Mine

by Kenya Wright

  In fact, the only reason I’d left Zola in the dressing room at the video shoot that day was because someone said that Baptiste wanted me.

  “Baptiste wants to see you outside.”

  “Okay. I’m coming.”

  He’d timed it perfectly as he sat in the tree, ready to shoot her. It was perfect. Well-executed. A mindfuck of all mindfucks that had shattered my head.

  I was too busy falling in love with Zola to see what was right in front of me.

  After Zola had been shot, I’d yelled at Baptiste. We’d been standing by the limo, and I couldn’t believe the stalker had won again.

  “I’ve been paying attention. No one’s been following us.”

  Baptiste leaned his head to the side. “Are you sure you’ve been paying attention?”

  If I saw him right now, I would’ve unloaded every bullet into his head. The whole time he’d played the friend and had been my enemy. My heart broke, although I didn’t want to admit it. In this moment, I questioned everything—our brotherhood, our times fighting together.

  After all we’ve been through, why would you do this, Baptiste?

  I’d given him my personal chef for Nakita and his first date. Later, I’d helped him pick out the engagement ring. And of course, I’d been the best man at his wedding. I was shocked I’d made it to the ceremony. Nakita had spent the week threatening bodily harm, pointing guns at me, and demanding that I not go over-the-top for Baptiste’s bachelor party.

  Nakita pointed the gun right at my forehead.

  Sighing, I leaned back in my chair. “Is this necessary?”

  “Not one naked stripper.”

  “It’s a bachelor party, Nakita.”

  She took the safety off the gun.

  Shrugging, I smiled. “You know what? I hate strippers anyway. Let’s go with a nice camping trip. I’ll get all the guys to come. Designer cabins. Bonfires. Expensive whiskey and cigars. Baptiste loves the outdoors.”

  “I want the location of the woods.”

  “Really?”

  Winking, she lowered the gun. “Don’t play with me, Hunter.”

  “I love you too much to try.”

  How could one of my most prized friendships end with darkness? Nakita was dead, and Baptiste was trying to kill the love of my life. None of it made sense.

  Why would he try to kill her? Or was he?

  Baptiste shifted into doing sixty miles. The other car between us turned off to the next exit. Now, we were the only two driving on the road.

  Slowing up a little, I remained behind him.

  It was in that moment, as my heart calmed a little and my brain felt less scattered, I really let the last few pieces of this mystery unfold.

  What had Baptiste said on the balcony with Stark?

  We’d met out there—Meridian, Baptiste, Stark, and me. It had been after the stalker covered Zola in paint during the video shoot. It was also the first time I’d begun considering the possibility that Zola’s stalking dealt with me.

  Driving forward, I replayed that moment in my mind.

  “This guy could’ve been killed Zola. That’s the truth. He’s had plenty of opportunities.” Stark said. “Why hasn’t he killed her all these times?”

  “The goal may be something else,” Baptiste chimed in. “The stalker needs something done, and Zola is just the tool to get that done.”

  My heartbeats sped up. It was the only sound booming in my ears. My hands shook from the memory. Things were starting to make sense, and I didn’t like where it was all going. Still, there definitely was a gold lining to this very dark cloud.

  He wasn’t stalking Zola to kill her. He was using her to make me do something.

  Now, it all made sense. Finally, I understood what Baptiste wanted. He’d been saying it all along. In many ways, I was more relieved than I’d been since coming to New York and investigating Zola’s stalker.

  Finally, I had connected the dots.

  Finally, everything made sense.

  Baptiste had begun stalking Zola a month ago. It was the first angry letter. Right when we’d been killing the cartel members. But the true terror of his stalking began on the last day we murdered the final men.

  All covered in blood from his enemies, Baptiste had asked me the question he’d been asking every day for those past weeks.

  “Hunter? Have you read the instructions?”

  “No. I haven’t read them, and I’m not killing you.”

  Letting out a long breath, I ran my fingers through my hair, unsure of how the next days would play out. All the signs had been there. Baptiste had been telling me his intentions the whole time. I’d just refused to deal with them. I’d been running away from his suicidal requests, thinking that time would heal his broken heart.

  “I’m here to do anything I can. I want this completed.” Baptiste said those last words with a sense of urgency. “I have things that you need to do, Hunter. Did you read my funeral instructions?”

  “We just buried Nakita,” I said. “Some guy’s stalking Zola, and you want me to spend my free time reading the death wishes of my best friend?”

  “It’s all how you look at it.”

  Suicide was such a simple idea for Baptiste. I wondered if I’d asked him to kill me, would he have done it? I’d hurt a lot of men in my life, but none that I cared for.

  Even more, I didn’t want to let Baptiste go. I’d already lost Nakita. Why did I have to say goodbye to him?

  Sighing, I thought about the message. There was no need for him to write down an address. I knew the exact location in Montego Bay he would want to meet.

  Where we buried Nakita. He wants me to put him there.

  He also had a lot of contacts down there. He would know the exact moment I stepped into the area.

  Baptiste couldn’t risk me just shooting him down and disposing of his body. His death would come with wishes and ceremonial instructions. And all of it was for some supernatural goal to be reunited with Nakita in their next life.

