name and waved to her, several of the females nearby murmured
and pointed to her. Remembering her recent feel-good experi-
ences with “the Furies,” she promptly left to find Cheyenne. It
was a relief to have that part of her private life behind her.
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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
Cheyenne looked up at the thatched roof of the tiki hut and
then took a sip of her second drink. She turned and leaned her
elbows on the bar, her eyes panning over the massive crowd. She
was torn; part of her wanted to see Scot, and the other part
dreaded it. Her eyes landed on Kara, who had two drinks in her
hands and appeared to be walking purposely in the direction of
the water. Cheyenne pushed off the bar and tried to follow her,
bumping into several people along the way. She came out from
under the tiki hut as she continued to fight her way through the crowd. Her heels immediately sank into the sand.
She downed the remainder of her drink and tried to remove
her shoes. As she did, she thought about Scot helping her take
off her shoes the first night they were together. She’d been tipsy then, falling on top of him in the hotel hallway. This memory
normally made her smile, but tonight it was like rock salt in a
fresh wound.
She half-emptied her plastic cup and continued down the
bank toward the water. Just when she thought she’d lost her, she heard Kara’s familiar giggle. It froze her in place. Cheyenne
slowly turned in the direction of the sound and watched Kara
hand one of the drinks to Scot. He was smiling that centerfold
smile of his, and Cheyenne felt like all of her nightmares had
come true.
Unable to see through her blinding anger, she hurled her
cup at Kara, but missed and hit Scot in the shoulder. Beer
sloshed all over both of them.
“Bloody hell!” Scot exclaimed and glanced down at his
shirt. He looked at her, his face a mask of confusion. Kara
gasped in horror, and Cheyenne wanted to claw her eyes out, but
she was too overwhelmed to move. Her hands were clasped in
fists at her sides.
“Sorry to interrupt your good time,” Cheyenne hissed
through gritted teeth. “I hope she’s worth it.”
She turned and stomped up the bank and into the crowd.
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She felt his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off violently. He forcibly stopped her and pulled her back to him. Both of
his hands were on her shoulders, and he was in her face.
“Let’s go back to our room, so we can talk.”
She glared at him, shaking so hard, she wondered how she
could still stand. “Fuck you.”
His face dawned with enlightenment. “Cheyenne, this isn’t
what it looks like.”
“Wow. Highly original,” she blurted, pulling herself free
from his grasp.
“Oh my God, it’s Scot Charles! Scot, can we have a picture
of you?” A bubbly blonde with a southern accent embraced
Scot’s waist as she and three of her friends descended on him
like a swarm of locusts. Cheyenne shook her head and backed
away.
“Cheyenne!” He called after her, and she flipped him off as
she hurried away. She spotted a large crowd of people dancing
and noticed Nathan and Saffron among them. Seeing Nathan
brought back sordid memories, and Cheyenne felt an evil urge
growing inside her to give Scot a taste of his own medicine.
She approached the couple and placed a hand on Nathan’s
shoulder. Nathan turned to her, and the stunned look on his face practically made her chuckle.
“Saffron, can I cut in?”
Saffron smiled a racy smile that made her look like a hun-
gry lioness. “Only if we can share.”
“I’m game,” Cheyenne shrugged. Nathan glanced around
nervously.
“Far be it for me to be a party pooper, but where’s Scot?”
Nathan’s emerald eyes glittered seriously by the light of the fire.
She slid her hand down his chest. “Oh, he’s probably off
playing with our nanny.”
“Cheyenne, what’s gotten into you?” Nathan tilted his head
apprehensively, and Cheyenne rolled her eyes.
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TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
“Fine. If you don’t want to play, I’m sure Saffron does.”
She replied and moved toward Saffron. Saffron took her by the
hand and slowly ran her fingers down the exposed flesh of
Cheyenne’s back. They began to bump and grind, working the
nearby male crowd into a cheering frenzy. Out of the corner of
her eye, Cheyenne saw Nathan disappear from sight.
After searching every corner of the bar and finding neither
Cheyenne nor Scot, Steph took a seat with a view of the party.
She figured if she stayed in one spot for a while, she’d see one of them pass. She sat sipping coconut water and watching the casual debauchery with detached amusement. Though the light off
the fires prevented her from getting the full effect of the large full moon, this particular area was the quintessential Brazilian beach, and she gave herself five minutes before she bailed on the plan to find anyone and went off toward the far end of the beach to see why the moon was so worth celebrating.
She got far enough away that all she could hear of the music
was the dull thump of the bass—she recognized it as a Fury song
from their second album—go Scot Charles! At this point in the
evening, the tide sounded much more appealing, and Steph sat
on soft sand. The moonlight cast the coastline in subtle shades of silver and gray, dark rocks and shadows, tall clouds and
shimmering waves.
“Stephanie Brier!” She heard a jovial girls voice exclaim.
Steph glanced up at the pack of college-aged girls and
immediately looked back at the water. They were the Furies who
recognized her by the bonfire. Fucking vultures.
“OMG!” One of her companions exclaimed. “You have to
tell us! What’s sex with Phillip like?”
“What do you think?” Steph replied, without taking her
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RAGE
eyes off the water. Maybe if she didn’t engage, they’d wander
back to the guys and leave her alone.
“Hot.” One of the girls chimed in, and they all giggled.
“I think he looks like he’d be enormous!” another
