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“H-how…did you know where I live?” I stammer out, taking a slight step back.
“Don’t ask stupid questions. I’ve been following you.”
“Look, Marisol or Ramona or whatever name you’re going by—”
She cuts me off. “It’s Ramona. But it’s about to be Missus MarSell Kennedy real soon.”
Dear God!
I sweep my eyes toward the street, looking for help. There’s no one out. Not one passerby. All is quiet. And it looks like I’m shit out of luck.
I swallow. “Listen, to me. You don’t have to—”
“Oh, yes I do.” She yanks my arm. “Now, let’s go. We’re going to walk into your building like we are the best of friends, then go up to your place. But if you even sneeze wrong or act like you want to send out an SOS alert with your eyes to that stumpy little prick at the desk, I’ll shoot him first, then you. And trust me, bitch, I know how to use this. I’ve already shot one dumb fuck. Don’t make me do it again.”
She pokes the barrel into my side.
Oh, God, no!
“Now let’s go.” She loops her arm through mine.
“Please, wait. Let’s—”
“Bitch, I said not another word. And I mean it.”
I hear the gun click.
My knees buckle.
“Make a sound. And it’ll be your last.” She tightens her grip on my arm and pulls me along. “Now smile for the cameras,” she says as we walk through the sliding glass doors. As soon as we step into the building the doorman, who looks from me to Ramona, tipping his head and smiling, immediately greets us.
“Evening, Missus Kennedy.”
My heart pounds in my ears. I dart my eyes from him to Ramona, hoping he’ll be able to pick up that I’m in distress. “G-good evening, Sheldon.”
His brow furrows. “Is everything okay? You look a little pale.”
Right at this moment I am terrified of what she might do if I yell for him to call the police or try to break free; the look in her eye tells me she’s willing to pull the trigger, at any cost. I can’t risk it. I won’t chance it.
Ramona digs her nails into my arm, causing me to flinch.
“N-no,” I say. “I’m okay; just a little tired I guess, that’s all.”
He tells me he hopes I get some rest as I’m being ushered toward the elevator. I force a smile. And as the doors close, Ramona says, “Maybe I won’t have to kill you after all.”
The blood drains from my face. The vacant look in her eye tells me she’s more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.
My phone chimes as we step off the elevator. It’s a text message. The chime lets me know it’s from Marcel. A knot swells in my throat.
Ramona blinks. “Oh, no, puta…” She gestures with her hand. “Hand it over. Slow and easy.”
I swallow. “Ramona, please,” I plea. “Let’s talk this through.”
“Oh, now this shitty bitch wants to talk,” she says more so to herself than to me. “Fuck you. What happened to talking when I was calling you, huh? What happened when I came down to your office building to talk to you woman to woman, huh? Oh, wait. I know. You told me to stop calling you. You slapped me. Remember that? And now you wanna talk? Oh, no. I’m done talking. Now hand over your phone.”
My stomach quakes. I feel as if I’m going to be sick, reaching down into my purse and pulling out my cell. I hand it to her.
“I bet it was my bae calling.”
