Protect & Serve(102)

His grip was like a vice. At first I thought he was wrestling to gain control of my purse. My shock turned to blinding fear as I realized he was dragging me into the alley.

“Keep your mouth shut. If you don’t do exactly what I say it’s not gonna be good.”

He spoke through his teeth. It was similar to the way my father used to sound when he was angry, only this had so much more hatred behind it.

He let the blade of his hand slide over my lips and come to rest beneath my chin.

“What do you want from me?” I tried to sound tough but there was a pleading in my voice that was unmistakable.

“You know what I want,” he growled. “My car is parked behind the gas station. That’s where we’re going.”

“Please just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone. Look, you’re drunk. I know you don’t really want to do this.”

When he leaned back the orange glow from the street light lit his face. Until now, the only image of him I’d had was what my own imagination stitched together. The real-life version was worse.

His face was angular and sickly. The lines in his forehead looked like they were etched in stone. When his lips parted in a sinister smile I could taste my dinner in the back of my throat.

“Not a sound,” he said.

His hands never lost contact as we stood together. When he let them slide down to my hips it chilled me to the bone.

“Back this way,” he directed. Turning me toward the station and giving a little shove. I strained to see back over my shoulder, wondering if it was the last time I would set eyes on the peaceful little home.

I frantically searched for anything that could save me. There still wasn’t another person on the street. Any of the buildings that had their lights on were so far in the distance that there was little point in running. My only shot was going to be at the gas station. I’d have to wait for an opening. Any little distraction and I would tear myself away. I’d scream louder than this fucking creep even thought possible.

“Don’t even think about it,” snapped my captor. “You try to get more than an arm’s length away and I’ll stick this blade so deep into you, they’ll need pliers to get it out.”

He grabbed me by the hair and turned my head toward his mid-section. Then, he pulled his dirty coat back just far enough to reveal the tip of his knife. He clutched it in a death grip down by his hip.

My heart seemed to sink into my shoes. Was this really happening? The thought of this dirty son of a bitch touching me made my skin crawl. I needed to take stock and figure out a way to get out of this.

Surprisingly, my body felt okay. There was a bit of a scrape on my shoulder where my top had shifted, but it was superficial. The other spot on my backside wasn’t bad either. My jeans had taken the brunt and it didn’t even feel as if there was any damage. They were wet around the knees too. At first I thought they were soaked from blood, but it was only egg yolk from where I had landed on top of the carton.

The ambient light from the gas station illuminated the side of the building. It seemed like we had gotten back so much faster than it had taken for me to walk away. A taxi drove by on the main road. My captor pulled me tight to his side.

“Right here,” he said. “The grey car. You’re gonna get in the driver’s side first, then slide over. And I swear to God, bitch, if you make a sound I’ll put you in the dumpster.”

The car wasn’t grey, it was primer-colored and it was what one might imagine a creepy rapist’s car would look like. An older model Buick with a rusty door handle and bent antenna, it screamed “suspect.”

At the very least, if he did murder me and dump my body, he’d probably be the first guy questioned by the police.

“Think about what you’re about to do,” I begged. “Just let me go...”

“Enough. Get you little ass in the seat.”

The floor on the passenger side was littered with empty bottles and old fast food bags. The dash was cracked and dusty.

He shimmied his way in after me. The pressure of his heavy body made the worn shocks creak and groan. He was over 6 and a half feet tall if he was an inch. The way his face sucked in made it hard to tell for sure how old he was, but my best guess was early thirties. His shoulders were broad, but not in a good way. He was wide, the way a door is. Everything lined up straight from the edges of his shoulders, to his hips, to the odd way he left his stance wide open.

“Rick,” he snarled.

“Huh?” I asked, confused.

“My name is Rick. We should probably get to know each other since we’re gonna be spending so much, uh, time together.”