Page 47 of Rami

They’re here for me. They want to take me back to that camper... or worse.

If she fled and Rami got killed, she’d never forgive herself. But what could she do?

Her chest rose and fell as loud grunts and a whack of weapon to flesh made their way into the stairwell. Part of her, the part with Rami’s voice in her head, told her to run. Keep running. Don’t stop. Because if the killer overpowered Rami for even a second, he’d find her.

She closed her eyes on a breath. She had nothing. No weapon. But she had her phone in her bag and Rami needed backup. The guy had to be part of the cartel, or working for them. Which meant the place could be crawling with killers. She needed to call for help but find a hiding place first.

Breaking away from the wall she ran up the steps to the second floor. She quietly eased open the door that led to the hallway and looked down the length of carpet. A man whistling and carrying grocery bags stopped at one of the units and opened the door. A dog barked, and he scooped up a little Yorkie. “Wanna go outside, Winnie?”

He exited the apartment carrying the little dog and headed back toward the elevator. He hadn’t locked the door behind him.

Ivy quickly slipped inside.

Please, God, don’t let anyone else be home.

Silence greeted her. She skirted to the kitchen and unlocked her phone. Hopefully they’d check her apartment and then leave without endangering any of the other residents. Her fingers shook, fumbling over the glass screen and mistyping letters. Surely she was in a nightmare.

C’mon, get your shit together.

After summoning some focus, she got the letters into the search engine and found the number.

A woman answered. “Backcountry Protection Services, Pearl speaking. How may I direct your call?”

She didn’t have time to wait to speak to one of the guys. The man with his dog would be back any minute. “This is Ivy Hastings. Rami’s in trouble.”

“Oh no!” Pearl cried. “Let me—”

Ivy interrupted, rattling off her address. “Please send help.” She disconnected and then slipped her phone into her crossbody bag.

Indecision warred inside her. She glanced toward the door. Were they still fighting? Was Rami looking for her?

She didn’t have much time before Yorkie Guy returned. She swallowed as a few seconds ticked by. Hopefully Winnie liked long walks. Last thing she needed was a breaking and entering charge—or worse, for an innocent person to die because of her.

Scanning the untidy kitchen, her gaze landed on knife block. She yanked out a paring knife.

Ivy inched her way to the door and inched it open. No shouts or footsteps reached her ears. If she crossed paths with anyone from the cartel, she’d be a goner. Never bring a knife to a gun fight and all that.

Her chest ached as she sucked in a needed breath. She slipped into the hall and the hairs on the back of her neck stood erect. Goosebumps skittered over her flesh as she headed toward the staircase. Her shoes padded over the carpet, every step making her pulse hammer.

Tension wound around her spine. She expected the piercing entry of a bullet any second—but it didn’t come.

The elevator dinged and Yorkie Guy’s whistles bounced down the hallway before she could send herself catapulting through the door. If the dude was still chipper, he clearly hadn’t encountered any gunfire.

Where the hell was Rami? Ivy pressed her hand to the metal bar of the exit door. The cool steel jarred her senses. Pressure built at her temples as she craned her neck to look into the stairwell through the window cut out of the door.

Empty.

She pushed on the door. But her hand was yanked away. She gasped. A scream rooted itself in her throat. A rough hand caught her wrist and towed her into the stairwell.

The man wheeled her around so her back was to his front. The muzzle of a gun pressed against her temple. Terror temporarily blinded her. His arm belted across her chest, shoving her back into the hard length of his massive body. She shifted her hand so the knife hung in front of her and out of his sight.

“Scream and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” His hand moved to rest at the crook of her neck, and his fingers gripped her tendons like angry talons. “Move.” He hustled her toward the stairs.

Ivy shuffled down the steps with the brute latched to her neck. Her pulse echoed in her ears, the sound amplified by the empty cement stairwell. She shifted her gaze to the level below—any second Rami would burst through.

Unless he was dead.

The possibility seized her gut, making bile climb the back of her throat. Oh, god. If he was dead because of her...

---