Page 39 of Here for a Good Time

FOURTEEN

“I know they’re your cousins,” I blurt out.

The rest follows like word vomit. “You didn’t have the knife on you.

That wasn’t even part of the plan, was it?

They slipped it to you and you pretended to escape so you could come after us.

But Antonio messed it all up.” Immediately, I regret it.

I hadn’t considered if we were supposed to hold our cards close, or threaten her with what we’ve figured out so far.

Leila pauses mid-step, evidently jostled. “Let me guess,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You plotted your way to that conclusion? God, don’t you ever get annoyed with that nonsense?” she asks Zwe.

“You’re not getting away with this,” he says.

At this, she puts a hand to her chest and laughs. “Jesus Christ, you sound like a character in a clichéd action movie.” She turns to me. “Couldn’t you have written him some vaguely original dialogue? Your book was much better than this.”

“You read my book?” I ask.

She flicks a hand. “Yes, I read it. And yes—” She crosses her arms and straightens her stance. “I also already knew about your Netflix deal. I know how much you’re worth.”

“So this is about… me?” I shake my head, a chill spreading down to my toes. “You did all of this for—”

“For you?” she cuts in with a snicker. “Please, don’t be flattered. I googled you, not orchestrated a complex multi-person operation to specifically hold you hostage. If I wanted to do that, I could’ve just snatched you on my own. You don’t really put up much of a fight.”

I’m so relieved that I can’t even be offended. “So let us go,” I say. “Let all of us go. Whatever you and your cousins want, none of us can give it to you.”

“See, the thing is,” she says, and clicks her tongue, “that was the plan. But then you had to go ahead and snatch off Nita’s mask. And then you had to figure out we were all cousins, so—” She shrugs. “Really, it’s your fault that you’re not getting out of this alive, Poe.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Zwe pleads. “No one else saw your cousin’s face. No one else knows you all are related. I don’t know if you’ve told them, but if you haven’t, we won’t even tell anyone you were a part of all of this. Please just let us go. We all have families.”

“And we don’t?” she spits out.

“I… never said you didn’t,” Zwe says. We both tense at the change in her demeanor. She went from haughty to angry in a second, as though we accidentally flipped a switch.

Maybe that’s the key. Judging by her reaction, this has to be about her family somehow. Her cousins, their family, the resort. I’m both so close and so far from solving everything.

“So what is it that you want?” I ask.

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” she calls out, and then to us, “Well, right now I want you to say hi to my cousins.”

Two women walk in, both removing their masks with one hand as they cross the threshold, while clutching a large rifle in the other.

“What took you so long?” Leila huffs. When she twists around to address them, I see the gun tucked into the back of her jeans pocket. I glance over at Zwe, who nods to confirm that he’s clocked it, too.

“Bathroom break,” one of them says. Then, plastering on a big, bright grin, she says, “Hi, I’m Nita,” facing Zwe before locking onto me, her equally saccharine cadence and facial expression multiplying the eeriness of the situation tenfold.

“Hi, Poe, was it? So happy to meet you officially. Although—” She gives a pout.

“—what you did back there wasn’t nice, the whole kicking me in the face and everything.

” She points at a spot on her right cheekbone that’s black and blue. “I don’t like this. At all.”

The other one, aka Pixie Cut, says, “And I’m Garima.

I gotta give it to you, you guys gave us a little run for our money.

Out on the beach there, I was worried for a minute that you might actually shoot at me.

But Leila here”—she cocks her head in Leila’s direction—“assured us you were far too sensitive to do anything like that.” She chuckles as she scans me up and down.

“She was so right. You could’ve ended all of this right then and there but alas—” She sighs.

“I was literally begging you to shoot and you still couldn’t.

What a couple of babies,” Leila says with a snicker.

“Anyway, enough chitchat.” She snaps her fingers, and Nita and Garima hand over their rifles before heading toward us.

“That storm should be coming in—” She looks out the windows.

“Right on time. So here’s what’s going to happen.

We’re going to take you down to the reception hall, and neither of you are going to try to pull off whatever harebrained scheme you’ve plotted —” She makes air quotes with one hand.

“—like this is one of your silly little books. I promise you, unlike the two of you, none of us will hesitate to pull a trigger.” To prove her point, she lifts and aims both weapons at me and Zwe.

