‘While you were sleeping beside the pool this afternoon, one of our lovely ladies snuck up and touched you on the arm. You are officially disqualified from the million-dollar prize and must pack your bags immediately for departure first thing tomorrow morning. The Fijian police will be waiting for you at the airport, to speak with you about allegations of attempted rape and grievous bodily harm. Plus, I hear the Italian authorities have questions of their own about the fate of your late wife—do I hear the words “life sentence” on the wind?'

‘Lies! Dirty lies!' Dante was puffed up like an infected thumb. His humiliation was delightful to watch, considering his sadistic nature.

‘Afraid not, old chap. Although, if we ever want to film a reality show in prison, we'll give you a call.' Miles waved at Dante with the tips of his fingers. ‘Toodles!'

By now, the noise inside the bungalow was ear shattering. The competitors cheered, Dante screamed like a deposed dictator, even the camera guys whooped and laughed. Clara threw a bread roll at Dante, and others joined in, food flying along with the jeers. I didn't participate; I was happy the man was getting what he deserved, but taking joy in his misery wasn't my cup of tea.

Dante fled the room, running away like the coward we all knew him to be, and suddenly, the world was a much nicer place.

***

Once the fuss had died down, Miles opened the bar and celebrations began. Champers flowed, people laughed and chatted. After such an insane few weeks, it was glorious to sit and revel without any cares. I still had tomorrow to worry about the fantasy cabin; for now, I wanted to enjoy myself.

After two very full glasses of bubbly, I was starting to feel lightheaded, my brain floating pleasantly in the alcohol. Flanked by Megs and Clara, we were giggling like naughty girls up the back of Sunday school, while the room span around us.

‘Hey, where's Chris?' Clara slurred. ‘That muthafucker should be here! Make him strip for us, Tara! I want to see those abs!'

‘Toshi has abs,' I laughed. ‘Go make him strip.'

‘Great idea, bitch! Toshi! Get your sweet beehind over here! Mama needs some fucking abs!' She staggered off, unevenly. Megs and I could barely breathe from laughing so hard.

Then I remembered. ‘Oh, shit, Chris! I'm supposed to meet him on the beach!
Oooh …
' I stood, and the room tilted, throwing me forward onto Megs' lap. ‘I think there's something wrong with the floor!'

‘It's not the sodding floor; you're drunk, you daft panda!' She jokingly pushed me away. ‘Go and find your man.'

I weaved around the moving bodies, not so tipsy as to make the mistake of touching anyone I shouldn't. Using two hands on the rail, I clambered carefully down the stairs, leaving my shoes at the bottom.

The night sand felt cool on the planes of my bare feet as I pattered happily towards the water. The beach lay empty, with the pale moonlight striking the water and flickering in the waves. I wasn't concerned. Chris always found me.

I waded into the shallows and stared out to sea. As the water swirled around my ankles, I lifted my dress to keep it dry. I swore I saw a dolphin beyond the breakers, but my intoxicated vision made it hard to see. Blinking fiercely, I tried again, but every wave looked like a dolphin. It's okay. I know they're out there somewhere, probably busy having sex for fun. I laughed at my own thoughts, happy in the moment, knowing that all was good.

Breathing deeply, I raised my arms over my head and tilted my head back to the sky. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks to whoever was in charge of my luck, because I was feeling fortunate indeed.

Movement from behind me caused me to turn, sloshing in the little waves.

‘Hello,
Bella.
'

My blood turned to ice water in my veins. Instantly, I was sober. ‘Dante.'

He looked like death; his eyes were black and vacant, no trace of a human left inside him. ‘I know it was you, little
porca.
'

‘What was me?' I started backing away from him, trying to close the gap between me and the bungalow, hoping against hope that someone might look down and see us.
Greg! Where are you when I actually need you?

‘You touched me. You lost me the competition. What will Dante do now? The whole world will be laughing,
si?
The
puttana
in the fantasy cabin last night, she broke my
cazzo!
My manhood is twisted and useless! No money! No fame! And the
politzia?
They will lock Dante away. So, if Dante loses … so do you!'

He lunged at me, but I was ready, slipping out of his grasp. ‘Come back here,
baldracca!
' He latched onto my stretchy dress, pulling me towards him.

I turned and kicked him in the knee. He doubled over his leg in agony, and I thought he was weeping, until he raised his face in maniacal laughter. ‘You did it on your own! Touching Dante puts you out of the competition!'

‘No, it doesn't, arse-features,' I panted. ‘You're out of the running. I'm only banned from touching competitors!'

His expression changed. Fighting the pain, he said, ‘Then, Dante will have to make you pay another way.' His hand reached out and latched onto mine in a vice grip, his fingers like talons. With his other hand, he unbuttoned his pants.

I lashed out, swinging hard and catching him full in the face with my nails, gouging trails across his skin. The blood immediately flowed down his face in rivers, giving him an even more demented demeanour as he grinned. He tightened his hold on me as I kicked and clawed at him, the water flying around us.

