Chapter 3
It’s an afternoon last April, and I’m in my cubicle at McKinney, Rosenberg, and Wallace. My phone buzzes, and my brother’s name lights up the screen. “Why, hello, Adam.”
“Bea, I need a favor.”
It’s awful that these words bring me unmitigated joy, but trading in favors is a currency that I’ve always appreciated. Maybe it’s being a middle child. Maybe it’s the lawyer in me. Maybe after twenty-six years, I’m just an awful person. “I’m listening.”
“I need you to be an extra in some promo I’m doing for the escape room. I can’t afford to hire a model or actress. You’re close enough to my target audience, especially if you leave your pantsuits at home.”
Eye roll. “We can’t all have yellow spandex in our closets.” I haven’t seen Adam’s escape room yet. It’s not open, and he said he didn’t want me seeing it until it was done. I have to admit I’m curious. “What exactly would I be agreeing to?”
“An evening of filming at the escape room. Heavy shadows and claustrophobic close-ups. That’s it.”
“Fine. But you’ll owe me.”
“Yeah, I’ll owe you big-time. Can you be here at five?”
“Not if you want me to show up looking like a blithe cliché of a young social media influencer. I’d be coming straight from work. As in pantsuits.”
“Fine. As soon as you can, then.”
I’m not a monster. I respect what my brother is trying to do.
Pursuing his entrepreneurial dreams and eschewing law school takes guts.
Particularly when our parents’ fondest wish is for all of us to be attorneys.
Family legacy, etcetera, etcetera. Although lately, I’m wondering if their priorities haven’t shifted to grandbabies and matrimony.
They’ve been less than subtle trying to set me up with “son of a friend of a friend” types.
I’m happy to help Adam buck tradition. Gleaning a future favor out of it is a bonus.
After work, I head home to change, stop to pick up tacos, and make the drive down from Del Mar to Pacific Beach.
“You read my mind,” Adam says when I arrive and hand him a box of tacos. “Thanks, Bea.”
“You didn’t mention dinner, and I’m not about to spend all night on my feet with nothing to eat.” I inhale an al pastor taco.
Adam scrubs a hand over his face. “I need to allocate more funds for this kinda thing. As soon as I have funds. Thanks again for helping me out.”
My little brother’s sincerity is achingly sweet. “Of course.” I brush a few crumbs from my fingers. “Now where do I stand?”
He leads me down a twisting hallway of rooms. “I’ve got the cameras set up. Just walk in and try to ignore them. I’m not recording audio, so say whatever you want. Keep it natural.”
“Walk in. Don’t look at the cameras. And then…”
He shrugs. “Try to escape.” He slides open a creaking metal door, and I walk into a padded cell. Adam pushes a button on his phone, and a hidden door pops open among the padding. “Cool, right?”
I lean against the bars. “Incredibly.”
Adam smiles, snaps a couple of pictures, then leaves as I walk into the next room.
Bare lightbulbs flicker above me, plunging me in and out of darkness. Unlike the last cell, this one isn’t padded. A pattern of letters is scrawled across each concrete wall. Large H’s and A’s smeared in dark red cover every square inch of the walls.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Someone’s in here. A different lightbulb flickers on, and I see a figure crouched in the corner, back to me. Blocking the only other door in the room.
I am going to kill Adam. Of course he’d lock me in here with one of his method actor hirelings and not tell me. “Hello?” I say.
I hear a wheezing, low chuckle. The light continues to flicker. I take a step closer. A man dressed in suit pants, suspenders, and a white shirt rises with the unsettling grace of a snake’s slow crawl.
I shudder in spite of myself. “You’re blocking the exit.”
The lights flicker and then wink out completely. I’m wrapped in darkness, but I hear movement, feel it too. “Come to play?”
I know it’s coming, but I can’t stop myself from screaming when the lights are back on, and this man is inches from me.
I laugh. I have to remind myself that this is all theater.
He’s tall, towering over me, and even with the over-the-top makeup (inked eyes and a slash of red across his lips), he’s attractive.
His shirt’s unbuttoned, and I enjoy the sight of his broad shoulders and chiseled chest. But it’s his eyes.
Warm honey, intelligent. Something inside me sparks.
I part my lips. I want to smile, but the flickering light has me on edge.
He arches an eyebrow. “You look pretty scared.” He held and stretched the last syllable of pretty until it became a low growl.
Heat creeps up my neck. I look pretty? No, he said I look scared. I’m feeling all kinds of things, chief among them is outright annoyance that Adam set me up. But something else. Curiosity, I think. I haven’t felt curious about anything or anyone in ages.
It’s a sad commentary on my life that I’m this interested in the attention of a strange man dressed in cosplay.