Nita comes behind me, while Garima stands behind Zwe. Working at the same time, they start to untie us as we sit there motionless, hesitant to even cough.

“One move,” Nita says nonetheless, her breath spreading across the nape of my neck, “and your pretty boyfriend will have a perfect bullet hole in the back of his pretty head.”

“We’ve got a small problem, by the way,” Garima says as she works on Zwe’s rope.

“Let me guess.” Leila lets out a tired groan. “Andrea’s piped up. Again.”

Garima shrugs. “She still thinks we should take them with us.”

“I fucking swear, all of that bleach has seeped into that girl’s brain,” Leila mutters. “And what happens once we reach the mainland? Should we also arrange cars to the airport and flights for everyone as well?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger, dude.”

“We’re already letting them go. She wants us to chauffeur them too?” Leila runs her fingers through her hair and grabs the crown. “I told you she was too soft for this. We should’ve left her at home with her computers.”

“She’s worried the beach won’t be enough of a barrier—”

Pinching the top of her nose, Leila says, “Well, if she wants to give up her spot on the boat, then she’s free to do so. I’ll have a talk with her later.” She shakes her head. “Fucking kids.”

“Get up,” Nita orders. Too absorbed in the other conversation, I don’t hear her immediately, and she gets my attention by elbowing my shoulder.

“Ow!” I yell.

“Oh shut up, it wasn’t even that hard. Now get up. Slowly.”

I raise my hands as I get up off the chair, but then almost immediately have to bend over and steady myself against the back of it once I’m on my feet. “I said no funny business!” Nita barks.

“I need a minute,” I snap under my breath. “Your cousin knocked me unconscious with a stool. I’m not exactly in tip-top physical shape, now, am I?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nita take a step forward, stopping when Zwe’s rough growl comes from the other side. “You touch her, and I will drown you in the sea myself, I swear,” he murmurs.

“Oh, how cute,” Nita coos. “Your boyfriend is trying to stand up for you even when you’re both hours away from your grisly, untimely demise.”

Gathering myself, I straighten and raise my hands again while trying to relocate my center of gravity. “Ow!” I yell when she yanks my hands down and behind me again.

“I said—” Zwe starts.

“Yeah, yeah, not a single strand of hair, I heard you,” Nita tells him. “But look around, sweetheart, you’re not exactly the one calling the shots here. Now, put your hands behind your backs again.”

“And remember,” Garima says, already reworking the rope around Zwe’s wrists. “There are two of you, and three of us.”

After they’ve retied us, Leila walks over and hands them their guns. With more speed (and glee) than I’m comfortable with, Nita and Garima shove the barrels between our shoulder blades.

Leila opens the door, steps aside, and makes a big, sweeping gesture. “After you, my esteemed guests,” she says with a mock bow.

The room is right next to the elevator, whose doors open as soon as Leila presses the down button, as though they, too, have been waiting this whole time—another cog in her well-oiled machine.

We’re seven floors up, and as the five of us descend, I can’t help but feel something like I’m going down to the gates of hell; the feeling is made even eerier by all the mirrors around us, trapping us in a seven-by-seven fun house.

When I catch Zwe’s eyes in the mirror, he narrows them just slightly, and I get the sense that he’s still trying to reassure me that we’ll be okay even if all the current evidence is pointing to the contrary.

Still, it is reassuring to know that he’s here.

I take a deep breath to try to calm myself down, and, beneath the smell of sweat and dirt and rain, locate his scent.

White tea and sage cologne, a birthday present I first got him six years ago, the only present he’s ever asked for every year since. A series of flashbacks is set off in my brain, like someone’s put the last coin into the pinball machine.

Zwe, me, our parents and his brother at our high school graduation.

Zwe video-calling me from Rhode Island, me answering in Oxford, our outfits and the glimpses of scenery outside our windows changing throughout the seasons.

Zwe when I first asked him if we should rent a place together.

Zwe behind the cash register when I emerged from the stockroom after a call, the call, with Ayesha. How he crushed me into his chest when I said, “I think I have an agent.”

Zwe popping open the champagne after I bought our apartment.

Zwe, Zwe, Zwe.