  “Goddamn it, Baptiste!” I yelled in the car. “You put Zola through all that shit for your own crazy selfishness? For your fucking supernatural garbage?”

  As if Baptiste heard me, he sped up.

  I focused on him.

  His speed rose to well over sixty.

  Fuck.

  The car I’d stolen was good, but it wouldn’t beat the sports car he easily powered through the highway.

  We rounded a sharp curve. I slowed down, almost losing control of the car. He sped through. A truck showed up on the right. He swerved around it. I followed in the same motion, knowing I might’ve given away my position, but not ready to have a Mac truck between us.

  And then Batiste raced on, faster, more frantic, swerving in and out of traffic as more cars filled the road.

  He knows.

  The airport sign hovered above.

  Baptiste sped by it.

  What?

  I continued, which was my biggest mistake. If I knew he was heading to the airport, I should’ve gone that way. But there was always a chance my thinking had been wrong.

  But it wasn’t.

  Baptiste sped up, got into the furthest left lane, diving in and out, putting more and more cars between us. I kept my pace with him, screeching my tires. Other drivers sensed that they were near a car chase of some sorts and got out of the way.

  And then Baptiste jumped his car over the concrete divider, doing a suicidal U-turn and jumping into the other side of the highway.

  Fuck!

  Thankfully, there were no cars on that side. I tried to do the same, but he’d caused too much chaos. People stopped. Others swerved. I slammed on my brakes, bracing myself for impact. The scent of burning rubber filled the air.

  I only kept control for a split second. Someone crashed into the back of me. Another hit my side. My car whirled across the road, dragging whatever lay in its path.

  And the one time I didn’t wear my seat belt, I regretted it.

  Zola!


  The crash knocked me out of the driving-seat. I fell onto the floor. Pain exploded on my side. My head went dizzy.

  No. I have to get her.

  The car screeched to a stop after that. I was upside down in some part of the vehicle. My head rang. It wasn’t my first accident in a chase, but it definitely felt like one.

  People yelled around me. Two guys grabbed my hands and helped me out. I blinked, adjusting my eyes to all of the car lights beaming in the area.

  “Hey, buddy, are you okay?” someone said in front of me.

  I stumbled forward as my vision took its time to come in focus. “I need a ride…to the airport.”

  The guy yelled as I crashed to the ground. “Someone call an ambulance!”

  “No.” I shook my head and grabbed his arm. “Listen.”

  Terrified, he looked up at me. “Hey, man. Are you okay?”

  “I need a ride to the airport right now. I have a gun. I could threaten to kill you, but I would rather give you a thousand dollars for the ride.” I shook my head, regaining my vision. “Choose. Gun or money?”

  “A thousand dollars or die?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.” He helped me over this car.

  More vehicles had stopped in the middle of the highway.

  I checked behind me to remember the license plate of the car I’d stolen. After all that I’d done his baby, the guy deserved two new cars.

  I squinted through all the flashing lights, spotted the letters, and smiled like a crazy fool.

  The license plate read, QUPID

  34

  Damsel in Distress

  Zola

  In my nightmare, I was naked and struggling against tightly knotted ropes that held me to railroad tracks. A gag stuffed my mouth. Fear pumped in my heart. The chilly air spread goosebumps along my bare skin.

  And I knew no one would save me.

  Baptiste stood near, burning sage. “For all have sinned and dirtied their souls.”

  A train sounded off in the distance. Warning lights flashed at the railroad crossing.

  The steel railing vibrated under me. Panic kicked in.

  I screamed through the gag. No one could hear me or stop my coming death. I writhed and struggled against the ropes, feeling the approach of the train thunder my way.

  Right before the train hit me, I woke up.

  Oh my God!

  The sun burned through my closed eyelids like lasers. Weird sounds came up above. I swore vultures must’ve circled overhead. Yawning, I opened my eyes and saw seagulls.

  I sat up in a deck chair and groaned at the stiffness in my limbs.

  Last night, Baptiste had knocked me out with some pill he’d forced me to swallow in the car. We’d been at the airport. I must’ve been out for a long time. I didn’t even remember the plane ride.

  Several hours later, I woke up at a beach resort. The water was too blue, the sand too white. I knew I was no longer in New York, but not sure of anything else. The only thing I knew was that the resort was clothing optional. A lot of people strolled the beach naked.

  Baptiste had told me earlier that he’d reserved a fifth level room, so I could sit outside on the balcony but not escape or even yell to someone without getting his attention.

  We’d arrived this morning. I had no idea what time it was after that.

  What the hell is going to happen now?

  I studied the sky, thinking it might be close to the afternoon.

  “Room service just arrived.” Baptiste stepped onto the balcony, holding a cup of coffee. “Are you hungry?”

  I shook my head.

  “You should eat. I don’t want to kill you.”

  My voice was hoarse. “Then what are you doing?”

  “I need Hunter to kill me.”

  “Well, this is a great way to go about it.”

  Baptiste walked over to the balcony’s railing. “I told you about Nakita and me? Our love?”

  I nodded, hoping that if I played nice, he would stop this and let me go.

