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I turn around and step up to the counter to place my order. I have to move to the side to wait for it to be done, so I take the opportunity to check if the man is still outside. He is, but he’s moved a few feet away from the door, his shoulder against the glass as he talks into his phone. He’s not animated or laughing like he’s talking to a friend. He’s all business, and his eyes keep finding me, like he’s trying to keep track of where I am.
I briefly think about staying in here to finish my coffee, waiting him out until he leaves, but a quick glance at the time tells me I only have twenty minutes until I’m supposed to be at work, and it’s at least a ten minute walk from here.
Once I have my drink, I send texts to both Noah and Autumn to see if they’re available to talk. I’d feel a little more comfortable having someone on the phone with me while I walk to work. However, both texts go unread, which isn’t surprising. They’re working.
Well, it’s not like he can kidnap me in broad daylight with so many people around, right?
Before stepping toward the exit, I unzip my cross-body purse and put one hand on the taser inside while clutching my coffee in the other. I walk out and rush past the man at the window, heading toward my job.
Even though I’m walking as fast as I can, his long strides bring him closer. I can feel him at my back in no time. My body gets hot and I glance to my right to catch a glimpse of him in the reflection of the window we’re passing. He’s got his hand in his pocket and a stern look on his face.
I look forward and try meeting the eyes of strangers on the street. Will they see my panic and fear? What’s a sign I can give them? Do I just start yelling? Do I stop walking and see what he does? I’m only five minutes away from work with just an extra five to spare. I can’t be late. The boss is ready to fire anybody for the slightest misstep, and I need the job at the restaurant. I need the connections.
I keep going, hurrying my pace until I’m nearly jogging. I look into another window one more time and find his reflection doing the same. He doesn’t care that I’m aware of him. He wants me to know.
When the casino doors come into view, I start full on jogging. My jog turns into a run. I glance behind me and see him with his phone to his ear and his eyes on my face. His other hand is still in his pocket. Does he have a knife? Gun? Something to drug me with?
He starts jogging and I spin around and sprint into the casino. I bump into people, shoving someone to the side, and then nearly tripping on a woman who’s bent over picking up coins.
“Sorry,” I pant, rushing ahead.
I look back again and can still see him maneuvering through the crowd. I keep going until I can see the sign for the restaurant. Almost there.
I’m rounding a cluster of blackjack tables when I glance over my shoulder one last time, hoping he’s not watching where I’m going. The last thing I need is for him to know where I work.
I don’t see him right away, so my eyes bounce around, scanning the area until I crash into something. My coffee cup gets squeezed between me and the object in my way. Hot liquid splashes onto my hand and front of my shirt, and when I spin around, I notice a majority of it has landed on the floor.
“Watch it!” a deep voice says.
My heart is racing and my forehead glistens with sweat as I look up and come face-to-face with a few familiar faces.
The blue-eyed angry man from yesterday scowls at me, his hand outstretched like he’s trying to keep me from another man—the one I ran into.
“I’m sorry. I—”
Vicente Moreno turns around, his face transforming from one full of anger to confusion and finally to recognition. “Mariella.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I was running and not paying attention.”
“Why were you running?” he asks, stepping away from the spilled coffee on the floor.
I look behind me and see the man who was following me standing near a strip of slot machines.
“There’s a man. He started running after me. He followed me here from the coffee shop.”
Vicente’s eyes move over my head. “Which man?”
I turn and try to find him, but he’s no longer there. “He’s gone.” I look down at my hand. “Fuck.” It’s not a bad burn, but my skin still stings from the hot liquid splashing over it.
Vicente takes the crushed cup from my grip and hands it to a younger-looking guy with beautiful sepia colored skin, close cropped hair, and a snug, long-sleeve beige shirt that showcases his toned muscles.
“Gabe, toss this. Go to Vivenne’s and grab a black blouse. Size…”
He trails off, waiting for me to finish the sentence for him. “Large,” I say. “But you don’t have to. It’s fine. Really.”
He looks at Gabe. “Hurry back.”
“Yes, boss,” he says with a nod.
