CHAPTER 37
“So, what happens after he climbs up and stabs her?”
“She stabs him right back.”
—Not Pretty Woman
“Who’s to say John isn’t going to cut us down as soon as we try to clear the stuff blocking the door?” Lee asks, and it’s a fair question. Safety first and all that.
Wes performed a coded knock that sounded suspiciously like the bass line of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” when we made it to their hideout.
After we heard something heavy being dragged—which I soon discovered was a tipped-over filing cabinet—the door opened to reveal all six of the missing people who escaped up the stairs at the beginning of the night.
Scared and exhausted and covered in blood.
Just like us. Except they all still had their name tags stuck to their chests.
“We’ve been here this long, and it’s saved us.
I think we just need to hold out a little longer,” Lee says.
He’s standing close to Nia, their bodies angled in toward each other in the same way I find myself standing when I’m next to Wes, and it makes me smile.
I can’t help it. I’m a romantic at heart.
Though maybe Lee would be more willing to assist in our escape if my wingman services were still on the table.
“It’s only a matter of time before he finds us here,” one of the women says.
When I look down at her name tag I spy the name Ellen.
She’s standing closest to the monitor that displays the video camera footage of the club.
I imagine the screen is usually a grid showing the main areas of the three levels, but the squares are all blacked out except the center image—black-and-white footage of the dance floor.
It’s grainy, but I can make out the heart in the middle of it, a prone figure draped over the bar in the top corner.
The dull light of the screen shines against Ellen’s face, the underlighting making her look of concern even more pronounced.
“Wes said he has an ax and a machete?” She directs that question to me, and I nod.
John wasn’t armed when he caught me in the corner, but he’s been pulling weapons out of thin air all night, using his never-ending stash of deadly blades. There’s a good chance he just put the latest in a safe place to maintain the romantic atmosphere he was going for.
Ellen sucks in a breath. “All we’ve got is one knife between eight people.”
I can tell this conversation is one that’s been had a lot by this group.
I can’t even hold it against them—not after everything that’s happened, and not after their current strategy has led them into the final act when so many others haven’t made the cut.
John made sure of that. He’s directed this whole night to ensure nothing would come between us.
He cast everyone in a role and all of them are disposable.
And that’s when it hits me. They are all disposable… but I’m not. Not yet.
Billie said as much.
I just can’t kill you yet, but I’m sure you’ll be a disappointment, just like the others.
The others. The victims before this. The ones who failed the test.
I had to make sure you were the right woman for me.
I’ve been putting this whole night into the context of a slasher, using my knowledge of the formula to try to stay safe, stay alive, and make it to the end, but we’re not just in a slasher.
Like Wes said, this is a fucked-up rom-com.
And rom-coms aren’t about playing it safe.
They’re about taking risks. They’re about going big or going home.
That’s what John’s been doing. I was right when I said the murders are just a means to an end.
A way of getting closer to his happy ending.
That’s why he’s been leaving all the roses and tokens of affection.
Why he delivered his little speech when he had me cornered.
He’s been playing out a different movie than the rest of us, and that’s why it hasn’t ended yet. Because his fantasy isn’t complete.
All night I’ve been wanting to avoid the final showdown between the Final Girl and the Big Bad, but rom-coms don’t end that way. I’ve been concentrating so much on not wanting to be the Final Girl I keep forgetting about what else he wants me to be.
The Leading Lady.
The One.
Taking on that role when I was stuck with him in the hallway, even just for a moment, seemed to work in my favor. It was like he thought we were the only two people in the club. The only two people in the world. So what if I did it again?
What if I make him feel like it’s just us?
Interrupting the murmured back-and-forth that’s started up between the group, I say, “What if I can guarantee he won’t go anywhere near the roof?” and the room falls silent. It’s a bold claim, but I’ve studied enough movies to know it’ll work.
When no one answers at first, the six hiding survivors share a look that speaks to the fact that spending the last few hours locked in a room together is the best bonding exercise there is. Then Nia shrugs and says, “Then, we’d—”
“Jamie.” Wes’s voice cuts into whatever Nia was going to say on behalf of the group, and I try to keep my self-assured smile for the benefit of the other people in the room. The ones who don’t know that while Wes may look calm, the tone of his voice is anything but.
I think it’s a good sign for our future relationship that I can pick up on it so well, and that’s why I’m still smiling when I tilt my head up and see Wes’s arched brow.
“Yes?”
“Can I have a word?”
We move to the other side of the room, the weight of the others’ stares heavy as Wes leans down and pins me with an unimpressed look. I think it’s another good sign for our future relationship that he knows what I’m planning. Not so much that he shoots it down immediately.
“I’m telling you now, as both a police officer and a man who wants to date you—you cannot go up against an armed assailant. You’re a civilian.”
“I’m the Final Girl,” I whisper. “And the Leading Lady. And the all-around expert on this shit.”
“Jamie, there is no way—”
“You can’t clear the barricade by yourself.
” I gesture to how he’s pressing a palm to his ribs, his jaw tense with pain, but even then he just lets out a restricted, frustrated breath and shakes his head as I keep listing reasons.
