BAD

The first BAD operatives made their debuts in the
Sex Camp Diaries with:

BAD to the Bone

"Hey Sam," Kyle said to the surly man behind the concierge desk as he entered the lobby of the small luxury hotel where he’d been staying literally against his will.

Since Kyle had been shot in the line of duty (about six times they assumed- five bullets had been dug out and there was some debate on what had caused the sixth wound), his boss had decided Kyle needed a vacation at the hotel his agency owned on a remote, private island out in the middle of the Atlantic.

Kyle thought the six week "vacation" was completely unnecessary, but Joe had insisted and anyone who had ever tried to argue with Joe Q. Public soon found out they would have a better time moving a mountain than budging Joe even an inch.

So here he was; a highly trained special ops agent, bored, healed and rearing to go only to find Joe laughing at him every time he called and begged for a plane ride off this godforsaken island.

At least until twenty minutes ago when fate had finally shined on him again.

Suddenly the thought of the next week looked promising.

Kyle stopped at the desk where Sam sat holding a long neck beer propped on his knee while watching a Lakers game on ESPN. In his mid-fifties, Sam looked like the picture perfect image of a stout Scotsman. He had a ruddy complexion and a wide, serious face that was topped by a thick unruly mane of stark white hair. He wore black rimmed glasses that continually slid down his broad nose that he constantly pushed back up.

But the most interesting thing about him was his companion Roscoe. An old Basset hound, Roscoe had about as much attitude as any dog Kyle had ever met. And in a strange way, Kyle liked that old dog as much as he liked Sam.

Kyle paused at the counter and respectfully waited for a commercial before he interrupted the hotel’s manager. "Tell me something, Sam. What’s on the other side of this island and why am I not supposed to go over there?"

Sam shrugged as he looked up from the small television. He took a quick swig of beer before he answered. "That’s them weirdos from that publisher, Rose Books. You’d have to ask Joe for more details. He’s the one who rents this part of the island from them so we can do some covert training, or in your case emergency R and R. I think he knows the owner of the publishing house or something."

"Do you know what goes on over there?"

"Yeah, and it’s spooky as all get out."

"Spooky how?"

"It’s Sex Camp."

Kyle choked at the unexpected answer. "What?"

"Sex Camp," Sam repeated simply as if there was nothing unusual about the title. "They have these women what read those romance books and every few months or so one of them wins a trip out here to live out their fantasy novel and they put on this whole grand show with the winner."

Sam pushed his glasses up. "Makes you want to know what’s in them romance novels women read. I’ve been reading Tom Clancy for years and all I get is submarines and war stories." He snorted. "I ain’t never had the itch to run into the woods with a bunch of sailors and try to throw them down on the ground. You know what I mean?"

Not really. Sam had a bad habit of not always making sense. "Beg pardon?" Kyle asked.

"Listen," Sam continued as he idly stroked Roscoe’s head. "A word to the wise, son, you got to be real careful walking around after dark whenever one of them fantasies is going on. They don’t call it Sex Camp for nothing. I’ve seen them do things on the beach that’ll make you go blind. Hell, some of it I didn’t even know was humanly possible."

Kyle couldn’t keep his mouth from hanging open as he thought about Marianne being the latest winner. There was no way his sweet little visitor would do something like that.

Was there?

And if there was, then she better damn well be doing it with him.

"Are you yanking my chain?" he asked Sam.

"Nah, why would I?" Sam gave him an intense stare over the top rims of his glasses. "You think they’re normal women when they come off the plane, but they’re really raving nymphomaniacs cleverly disguised."

"Bullshit."

"Nah, boy, it’s true. They come off the plane look all nice and normal and within twenty-four hours they turn into Debbie Does Dallas or Richard or whoever she can find. It’s horrifying what happens to these women." He pointed to his dog. "See Roscoe here? He’s only two years old. He went into the woods one night and now look at him. Their antics done aged him twenty years over night. And don’t get me started on them men they got. I don’t know where they find them. But something about them ain’t right neither. So I stay on my side of the island as far away from all of them loons as I can get."

"I don’t believe you."

Sam shrugged and turned back toward the television as the game resumed. "You don’t got to believe it. Truth is truth. You should be here whenever they’re doing one of those historical reenactments. They make us run around in costume in case we accidentally bump into one of their winners. It’s a big pain. We have to say things like ‘my lady’ and shit. I feel like a blooming idiot. Can you just imagine my fat ass in a tutu or tights or whatever those godawful things are called?" He blew out a disgusted breath. "I got too-too much for those things and their director, Aislinn Zimmerman, once tried to borrow Roscoe for scenery."

Roscoe whined at that.

"That’s right, boy. Don’t worry. Old Sam would never let them abuse you." He glanced back at Kyle. "That’s why I keep Roscoe hidden. The last thing I need is my poor dog going blind too."

Kyle stood there stunned by Sam’s disclosures. He just couldn’t see the woman he’d met doing something like that. She’d seen so pure. Innocent.

No, he didn’t believe it. But this whole scenario would require more research.

Heading for the elevators, he decided it was time to get down to business and do what he did best.

Research, infiltrate, and take whatever action necessary to achieve his objective: Seduce Marianne.