“Listen, whoever you are. My gym is in there and it don’t budge.” I could knee him in the groin and let him roll down the stairs. The trouble is, he might not die but I surely would.
“Go in, but don’t try anything stupid.” He holds his thumb on a small plastic plunger attached to the loop around my neck. It don’t take a genius to figure out if he presses it, I’m a dead man.
You’re the moron, asshole.I keep my mouth shut as I push through the opening. Two fries short of a happy meal, he will make a mistake and I’ll be ready.
Poindexter follows me into my gym. “Call your wife.”
Hell no.I stare him down.
“Do it.” Standing between the treadmill and the bench, he points at the inner door.
“Suds?” When Sam calls out from the kitchen, my heart stops.
Oh no. Shit, sugar, don’t come out.
My unsuspecting wife opens the kitchen door a few inches but it’s enough for the second Taser cartridge to fire.
Motherfucker.
“Ready for the live show?” Laughing, the online strangler shoves me into our apartment.
Inside, I almost step on Sam lying with her eyes closed on the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sam
I struggle as the intruder holds what looks like a bicycle brake wire in front of my face. When he presses a plastic tab with his thumb, Suds drops to his knees. Blood from an angry cut on his neck soaks his black t-shirt.
Once I’m able to stand, I reach for the weapon but the douche bag slaps my hand away. “If you don’t want to watch him die, sit in your chair and start the meeting.”
Head throbbing, and weak from being zapped, I assess my chances as Suds is cuffed to the staircase.
The killer, shorter than me and heavy set, doesn’t appear to be in good shape. Wearing khakis paired with a pale yellow polo shirt, he’d fit right in on any suburban golf course.
“Late. Too late.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Why aren’t you logging in?”
“There’s no meeting today, my mom is angry at me.” Frantically, I stall for time until he again presses on the tab and Suds hisses.
“Don’t try anything stupid.”
I should never have sent Suds down for the package. Angry I wasn’t thinking straight, and now it could be the end of us. My husband is right. I do attract the worst kinds of nightmares. I don’t mean to, it just happens.
“Meow, meow.” Cat, echoing my despair, yowls at the stranger from the loft.
Nothing else to be done, I open the neighborhood meeting. Rose pops up first, then Mia. A couple of elderly women are next, followed by Aunt Marion.
“Turn on your video.” As the scary bastard pulls black gloves out of his pocket, I meet Suds’ gaze, tears welling. I don’t want him to see me die, not like this.
His look says, I’m sorry, I love you, but the nod that follows tells me he hasn’t given up. Oh God, he’s counting on me to create a distraction.
“Good morning.” Exactly like the victims I studied, I glance over my shoulder and try to warn the ladies by shifting my eyes left and right.
The salon group is clueless on their best days, which today is not.
Mrs. Nardo starts off the meeting. “Hello Sam. I wrote you a check but I don’t dare to mail it.”
“You could bring it over now.” An actress in my own, personal, grade B horror movie, black leather gloves slowly approach my neck in the video chat room.