They come to mind so easily now that I know what I have to do.
“They are scared shitless. You’re the only one who can get them out, and I can buy you the time you need.
I’ll go down to the dance floor. I’ll do something to draw him there and distract him while you clear the barricade and go up to the roof.
You’ll be able to see when he’s there from the video, and then you can all get out of here. He won’t come after you if he has me—”
“Jamie—”
“Wes…” I’ve already told him Leading Ladies are assertive and independent. We’re not like ingenues who need to be saved. My mind is made up.
“This whole night, he hasn’t tried to hurt me.” The one deviation was when Billie came after me in the bathroom. I’m sure of it. I’m also sure the “J” etched into the mirror was not meant for me. Not in the way I thought. She was staking her claim.
“He just wants me. He wants me to play the part, and he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants. If you’re going to get to the roof, you need him to be distracted, and you know better than anyone else I can be a distraction.”
He lets out a humorless breath but shakes his head. His lips pull into a petulant line, so I hit him with the final point. Sometimes you need to make a person eat their own words to understand yours.
“You said you would do anything to make sure as many people got out as possible. I’m the ‘anything’ Wes.”
He knows I’m right. I can tell by the way his mouth sets firmer into that thin, grim line, and the way he won’t meet my eye as I wait for a rebuttal.
He knows John is going to come looking for us again.
He knows he can save these people before John decides they are obstacles in the way of winning my heart.
Just like I know he’s going to do it even if he doesn’t like that it leaves me alone.
He lets out a weighted sigh, glancing over at the others before he takes hold of my arm and turns us until my back is against the wall.
When he’s firmly in my space, looking down at me with that loaded stare, I know I’ve won.
“This hero-complex shit really does get old,” he mutters.
“Is it a turnoff?”
“Yeah, it is.” He nods, gesturing between our bloodstained chests. “I’m rethinking this whole thing between us now.”
He’s lying, and that’s why I grin. “Noted.”
When his face turns serious, I say, “He won’t hurt me. Not if I play along.”
He lifts his stare above my head, eyes narrowing as they dart back and forth, and I watch him try to figure out the plan in his head—how he can be in two places at once, get the survivors out and stay with me—but every time he plays it out and it doesn’t end right, the furrow between his eyebrows gets deeper.
“I’ll come back for you,” he says finally, his dark stare dropping down to meet mine, and I have to tamp down my smile because it’s the most cliché thing to say at a time like this.
“As soon as we reach the exit, as soon as they’re up on the roof, I’ll come back. Set the detectors off to make sure an alert gets out, and then I’ll come back for you and—”
“Stop.”
I hold up a palm, direct my most serious expression at him, and when it looks like he thinks I’m going to deliver some deep, heartfelt parting words, I sigh.
“You’re coming on really strong.”
After an extended startled silence he laughs, followed by an exhausted, incredulous scoff, and I have to bite down on my own smile.
“What …the fuck, Jamie?” He shakes his head, but the way he looks at me, the way his eyes shine…
“We’ve only just met, and I’m not really looking for anything long term right now,” I say gravely, trying not to break character when his gaze doesn’t falter and he lifts his palm to my face.
When John did it, I was apprehensive, then terrified.
But when Wes traces the peak of my cheekbone with his thumb, slides his fingers into my hair, and cups the back of my head, it just feels right.
I lean into his touch, step into his body, until we’re nose to nose, and he murmurs, “I’m gonna fall in love with you, aren’t I? ”
God, I hope so.
I hope we make it out and go on that date and do things that don’t include makeshift weapons and debilitating fear.
I hope what happened tonight doesn’t change us so much that we’re no longer the people who sat down at my table a few hours ago, locked eyes, and had an inkling things were going to be different once we walked out of this building.
Even if it had been a normal night with zero percent chance of murder, I still think this evening was going to be life changing for me, because I’m pretty sure Wes is my “Oh, it’s you” person.
I’m pretty sure I’m his, too. And I need us to make it through tonight so I can find out if I’m right.
That’s why I rise onto my bare, bruised, bleeding tiptoes and press my lips against his until he kisses me back. I count to three before I pull away, and he’s right: it really does work.
It doesn’t take long to get the others on board with the plan.
I’d like to think it’s due to my Leading Lady optimism, but it could also be the collective desperation to get the fuck out of this hellhole.
Either way, I make sure I keep a composed, confident expression on my face as Jason and Michael shift the filing cabinet away from the door, allowing myself one more look at Wes’s grim expression before I open the door just wide enough to slip outside.
Only when I’m alone in the hallway and hear the filing cabinet being slid back in front of the door do I let myself have the briefest moment of doubt.
A real sense of imposter syndrome hits me like a blood spatter because I never asked for this.
I never asked to be the lead in John’s romance, or the villain in Billie’s.
But now that I’m in it, now that I’ve been cast in this role, I have a real chance of controlling the ending to all of this.
I’m done worrying about whether I’m too much or not enough.
I’m done trying to figure out whether I can be a Final Girl or a Leading Lady.
But most important, I’m done playing hard to get.
Because if John wants me so badly…
He can have me.