Pleasure Island by Anna-Lou Weatherley

quick to criticise while never offering an alternative.
    â€˜Gentlemen, please.’ Super8#4 was also online and quickly waded in on the argument. ‘Let’s not bicker among ourselves; after all, we share a common goal here, don’t we? Besides, now that they’re on the island we have full control. McKenzie wants our input so let’s give it to him.’
    Super8#6 raised an eyebrow.
    â€˜You seriously believe that? McKenzie is the only one in control here, make no mistake about that!’ He suspected that Super8#4, with whom he was conversing, was the woman and in all honesty he found her just as intriguing as he did the island guests. There had been something in her eyes when they had met that one time, something cold, something sinister and admittedly thoroughly delectable. He wouldn’t have minded studying her too.
    â€˜OK, we know that gore isn’t your bag, though personally I could watch it all day long. So, tell us Super8#3, what exactly is your bag?’
    The American paused. Of all the members of the elusive Super Eight Club, he was the most sceptical. For him, this was a straightforward psychological experiment through which he intended to study the human condition. He was not a sadist, or particularly deviant, though he was rather pleased to see that the female guests appeared easy on the eye, but he had no particular desire to witness great pain and suffering, like he suspected some of his team members did, the woman especially so it seemed. This was not due to him possessing much empathy and more because it was not what he was in this for; it was confusion and conflict, moral dilemma and division he was after; he wanted to study how the guests would both react and interact when put in extreme emotional situations, like rats in a laboratory.
    He smirked to himself. Whoever Super8#6 was he had underestimated his supreme intellect. As it was he did have something ‘better’ in mind for their guests, something that didn’t involve broken limbs and blood – well, at least not pre-meditatively.
    â€˜They need an ice-breaker,’ he said flatly, ‘something that’s ostensibly fun but that’s going to stir things up a bit. From what I can see already, Mia and Rupert –’
    â€˜Careful,’ the woman interjected, ‘we were instructed not to use their names remember? Play by the rules Super8#3, you naughty boy.’
    Super8#3 stood corrected. McKenzie had been very straight about this from the off.
    â€˜Fair enough, though something tells me you’re not one for rules yourself. The singer and the lawyer – we already know they have bad blood.’
    â€˜And … you have something in mind?’ Super8#3 was reluctantly intrigued himself now.
    â€˜How about a little game of truth or dare?’
    Super8#3 snorted derisively, though of course his fellow club member could not have heard it. ‘Bit 11th grade, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Not my version,’ the American shot back.
    The woman was smiling at her screen.
    â€˜And what’s so special about your version?’
    Super8#6’s smiled malevolently. He’d compiled and used this particular ‘experiment’ in his practice sessions primarily to coax unhappily married couples he counselled to open up and confess their inner most feelings to each other. The results, while often hit and miss, were never dull. In the past he had seen couples kiss and make up and others come to physical blows; while the former was arguably the objective, the latter was undeniably more fun to watch. With some bespoke tailoring he felt it had the potential to make a truly insightful, not to mention explosive, introduction to the island.
    â€˜Well,’ he relied smugly, ‘let’s just say the last time I witnessed this game being played, it broke more than just ice.’

12
    â€˜ F ucking ’ell ! You ain’t gonna believe this!’
    Billie-Jo had been