Page 30 of Down and Dirty Celebrity Edition

The wet ball of mud slipped from her mud-slicked fingers a microsecond early and arced straight into Wyn’s trajectory. It didn’t hit her shoulder as Amy had aimed. Instead, the mud ball struck Wyn square across the eyes with a horrific, wet slap.

Wyn dropped like a stone.

Fuck, Amy thought, her blood turning to ice water. She’d killed her. She’d literally killed the Hollywood starlet, and for what? A pizza. What the hell was she thinking?

Time slowed down. The world stopped moving. There were shouts from the bench side of the field, but Amy couldn’t hear what they were saying. I’m going to prison, Amy’s brain screamed. They’re going to air this season as a true-crime documentary.

Out of the corner of Amy’s eye, she could see both Maurine and Naomi heading toward the field, but before either could get over the shin-high pegs that cordoned off the space, Wyn exploded upward out of the sludge like a sea monster breaking the surface. She wiped a heavy slab of sludge from her eyes and locked her gaze straight onto Amy.

“I’m coming for you, Sandler,” she snarled, her voice dripping with rage.

Amy had only ever been faced with one other life-threatening situation. It was when she was seventeen and a panicked squirrel had gotten trapped in their living room. Within seconds, it had knocked a lamp off the end table, sent glass flying across the carpet, and chewed through the microwave cord. Amy didn’t count her encounter with Brutus and Nero because surely she was never in any real danger? And both times, her body dared to freeze. Not fight. Not flight. Just complete paralysis.

Wyn charged across the pit like an angry bull. Worst of all, Amy was wearing a faded Eat My Cherries red T-shirt. She might as well have been waving a matador’s cape.

Somewhere to Amy’s left, Savannah shouted, “It was my idea, Wyn. I told her to throw mud at you.”

But that didn’t stop Wyn. She was driven by pure rage and took another three thunderous strides directly toward Amy. Then, right when Amy’s brain had somehow convinced her feet to unstick themselves, Wyn’s left heel stayed locked in the mud while her body twisted awkwardly to the left.

A sickening pop suddenly cut through the beach, followed instantly by a guttural scream as Wyn collapsed sideways into the pit, clutching her left ankle. “FUUUCK!”

Chapter Eighteen

Savannah took a bite of her cheesy pizza and nearly moaned with pleasure. The crisp, wood-fired crust had just the right amount of char. The fontina stretched in long, greasy ribbons, and the roasted wild mushrooms and earthy drizzle of black truffle oil made it all taste exactly like heaven. Could life get any better?

“I’ve been in reality TV for over two decades,” Elise muttered.

Savannah snapped open her eyes to see Elise rubbing her temples. The executive producer was slouched against an equipment crate. Beside the crate, empty pizza boxes and two drained bottles of Prosecco were half-buried in the sand.

The reward challenge had ended right after two PAs had carried Wyn off on a stretcher. Instead of crowning a single winning pair, production had declared a temporary truce and fed all the contestants. They’d even been allowed a glass of Aperol Spritz, which Savannah had promptly knocked back. It was the reason she felt a delightful, weightless fuzziness settle in her head. She glanced sideways and caught Amy’s eye. Then she shoved her shoulder gently and winked. Amy smiled back, but it was obvious she wasn’t enjoying the pizza as much as everyone else. Guilt was chewing her up. Not that it was her fault, at least not completely. If Wyn had been a good sport, she never would’ve gone charging across the pit in search of blood. She never would’ve twisted her ankle.

“Maurine thinks I’ll have a heart attack before the finale,” Elise went on, looking at no one in particular. She did look ragged. Her blonde curls were a wild, frizzy halo. There were half-moons beneath her eyes, and she looked like she had lost weight. All was completely understandable, considering this season had proven to be an absolute nightmare for production. Sloan had suffered heatstroke, Luna had nearly set herself on fire, and now Wyn’s ankle had snapped like a twig. “My wife thinks I’m crazy for coming up with this season’s theme. But you know what I think?” She pushed herself away from the crate and brushed sand off her pants.

No one said a thing.

“I think we’re going to survive this.”

Then a PA came running across the beach. She hurried straight to Elise, breathing hard. “Wyn has completely torn the ligaments in her ankle. She’s being medically evacuated and will be returning to America for surgery.”

Kate and Luna both gasped.

“Maya Lin.” Elise pointed at Maya, who was mid-pizza bite. “You will be paired up with Ezra for the remainder of the game. Unless, of course, either of you gets voted out at the next Sending.” She waved tiredly at the far end of the beach, which Savannah assumed was a wave toward the cove where The Sending took place. “Instead of finishing the season off with two more challenges, we’ve decided it’s safer for everyone if the final challenge is the final battle between the three remaining pairs.”

Savannah nearly choked on the fontina as it slipped a little too solidly through her throat. This wouldn’t be the first season the last three pairs participated in the final challenge, but somehow it was the suddenness of the stakes that made Savannah’s head spin. All that pressure.

Again, she caught Amy’s eye and was glad her panic wasn’t exaggerated. Amy looked just as aghast. Her mouth was slightly agape.

“At the next challenge, only one pair will move on to the final Sending,” Elise went on.

“When will that be?” Luna asked, half raising her hand. Her fingers were dusted in black pizza char and shimmered with grease.

Elise held her gaze for a second that felt like twenty seconds. Then she smiled a wicked smile that brightened her round, tired face. But answer she did not. Instead, she clapped as she said, “No more injuries, please. From now on, this is an injury-free zone. Now go and get some rest, or do whatever it is you do at camp.”

Elise turned on her heel and slouched back toward the production tent set up at the other end of the beach. A small army of people in black scurried after her like ducklings.

“I can’t bel—” Savannah started as she turned toward Amy.

But Amy was already up. Then, without acknowledging Savannah, she walked away.