Chapter Nine
The first thing Clarisse and Thomas do is place brown paper bags over our heads.
Next, they tie our wrists with what feels like a thick, coarse rope—softer than fisherman’s rope but rougher than a jump rope. I feel Nico struggle against his restraints next to me, flailing around like a dying fish.
I, on the other hand, choose to sit still, taking this time in the dark to recalibrate and calculate my next move.
An unexpected wave of calm washes over me, as if I’ve been in this situation many times.
Strange, considering the worst crime I’ve ever committed is stealing a Juicy Tubes lip gloss from the mall as a middle schooler in order to feel alive.
And I felt so guilty afterward that I went back the next day and returned it.
But now that I’ve essentially been “taken,” it’s almost like some deeply buried reflexes have kicked in.
I have settled into the comfort of muscle memory.
Bizarre.
“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Nico whispers to me, his words muffled by the flimsy layers of paper separating us.
I shake my head, then cringe. Nico obviously can’t see me. Idiot.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead.
Nico inhales sharply, incredulous. “What could you possibly have to be sorry about? You didn’t kidnap us.”
“No,” I agree. “But I did get into this car even when you clearly didn’t want me to. You knew it was a bad idea. We’re in this mess because of me.”
Nico is silent. For a minute, I wonder if he has fainted due to the stress.
“Joonie,” he finally says. “You’re not responsible for the bad actions of others. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I breathe.
But do I?
I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like I had to overcompensate.
To make up for the way others saw me. To be the best kind of Middle Eastern American—white passing and well behaved, always the optimist—to accommodate my peers.
To devote myself to the romance genre even after the romantic leads in my own life turned on me, broke my heart and my spirit in so many ways.
I even posture to Nico to show him how little I need him after he disappointed me.
I rarely do anything just for myself, simply because I want to.
I’m always trying to prove something to someone.
To get rid of this knot in my stomach telling me that if I end up alone and miserable, it will be all my fault.
Maybe that’s why this trip to New York is so important to me. In a way, this is me attempting to choose myself.
Or at least it was.
I clear my throat, my airways clogging with unshed tears.
In the front seat, Clarisse and Tom are laughing, shouting the lyrics of a rock song I don’t recognize.
The car is cutting through the air with ease, accelerating as if it’s packed with jet fuel.
The police scanner hasn’t come on again, but static blares from the radio every so often, threatening to deafen us.
“What do you want?” Nico calls out. “You said you were here to collect. So do it. Looking for money? I have some cash in my wallet. Let me pay you and let us go.”
Clarisse clicks her tongue. “After you tried to call the pigs? So you can run off to the nearest station and ID us? I don’t think so, baby. We’ll take that sweet piece on your wrist, though. All in due time. You just sit tight and wait for Harry.”
I feel Nico’s body start to shake, causing the seat beneath us to vibrate.
He’s panicking. And I don’t blame him. This is objectively scary as fuck.
But he’s losing his cool, and quickly. This is where his pessimism really has the potential to slow down our escape.
Me, though? I’m getting out of this alive. I have a date with destiny. I can’t allow myself to think of any other outcome.
I inhale for three, exhale for six. Somehow, the strategy works. I focus my attention once more.
“What’s the plan, then?” I ask casually. “If you’re not planning on robbing us, what good are we to you?”
Thomas scoffs. “As if we’re going to give you a villain monologue. Nice try, sweetie. This ain’t no action movie.”
Nico bristles, shifting back and forth in agitation.
I sigh, spittle splattering the inside of my brown paper bag.
It was worth a try.
Suddenly, the car stops and the radio shuts off. I hear the front doors open, then slam shut. The tapping of heels on the pavement, followed by the muffled sound of raised voices.
Our assailants must be arguing about what to do next. This is clearly their first kidnapping.
I shift to the right slightly and reach out with my tied hands, trying to find Nico’s fingers. Unfortunately, I scrape something else with my nails instead.
“Hey!” he whisper-shouts. “Watch your hands!”
“I’m sorry, do you have a hard-on?”
“It’s an involuntary reaction to adrenaline. Sue me!”
For the first time since we met Thomas and Clarisse, I stifle a laugh.
Then the door next to me flies open, and two strong arms loop under my armpits and haul me out of the car.
I smell burned cinders, cheap liquor, and gas station perfume.
