Between the Sheets (9781476775807) (37 page)

I furrow my brow, giving her a confused look. “Who?”

I already know whom she's talking about, though. Roderick Grimes. This new cat, with green eyes and a Bohemian, neo-soul vibe, we're bringing into the label. Dude is from Texas. Dallas, I believe. And he's mad talented. He could become the next Maxwell as long as he stays focused and doesn't get caught up in dumb shit.

“Mister Dreamy Eyes, himself. I heard him singing. Ooh, he sounds good.” She flashes her hands up. “I can see it now. Dreamy Eyes and Carlos on tour. We can call it the Pretty Boy tour.”

I laugh opening one of the folders she's given me. “Girl, outta here with that.”

She heads for the door, then turns back to me. “By the way, I wonder if the myth is true.”

I look up from the document. “What myth is that?”

She grins. “That
every
thing grows
big
in Texas.”

I shake my head.

She grins, waggles her fingers and shuts the door behind her.

I groan inwardly, swiveling back and forth in my chair, glancing down in my lap.

My dick is still on rock.

Marika

“Hey, baby, where you at?”

I smile. “Just finished having drinks with Jasmine,” I say, glancing at the time. It's a little before eight o'clock. “I'm on my way home now.”

I'd met Jasmine at Mr. Chow in Tribeca for drinks and appetizers. And instead of following my first mind and driving here or calling a car service, I decided to take a taxi since our penthouse isn't that far from here.

I throw my hand up and wave for an oncoming taxi. It speeds by. I roll my eyes.

“Oh, aiight.” He tells me he's thinking about heading down to the studio for a few hours after the radio show tonight to check on one of the new artists recently signed to the label. “You aiight with that?”

“Well, umm,” I say saucily. “I was hoping to get a lil' taste before bedtime.”

“Oh, word?” he lowers his voice. “What you tryna get a taste of?”

I wave at another oncoming taxi and it slows down, pulling to the curb. “I want a taste of that thick chocolate.”

“Oh, word? You want some of daddy's chocolate?”

“Mmmmmhmmm,” I purr. “You know my pussy loves daddy's thick chocolate.”

I can practically feel him grinning through the phone. “Damn, you getting my shit hard. You know I love it when you call me daddy.”

“I know you do,” I coo, opening the door, then ducking into the cab. I give the driver my address, swinging the door shut. I sit back in my seat as he starts forward.

“But I'm sayin'…as bad as I'd love to slide home ‘n' give my baby a round of dick, I really need to get down to the studio for at least an hour or two. But I got you when I get home. Aiight, baby?”

I smile. “I'll be sure to leave my panties off,” I whisper, eyeing the driver as he watches me through his rearview mirror. For a second, I think I see him smiling, before he averts his stare.

“Nah, keep them shit's on, baby. I wanna pull 'em to the side.'

I moan low in my throat. “Mmm. I love the sound of that.”

I get so caught up in my phone conversation, which quickly turns into three minutes of heated phone sex, with Marcel that I am not even aware that we've arrived in front of my building until the cab driver prompts me.

“Ma'am? We're here.”

“Listen, baby, Nina just gave me the signal. We're about to go on the air.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, digging into my purse for the fare, then leaning forward. I hand the driver a twenty. “I'm in front of the building now. Thank you,” I murmur to the driver before opening the door and stepping out into the evening air. “Can't wait to listen.”

“Cool, cool. I'll hit you up on my break. Love you, baby.”

“Mmm. Love you, too.” I end the call, swinging the cab door shut and dropping my phone into my purse, then hurrying toward my apartment building.

“Hey,
mami
, I've been waiting for you. Long time no see.”

I whip my head around.
Ohmygod!
“Bitch, are you crazy? What the hell are you doing here?” I reach into my purse. “I'm calling the police and telling them you're stalking me.”

She yanks my bag. “Oh I wouldn't do that if I were you.”

“What the hell is—?”

I don't get the rest of my words out. Marisol-Ramona-Alexandria reaches in her jacket and flashes a gun. My heart lurches as she aims the barrel at me.

I open my mouth to scream, but she slowly shakes her head, cocking the gun back. “Yell, scream, or say the wrong thing, bitch, and I'll shoot you in your face.”

My eyes widen.

“I promise you. Tonight, I'll show you crazy,
mami
. Try me if you dare. I will put a hole in your head, then in your chest. Then drag you over behind the dumpster and wait for the rats to eat your skin off.” Her eyes are unblinking when she says this. Snatches of our sexual encounter come into full view in my mind's eye. Followed by glimpses of the harassing phone calls. Showing up at my hotel room in Atlantic City. Popping up at the restaurant. Coming to my workplace. The threats. The obsession.

