Page 6 of Rent a Masked Duo

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” the driver asks, looking toward his partner before his eyes return to my face. “For real?”

“For real. You took me to take something from him, right? You said so yourself. So take something else.” I hear my own voice, and it makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out, but I’ve come too far for that. “Take the specific thing he paid for before he can have it.”

I’ve never heard silence as loud as the silence that settles over the room. Neither of them has moved an inch since I started talking, and I’m starting to wonder if I broke something in their brains. “That’s it. I’m finished,” I add in case it’s helpful.

The driver clears his throat. “Say it plain. What are you asking us to do?”

“I’m asking you to sleep with me,” I blurt out while my face basically bursts into flames. “Before Patrick can. A transaction, that’s it. I’m not asking for anything else. You don’t have to keep me or protect me or fix any of this. I’m only asking you to help me be less useful to him. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” the tackler repeats. “You want us to fuck you.”

My face gets even hotter, something I wouldn’t have imagined being possible until this very second. “I want us to enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement in which⁠—”

“Drop it,” he snaps. “Just say it.”

“Yes. Fine,” I snap back. “I want you to fuck me. Okay? Does that make it easier for you to understand?”

They look at each other again. “We need a minute,” the driver mutters. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” I ask, but I’m talking to myself now. They’re too busy muttering to each other on their way back to the far corner of the kitchen. I hear them talking, low and urgent. The driver says something that sounds like are you kidding me. The tackler retorts with something that sounds like she’s not wrong. The driver says something that ends in Penny would kill us, and the tackler insists Penny would think it was hilarious. I don’t know who Penny is, but I like her already.

Wiggles, meanwhile, climbs up my dress and comes to a stop on my knee. “Stop judging me,” I whisper. He only stares at me with those little eyes of his in the most judgmental way possible.

My spine stiffens when the guys rejoin me. The tackler crosses the room and comes to a stop at the armchair across from me. He sits down on one arm, forearms on his knees. The driver stays standing, leaning against the other side of the chair with his arms crossed. Still, neither of them makes a move to take off their masks.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the tackler begins. “Nothing happens tonight.”

I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. Maybe both. “Okay…?”

“You’re going to eat, and you’re going to sleep,” he continues. “And you’re going to think hard about what you just said.”

“We’re not going to agree to the version of this that just came out of your mouth,” the driver explains. “That’s not what we planned.”

I’m starting to think they didn’t plan this very well at all, but I’ll keep my thoughts to myself for now.

“If you wake up tomorrow, and you still want this,” the tackler continues, “then we’ll talk. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Then, because I never did know when to leave well enough alone, I add, “Do I get to know your names? See your faces? Something?”

“You don’t set the terms,” the tackler grunts as he stands.

“Fine.” Still, I feel like I won a battle as the three of us look back and forth at each other, and Wiggles observes the entire interaction. I’m really glad he can’t speak, because I’m sure he would have plenty to say about this if he could.

And none of it would be congratulatory. Let’s put it that way.

4

ANNA

When they go back to the kitchen, I can relax a little. I don’t feel like I have to sit up straight and tall when they aren’t watching. Meanwhile, Wiggles sort of does a slide down my leg, landing in a puddle of fabric on the floor.

Too much fabric. This dress has to go. If I spend one more hour in this nightmare, I’m going to start chewing my way out of it like a raccoon in a trash bag. Not that I’ve ever put a raccoon in a trash bag before, but I can only imagine they wouldn’t be a fan of it.

When I stand up, the dress stands with me, because that’s what it does now. We are one entity. “Hey,” I call toward the kitchen. “Not to complicate things further, but is there any chance someone has a T-shirt I can borrow before I go feral?”

The tackler looks me up and down as if he’s assessing the situation. “I can find you something.”

“Anything,” I urge while being strangled by the monstrosity I’m wrapped in. “Sweatpants. A tarp. I’m not picky right now.”