Page 14 of Wayward
“All right, how was lunch?” Z flips through the pile of papers that one of the guards collected for him. “Some of you have drawing talent, and others . . . not so much.” He tosses Dante’s notepad with the bird on the smooth table with a slap, and it slides to a stop in front of Haley.
“Oh, I think this is lovely,” Haley says, turning to Dante.
“You sound like a toddler’s mother, Hal.” Z chuckles.
“Just kind.”
“This one,thisone I can get behind.” Z holds up the picture that I see in my sleep of the house I designed for Haley. The one for the beach. “A natural talent.”
“Nothing natural about me. I had to learn to draw,” I say. It took me a long time.
“I like it.” Then he flips the page. “Making plans. Of course. Hal’s troop of superheroes wouldn’t have survived without hope.” He crumples up the page and drops it on the floor. “Hope’s not here, I’m afraid. Not on the Rosewood.” He places the Pink Phoenix on the table and spins it like a top. Reflected spectrum light dances on the table.
It’s an expensive diamond. But the cost of coming after us, the cost of what they did to the Rock Candy...it doesn’t add up. There’s more to it than him or his father wanting the diamond.
“Business is business,” Z says, but it’s like he doesn’t mean it.
“What sort of business are you in, Mr. Z?” Sam glares at him.
“Family business. A very long line of a family business.” Z twists a signet ring on his finger. There’s a crest and four giant rubies in each corner.
“Nice ring,” I say as the diamond stops spinning.
“My grandfather’s. Now mine.”
“A family business,” Haley repeats.
“Yes.” There’re furrows on Z’s forehead.
“What sort of business?” Haley cocks her head to the side like she’s run into him at the market and is inquiring about his family.
“The kind with a deep history.”
“That answers nothing,” Dante says. It’s the sort of thing that most would say under their breath, but Dante just says it out loud, gunmen or not.
“Yes, rather vague, isn’t it? But I don’t have time to give you the confessions of five generations. Or maybe I do. Seeing that we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Where exactly are we going, Mr. Z?” Haley asks.
“First? To find a cat shelter before my engineer throws me overboard.” Z laughs again, but then his face turns hard and he stares at each one of us around the table.
“What do you want with us, Z?” Calvin growls.
Z glares back. And it’s the first time I realize that he doesn’t know what he wants with us. Well, other than maybe for us to not be us. I’ve been on ships for a while. Granted, not as long as Calvin or Sam?or even Haley?but I’ve learned that rich people aren’t people. That’s wrong?of course they’re people. But some of them have a habit of thinking that everything’s going to just work out for them. They make a plan, toss enough cash at the problem, and presto, the plan works. Then when it doesn’t, some of them, or rather the second generation of money, don’t have the fortitude, the grit to make things work. Or make things work without money. There’s something about us that’s holding Z back from carrying out his father’s orders. Something more than the goodness in his own heart. Though a guy that rescues a bunch of feral cats from an island has to have something in his heart. A guy that lets us go and get our things, Penny. That’s not the kind of guy who’s going to kill us around a table in the conference room of his ship. At least, I hope so.
A wall slams down over Z’s face. A mask. A shiver runs through me. “Stand up. Out.” This isn’t good. Far from good.
Holloway opens the door, and Z leaves. Easton stands first, following him, and we file out behind him. There’s a pit in my stomach. I want to grab Haley and run, but where? How? There is confusion in the corridor with us bunching up. The guards don’t know if we’re to follow or not. Holloway catches up with Z. They're far enough away that I can’t hear what he’s saying.
“Follow him.” Holloway points. And we’re a train after him, though Easton’s in no hurry.
I grab Haley’s hand. Sam takes her other one. Calvin’s behind us, Dante in front. Holloway and the other guard from my bathroom trip are behind him.
There are things I haven’t talked about. I’ve uncoded a lot more of Rocky’s book than I told anyone. I’m not quite fluent yet. But close. One thing missing from my stuff when I packed it up was Rocky’s book. I’m guessing they had already taken it. But they didn’t have the cipher. Still don’t. That’s back in the ceiling of the treehouse.
A month or so ago, I took it out of the book and hid it in the rafters of the treehouse. In one of the few moments that the guard covering me wasn’t looking, I ran my hand over it. It’s still there. I took it out of the book because . . . what I know . . . I didn’t want Easton to know. There was no point. Not while we were on the island. I found some shit out about my dad after he died?nothing like this, but stuff I’d rather not have known. I still love my dad. He was a good man. When you love someone as much as we both love our dads? Easton didn’t need this hanging over him on the island. Now, though? Fucking wish I could tell him.
We’re marched through the grand salon, past a fire in the fireplace, and not a gas fireplace but a wood one?craziness?and out onto the sundeck. There’s a table and recliners and stairs down to the swim platform.