I blink. And then realization sets in. That everything that has been happening over the last several weeks with this bitch was leading up to this very moment.

“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 Mar
Sell
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.”

I cringe.

Moments later we are at my door. I purposefully fumble with my keys to hopefully buy myself a few extra seconds, glancing up at the camera in hopes that Sheldon picks up on something.

“Hurry up.”

Hands shaking, I put the key in the lock, turn it, and open the door. The security alarm beeps as the door slams in back of me. Ramona pulls her gun out. Points it at me, then at the alarm on the wall. “Shut the alarm, and don't try any funny business, or you. Are. Dead.”

She stands in back over me, staring over my shoulder. Any thoughts of pressing in the panic code quickly leave me. Defeated, with my fate in her hands, I deactivate the alarm, and pray that this night doesn't end in tragedy.

She's fidgety. Looking around. Waving her gun frantically. And it's all making me really nervous. Frightened.

She points her gun at me.

“Ramona, listen to me. You don't have to do this. You can leave now, and no one has to ever know you were here.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to claim what's mine. And I'm not leaving until
my
man gets home.”

I swallow. Blink.

“In the kitchen. Now.” I do as I'm told. She follows me. Then goes to one of the kitchen chairs, pulling it out. “Sit.”

I take a deep breath. Try to calm myself. “Why are you doing this?”

“Bitch!” She snatches the crystal vase, filled with fresh-cut, long-stemmed lilies, from off the table and throws it, fierce and angry. Water, flowers, and glass hit the wall, then shatter to the floor. “Don't ask me a bunch of questions. And don't play stupid. You know why I'm doing this, because
you
left me no other choice. You did this! Now sit down. Shut the fuck up. And let me think.”

I swallow, hard. My whole body is shaking on the inside. My knees wobble as I move toward the chair and sit. And my heart drops further when she pulls out a roll of duct tape from the inside of her jacket.

“W-what are you going to do with me?”

She stares at me hard. “I should fuck you in your ass the way you fucked me. Should make you feel what you made me feel. You made my pussy all wet and juicy. Made me come all over Mar
Sell'
s big, thick, long dick, while you stretched open my ass. You did that to me,
puta
!”

“Is that what you want, to fuck me? Y-you can…” Desperation rips through me. “You can take my ass. My pussy. My—”

“Bitch, I'm not going to take your pussy, or your ass. I'm going to
take
your man. I'm going to ride his dick in front of you. I want you to see the chemistry between us. Mar
Sell
loves me. I saw it in his eyes that night. Felt it in his touch. Now arms behind your back, wrists together.”

She rips away a long strip of tape from the roll with her teeth. Then walks behind me, wrapping the tape around my wrists. I choke back a scream lodged way in the back of my throat. She tears off another strip, then another, wrapping my wrists tightly behind my back.

Please, God…get me through this.

My mind starts scrambling for words that will appease her. But what can you say to someone who is clearly undone and is convinced that her reality is real, no matter how fucked up it is?

“Please. Ramona. Listen to me. I'm sure you think what you feel for my husband is real, but you have to understand it's not love. It may feel like it. But it's infatuation. You're a beautiful woman.”

“You shut your filthy lying mouth!” she hisses. “Don't tell me what I feel! All you had to do was let him go, bitch! I'm so sick of you bitches taking my men. First it was that Dominican-looking bitch fucking Alex. Now it's
you
trying to keep me from being with Mar
Sell
. Just like that bitch knew Alex was my man. You know me and Mar
Sell
belong together so why couldn't you just leave him, like I asked you to?”

I fight back tears as my life with Marcel flashes before my eyes. “I love my husband. And he loves me. I know there's someone special out there for you. You're a beautiful woman, who—”

“Wants your life,
puta
!”

And then I'm hit in back of the head, and everything else becomes a blur.

Marcel

“What's good, my freaky peeps…if you're just tuning in, this is ya boy Mar
Sell
, your host for one of the hottest talk shows in the Tri-state area,
Creepin' ‘n' Freakin' After Dark
. And maaaan, listen. Tonight's segment has been straight fire. As you heard from our last caller, dude caught his wife rockin' in the sheets with his sister and he took it to his sister's head. Knocked her eye sockets in and broke her jaw. Now what his wife and sister did was def some real foul-ish. But him putting his hands on his sister ‘n' beating her like she was some dude on the street…” I pause, shaking my head, then sigh. “Man, that was dead wrong. They both violated his trust. And they were both outta pocket. But I don't care how big her dildo was, or how much man-swag she had, at the end of the day, she's still a female. Ya thoughts?”