I groan as my assailant throws me over their shoulder, my torso dangling down their back and my legs in front.
Without thinking, I start to kick. Like Merriah learning to swim.
But Clarisse is prepared. She begins binding my legs with the same material she used to tie my wrists.
“Hey, careful with the pants,” I tell her. “They’re one of a kind!”
She chortles. “You’re a riot, girlie.”
She treks across what sounds like a gravel parking lot. When we finally pause, I hear her press some kind of button, resulting in a repetitive beeping sound. After a few moments, gears rotate and metal clangs. I shut my eyes and try to place the noise.
A garage door. She’s brought me to a garage.
The draft hits my bare stomach, and goose bumps spread across my midriff. Clarisse struts forward, dumping my body onto what feels like a wooden chair before adjusting my restraints. Seconds later, I hear the beeping sound again, and heavier footsteps join Clarisse’s.
Based on the wiggling and grunting, it sounds like Nico is still fighting back. Hard.
I roll my eyes beneath my bag.
Men—all struggle, no strategy.
Once Nico is safely secured to a chair that I assume is right next to mine, Thomas huffs, clearly out of breath. “What?” he asks, his tone defensive. “That boy is heavier than he looks.”
“Sure,” Clarisse snorts. “You get the watch?”
He whistles a high-pitched tune. “You know it. This little baby should make for some sweet pocket change at the pawn. Just need to file off the serial. You ready to make the exchange?”
“Got all the dominoes in a line. There’s nothing left to do but blow. Harry wasn’t happy, but he was heading in this direction anyway. I’m sure the crew will find a way to make it worth our while.”
Harry.
Who the hell are these two dummies working for?
I figured them for two idiots running petty schemes like pickpocketing and shoplifting.
I mean, it’s clear that kidnapping is not exactly their forte.
But they know what they’re doing to a degree.
It just never occurred to me that they could be small cogs in a much larger machine.
Well, until they singled out Nico. And brought up some mysterious “bets” I seem to be the only one to know nothing about.
Thomas lets out a whoop, and then there’s the shuffling of feet, followed by wet slurping sounds. The sliding of tongues and the nipping of lips. A soft moan followed by a much louder groan.
I try not to gag into my paper bag.
“If you two are going to do it right here, at the very least take off these bags and let us enjoy the show,” I taunt.
“You’ve got a mouth on you, girl,” Thomas snickers.
Seconds later, the bag is ripped from my head.
Holy Furnace, he’s easy to goad.
I blink several times, blinded by the light. As I predicted, Nico and I are strapped to two wooden chairs, our wrists and ankles bound with what looks like hemp rope.
Clove hitches, if I’m not mistaken.
Tricky devils to escape from.
But not impossible.
We’re in a dimly lit, bare-bones garage.
There are a few brown boxes stacked up by the door, along with some gardening supplies: shovels, tools, pots, bags of soil.
A long loose hose uncoils on the ground like a snake.
There’s a lawnmower parked in the right-hand corner, a long extension cord, and a sparkly pink tricycle.
I note all the sharp, pointy objects, and it takes every bit of effort not to smile.
And these two said they specialized in valuable cargo?
Puh-lease.
“All right, you two. Behave, you hear?” Clarisse says, her red lipstick now smeared all over her face. “This will all be over before you know it.”
“Thanks again for the company,” Thomas calls out as our kidnappers turn to leave. “It’s been a real treat. I hope you both eventually find love in the big city!”
Clarisse reaches up to tug on a rope hanging from the ceiling.
The lights go out.
Seconds later, the garage door starts to close behind them.
The minute we’re alone, Nico loses his shit.
“Okay. It’s going to be okay. Right? Right.
They wouldn’t take us here to kill us. I mean, they said they were just kidnapping us.
That’s all this is. A nice straightforward kidnapping.
And hypothetically, if they were going to murder us, wouldn’t they just get it over with?
Unless they’re serial killers who enjoy torturing their victims. Do you think they’re serial killers?
Oh my God, no one will ever find us here.
No one is looking for us. And they took my watch.
My great-grandfather’s watch. They’ll have nothing to identify our bodies with.
Except for our teeth. Fuck, what if they knock out our teeth? ”
I wait patiently for his panic to subside. How come there are no book tropes about hysterical men?
“Breathe, Nico,” I command. “Slow down your heart rate. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Here, watch me.”