‘I'm not afraid of you,' I screamed at him. ‘Your cock doesn't work properly anyway! And I bet whatever woman broke you yesterday had fun doing it!'

He seemed oblivious to my blows as he said, ‘You're right. Dante finds it hard to get hard. Sometimes it takes doing something
sadico
to get the blood pumping,
si?
' He wrapped his hands around my neck and pulled my face close to his, his breath putrid. ‘You'll be much more
compiacente
with some water in your lungs.'

With his foot, he swiped my legs out from under me. The water was shockingly cold as Dante thrust me under the surface. Terrified, I opened my eyes in the gritty water and struggled to sit up, but he had me pinned.

With Dante's fingers crushing my throat, I felt my gag reflex twitch.
If I cough, it's all over.
The water would swamp my lungs. With no help on the way, I realised I was about to drown and the only thought in my head was
Chris …

Chapter 28

I've always enjoyed living in Australia, where, growing up, almost everyone around me owned a swimming pool. Every summer, days were filled with water and sun and the delighted squeals of my friends and me.

My favourite game as a twelve-year-old was sinking to the bottom and seeing how long I could stay there. I liked lying down or sitting cross-legged, a submerged yogi, and it was actually harder than simply holding my breath, because I had to expel all my air so I didn't keep floating back up again. My capacity for Buteyko breathing became pretty damn good—although I had no idea what it was called at the time.

My experiments with reduced breathing gained a fair bit of notoriety among the neighbourhood parents, who would flip out, thinking I'd actually drowned. I was ‘saved' about four or five times by worried grownups before my mum banned me from lying on the bottom of other people's pools—which only inspired me to do it more.

As an adult, I'd been unconsciously practicing my breathing whenever I was surrounded by water, even since being on the island; I'd taken great delight in staying under longer than Nik in the ocean when snorkelling with the dolphins. But my favourite moment was sinking to the rocky bottom of the hot springs and sitting with my backside pressed against the scalding stones while Chris swam around me, trying to break my attention.

That was why I was so glad when Chris popped into my head as I flailed and kicked, pinned underwater by a manic. I could see Chris' magic blue eyes, floating in front of me, and I calmed down.
You can do this. Relax.

Conjuring an iron will, I forced myself to go limp. I expelled out a stream of bubbles and let my eyes roll up, half closed and concentrated on keeping everything soft and still.
I'm just lying on the bottom of the pool, Chris by my side. I'm happy, I'm content, I'm blissfully peaceful.

Knowing how deceptive time can be, I began to count.
One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand …
My record was over a minute and a half, but I'd already been under for at least fifteen seconds, so I prayed Dante wouldn't wait that long. His fingers loosened on my throat slightly, a good sign he was buying my possum act.

While I marked the time, I pictured Chris: his lazy smile and tanned chest, his strong arms reaching for me. My pulse began to slow and the panic dissipated. Suspended, my mind bobbed away on an ocean of good thoughts.

As my counting passed forty-five, Dante pulled my floppy form up from the water. Deliberately acting unconscious, I let myself remain heavy and lifeless in his arms, drawing a steady breath in without moving my chest. The oxygen flooded my system along with adrenaline and I was ready for war. This time, though, it would be on my terms.

Dante slapped me across the cheek and my head snapped bonelessly from the blow, but still I didn't move. His voice was sinister as he said, ‘So much more willing now, my
Bella.
Dante will make a woman out of you. Prepare for the might of my
cazzo!
'

He cackled and dragged me by the armpits to the dry sand.
Wait for it … wait for it…
Although my body was loose, inside I was coiled and ready to spring. I cracked my eyes open and peeped at Dante through my lashes as he lowered his pants, then leaned over my body.

‘Be glad you're not breathing, little
stracciamanici,
because I'm going to make sure this hurts you a lot …'

Crack!
I slammed my head forward into his, striking him right between the eyes. Yelping, he fell sideways, his legs pinned across mine. He tried to rear back onto me, so I used a punch I'd learned from Toshi and drove my knuckles into his sternum.

‘Tara?
Tara!
' Chris' frantic voice echoed down the beach, but I was past comprehension as Dante and I rolled across the sand, locked in mortal battle. I pushed my thumb into his eye socket and flipped him onto his back using a hank of his hair, finally gaining the upper hand.

As he whimpered in agony, I drove my knee into his crotch with a powerful blow, my entire body weight behind it. Dante howled, broken, bleeding and incapacitated, and I stood over his wretched form, victorious.

‘Tara!' I looked up the beach to see Chris sprinting across the sand towards me. I must have looked like the walking dead: dripping with water, my dress torn, my neck bruised and my cheek raw red. Still, I was happy to see the cameras tagging after Chris. Behind them, all the other contestants and crew raced down to see what was happening.