  Baptiste took a sip of his coffee. “We meet each other in every life. She’s died already. Now, she’s reborn somewhere else.” He touched his chest. “But what about me?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He continued, “I did the ceremony for her. I buried her under instructions we’ve learned throughout our different lives. She is off on her path, but what about mine?”

  I parted my lips. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. None of it made any sense. I dug deep and had to brace myself to keep from going numb— with shock, with disbelief.

  Baptiste took another sip of his coffee and stared off at the beach. “I needed Hunter to kill me in a particular way. Not with a bullet, but with a knife.”

  Steam rose from his coffee.

  “And Hunter has to bury me correctly too. Not a casket. My bones need to touch the Earth. My flesh must touch the earth, right where Nakita’s dead body lays.” He turned to me. “And there must be tears. Hunter must be sad. He has to not only regret the death, but he has to…wish with all his heart that Nakita and I are reunited. Do you understand?”

  “I do, and…I don’t.” If I was going to live through it, I had to find a way to keep Baptiste calm. At least, until Hunter arrived.

  He is on his way.

  "You think I'm crazy?" Baptiste narrowed his eyes. “Do you?”

  My lip quivered as I shook my head. “No.”

  “You do, because you’re wondering about why I began stalking you?” He leaned against the wall. “What other way could I get Hunter’s attention? And…do I really want Hunter to be left alone, after I’m gone?”

  I thought about what he said, really pushing away the insanity of it all and studying the very core of his intentions.

  “Hunter had to see that he loved you. He wasn’t acting on it.” Baptiste held his hands out. “Do you understand? Hunter needed a small push in the right direction, before I left. Just a small one.”

  Jesus. What would a big push look like?

  “So…” My pulse quickened. “Where are we now?”

  “We’re in Montego Bay.”

  My voice held a screech. “Jamaica?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart pounded like a sledgehammer. “W-what’s supposed to happen next?”

  “Hunter is going to meet us tonight.”

  “You told him where?”

  “He’ll know. I’m sure he’s figured it out by now.” Baptiste went back to the beach and stared off at the ocean. “And then I’ll see Nakita again.”

  This was not a man. This was a lost shell of a man, one that had drowned in suffering.

  He’s so close, and maybe I can get him over it.

  Baptiste’s reasoning was a sad and mournful romance. But still, he’d terrified me for weeks. He’d damaged my apartment, poured semen all over my bed, and shot me with red paint. Not to mention the fact I’d almost been raped by the guy he’d killed in front of me. And then I couldn’t forget the fact that he’d knocked me out and taken me to a new country.

  There were other ways! We could’ve sat down and talked about this or something.

  Baptiste turned to me. His gaze shifted to sadness. He was beyond lost, absent of strength and purpose. Completely empty. “Take care of Hunter while I’m gone. Don’t let him hide from your love.”

  My fingers shook. “I won’t.”

  Nodding, he tapped the balcony’s railing. “You should shower and get dressed. I’ve put clothes on the bed. He’ll like the color and fit. It’s red like fire. Red like the Chinese New Year. The dress will up the ante.”

  I stirred in the chair.

  “After tonight, it will all be over, Zola. The time has finally come.” For the first time since I realized he was my stalker, he smiled. “Everything is going exactly as planned.”

  And then someone knocked on the door. Or more like slammed against it like a mad man.

  Hunter?

  Baptiste’s
eyes widened. He dropped the cup of coffee. It crashed and splashed on the balcony floor. He took his gun out next. “Stay here.”

  I won’t. I’ll just wait until you leave.

  I gripped the deck chair, wondering if I could pick it up and slam it at him. Searching around wildly, I spotted a potted plant and knew it would be my weapon.

  Another boom came.

  I knew with all certainty that Hunter had arrived, and all of this really would be over soon.

  Leaving the balcony, Baptiste pointed his gun forward, and muttered to himself, “Damn you, Hunter. You would show up early.”

  35

  Life is Circular

  Hunter

  After everything that happened, I realized that life didn’t move in smooth lines—beginning points to straight end points. Life flowed circular. Zig-zagged. Some probably lived labyrinths, their minds constantly lost in a maze.

  My life was circular.

  The first time I’d heard about Zola’s stalker, I’d been in Jamaica, unsure of what to do with my life and scared to face my feelings for Zola. Now, I’d returned to this mystical land in the Caribbean, certain of my desires. I loved Zola, and I would not live another day without her.

  I’ll get her. She’ll be safe.

  Baptiste had wanted us back in Jamaica where it all began—where he’d proposed to Nakita, where he’d married her later, and also where he’d buried her. And of course, he’d book the same resort hotel we’d been in. Baptiste had always been romantic with his plans, so symbolic and sentimental.

  It took no time finding the location of his room. It just took a gun to the resort owner’s face and a threat that with all certainty I would burn his property and him down to the ground if Zola wasn’t found.

  The owner decided to help after that, getting the front desk to look up the room and even having room service check that they were in there.

  Once room service ordered Baptiste’s coffee and breakfast, we emptied out the fifth and forth floor, telling people it was a possible false alarm, but the resort wanted to be proactive.