Page 97 of Smut Lovers

Chapter Three

Meet the Contestants

A va became lost in the swirling vortex of the deer’s last moments. It froze in fear, as a shot rang out. She gasped and lifted her hand to her fluttering heart, as she stepped back, breaking eye contact, quickly searching for anything other than the stuffed animals to focus on.

A handsome, muscular, black man with a scar through his eyebrow, wore dark slacks, a white button-down shirt without a tie, and suspenders, resembling a noir detective.

He cast an annoyed look at the short-statured man glancing at him, unsettled by his broody aura.

He sniffed before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and scratching his blond beard.

He dressed in khakis, a blue-striped collared-shirt with a green sweater-vest, and a dark-blue tie.

A plus-size woman who seemed even younger than Ava, wearing a low-cut black crop top and a long black skirt, touched up her black lipstick, in the mirror over the buffet. The white makeup on her face made her ghastly appearance even more striking.

A man and woman, who appeared very much alike from their sleek hair to designer clothes, whispered closely, as they continuously scanned the room.

Ava made six.

It was clear she didn’t fit in with this group of misfits. They were evenly matched, three men and three women. Her jeans made her feel underdressed, compared to everyone else. She had put little thought into what to wear, as they weren’t provided with a dress code.

Minutes later, that was no longer an issue, as a woman with long legs and even higher heels approached them.

Her blue eyes bore into Ava’s soul as she scrutinized her.

Compared to her knife-straight blonde hair, Ava’s blue hair was untidy.

Her manicured nails looked more like claws, sharp enough to stab someone in the back.

Her tailored pantsuit was more luxurious than the twin’s designer labels, and they looked at her with curled lips.

The woman leaned against the wall in silent appraisal.

There was no way she was a contestant, but Ava couldn’t imagine who else she would be.

It felt like the first test of the evening, placing them all in a room and watching how they’d size each other up, like lambs for the slaughter.

The smart thing to do would be to chat and form an alliance, anything that would give her an edge and help her get one step closer to the end.

While the twins initially seemed to pose the biggest threat, she realized it wasn’t true. Their flair and bitchy attitudes were intimidation, like a peacock displaying its feathers. The strength of the others didn’t matter, as long as she found their weaknesses and exploited them.

One thing she knew how to do was to appear as a submissive little lamb. She seemed weak next to men like Vince, but those around them failed to realize that he was just as submissive to her. Underestimating Ava would be their downfall.

Her background wasn’t one to be proud of.

Growing up with a mother, who became pregnant as a teenager, at a high school party, she learned self-reliance at an early age.

When she was four, her mother died of a drug overdose.

Ava had been the one to discover the cold, dead body in the morning.

After that, she moved between multiple foster homes.

Trauma was the gateway to drugs, alcohol, and bad decision-making, until she found a home with a woman who wanted to be her mother.

While the woman showered her with love, it didn’t stop her from making teenage mistakes.

Like her mother, Ava got pregnant as a teen and had an abortion.

Her adoptive mother had been supportive of her choice, even though she expressed her disappointment.

In her search for vitality, Ava began cutting, driven by the sensation.

She watched the blood bead from the superficial wounds, until the endorphin rush faded.

In her desperation to reach euphoria, she accidentally cut too deep.

The blood didn’t just seep from the wound; it cascaded down her arm, and her attempt to stop it, by applying pressure with gauze, didn’t work.

She panicked as the dark drops pooled on the white tile, causing grotesque blobs, like those used in the Rorschach test. In it, she saw a horned demon, flicking its tongue, ready to devour her soul. Her blood stained the phone screen as she dialed 9-1-1.

She woke up in the hospital weeks later and entered an intensive inpatient rehab. It was there that she’d met Vince—an orderly. A spark developed between them, but they didn’t officially connect and start dating, until she ran into him about six months later, after one of her outpatient sessions.

Vince had awakened urges within her, and she whispered dark fantasies into his ear in the middle of the night, ready to explore them.

He enthusiastically embraced several of them, while he hesitated to explore others.

The bruises she bore resulted from her desires, not his.

The more they indulged, the more she craved.

A white-gloved server entered the room, carrying a tray of champagne flutes. He walked to each individual and offered them a glass. Once he distributed them, the blonde pushed off the wall and addressed them.

“Welcome to the manor,” she said. “Raise your glasses for a toast.”

She met each person’s gaze and waited until they took a nervous sip before turning to the next person. Ava noticed she didn’t drink from her own glass.

“Before our feast begins, we will have you change into dinner attire. We have a delicious smorgasbord and a plethora of activities planned for the evening.”

When she locked eyes with Ava, an icy chill ran down her back, making her hair stand on end. There was something in the woman’s sardonic smile that resonated in her, as though she could see the dark spot in her soul.

Ava politely sipped the champagne as bubbles popped on her tongue. The blonde’s eyes slipped to her throat.

She clapped her hands, and a series of attendants walked into the room. The host introduced them as personal stylists, and they positioned themselves next to a contestant.

“We have hand-selected a few pieces for each of you, based on the sizes you provided, when you responded to your invitation. You have thirty minutes to select an outfit and fix your hair and makeup. Failure to do so will cause disqualification,” the blonde explained.

Her smile once again reminded Ava of a predator, narrowing her eyes as though they were mere bugs, waiting to be squashed beneath her designer heel.

Yet Ava couldn’t tear her eyes away from the alluring woman.

She weaved a dangerous web around them, and by the time they realized it, the trap had already been sprung.

She held up her bare wrist and gestured to an imaginary watch, showing that time was ticking. Once eye contact was broken, Ava pulled free from her devious spell and followed her stylist from the room.

A stylist put together a rack of clothes, especially for her.

Ava chose a scalloped, over the bust, black corset with silver lace accents, black leather pants, and black heeled boots.

She pulled her blue hair up into a high ponytail and braided it over one shoulder.

She skillfully crafted a smoky eye, by applying thick kohl and adding wings.

After applying gloss to her lips, she observed herself in the mirror.

Everyone had always told her she resembled a singer, whose name started with an A, but could never remember who.

When she walked out of the dressing room, her stylist, a skinny man whose hair was a matching shade of blue, approached her and adjusted the laces of her corset.

The stylist’s outfit revealed Ava’s lack of knowledge about fashion.

He wore a sweater that was so long, it could have passed for a dress, if he had accessorized it properly, and his baggy pants created a bulky silhouette on his slim body.

“Come, miss,” he said with a heavy French accent. “We can’t be late for dinner.”

He led her down the hall toward the dining room. Before she entered, he stopped her with a hand gesture.

“I’m rooting for you,” he whispered. “Don’t trust anyone or anything, beginning with dinner.”