He takes a step back, and now he’s standing under one of the lights, his brow shadowing his eyes, highlighting the bridge of his aquiline nose, and his sharp cheekbones creating dark valleys in his cheeks. “Who are you?” he asks.
I’m not backing away. This cosplayer has an intensity, an energy that is as sexy as it is terrifying.
“I’m a volunteer.”
“No.” His hair—long and bleached blond—has gotten into his eyes. “You’re someone special.” He smiles, and I shiver. “I can tell you want to play.” Another step, and I back away. “With me.”
I swallow. I try to smile. This is a joke, a very well-executed joke, that my brother’s target audience is going to love. “You’re Badpun, right?” I catch the trademark teardrop tattoos at his left eye.
He inhales through his nose, and I watch his chest rise. He exhales and groans. “Let’s play a game and find out.” The cadence of his words is insane. Rising and dipping in unexpected ways. Stressing syllables that should be quiet. It makes my ears buzz. My skin tingles.
This guy is good. Talent is a funny thing. Subtle. Often mistaken in flashier circumstances for ego. But this guy has it. Presence. Timing.
“How?”
“Turn around.”
I roll my eyes.
“Turn, turn, turn, turn. Yes,” he says in a low hiss. “Now close your eyes.”
“No.” Admiration for talent and curiosity notwithstanding, I have my limits.
“Fair. But I did warn you.”
Strobes go off, and I have another reason to hate Adam. “Ugh,” I moan, pressing my eyes shut, hoping I’m not permanently blinded.
Fabric brushes against my arm. “Touch me, and I will sue you.”
There’s the low chuckle again. I feel his breath on the bare skin of my neck. “Do we need a safe word?” He is so close I can almost feel his lips brush the bottom of my ear, and his scent—fresh thyme and eucalyptus—swirls around me.
“I think that ship sailed.”
“You sure?” His hand is gently brushing my hair back and behind my ear.
I swat his hand away.
“Don’t move.”
I can’t move. If I do, I’ll start panting or shaking, my heart is beating that fast.
“Close your eyes.” In the darkness, I imagine seeing his throat bob. “Please.”
I do.
“Open them in three, two, one.”
The lights blink back on. I flinch when I realize I’m inches from a camera. And then I full-on scream when Badpun laughs behind me—earsplitting, raucously loud laughter that fills the room.
I’m going to kill Adam.
“Walk with me.” He gestures dramatically to another corner of the room. “Solve this puzzle, the door opens, and one of us escapes.” He laughs again. This time, it’s an unhinged cackling that should turn my stomach, but I’m a little too intrigued by this cosplayer’s commitment to be phased.
It’s a spin lock with letters. I twist them to spell badpun. A red light flashes.
“Wrong.” Badpun leans against the wall, looking at me, licking his lips. “Two more chances.”
“Then what?”
“We play a new game.”
“Catch Adam and make him pay for his crimes?”
He smiles. Something about it feels like a secret, like a backstage glimpse into whoever this very talented, or very psychotic, man is. Maybe that’s what makes his next line so startling. “Or I kiss you.”
I think I actually jump. My mouth hangs open.
“Kidding.” He laughs before frowning and inhaling slowly. “Kidding,” he says again, this time in a low rumble.
“Funny.” I try spelling escape. The red light flashes again.
“Is it?” He cocks his head. The light flickers in his honey-colored eyes. “Only one way to find out?”
For a second, I believe him. I’m not proud of it. I’d like to pretend that I’m not some basic cavewoman who gets a whiff of a man’s pheromones and wants to tongue him. But I have to admit there’s something delicious about this cosplayer. Unsettling and delicious.
“There it is,” he hisses. “You want to play just as bad as me.” He turns his head and grins before his focus reclaims me. I’m fully prepared for him to pounce, start laughing maniacally again. Instead, he leans a shoulder against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankles.
His shirt sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and I admire the veins that are in stark relief around the corded muscle.
The lights flicker brighter before dimming.
“You don’t have to look so scared,” he whispers, and my stomach tightens. A heady weightlessness fills my chest.
I try hard not to shiver. “I’m not.”
“Come on. Let’s hear a laugh. Ha ha ha.”
I’m shaking. And it’s not fear. “Ha ha ha.”
An amused smirk surfaces on his lips. And he inhales deeply. “That’s it.” His eyes dart to the code box on the wall.
I groan as I spin the letters on the lock to hahaha. The lights flicker off, and the bolt on the door in the corner slides open. “Looks like I’ve escaped.”
“For now.” He hesitates before easing back. And then he laughs that wheezing chuckle that I’m sure is going to haunt me.
I step out of Badpun’s cell into a small room with a half-finished mural, no doubt for social media selfies, and boxes stacked everywhere.