Free Captive Curves by Christa Wick Page B

into a basement, for all I knew.  
    If I waited until I was out in the hall to scream, maybe someone would call the police. Or they might open their door to see what was going on. My chest tightened at the prospect. The only other person I was sure was in the building right then was a defenseless eleven-year-old boy. If I screamed and Jaime opened his apartment door, we’d both be dead.  
    Pressing his chest against my back, Dino snaked his hand around front. With the blade of the knife, he pushed a lock of hair away from my ear and whispered a warning. “I know you’re thinking about running, little dove.”  
    I shook my head. I had been thinking about running, but I wasn’t going to have a dead child on my conscience. I’d die first. Correction -- I’d be tortured first, probably gang raped, and only then would I be allowed to die. But if that’s what it took to save Jaime, so be it.  
    “Don’t lie, blanca .” Dino’s lips brushed my ear and another shiver rolled through me. As cold as his eyes had been, his body was an inferno. I could feel his heat sinking into my bones, sapping more of my will to scream or flee away.  
    “You need to understand something. If you run, I can’t stop them from chasing you. Like the fucking dogs they are, it’s in their blood.” The tip of the knife trailed lightly down my throat to stop at the collar of my blouse. “And what they catch, they rip and they tear until nothing’s left. Obey me and I’ll get you out alive and back to your cozy white girl suburb.”  
    Dino’s hips shifted and I felt what could only be the hard bulge of an erection against my bottom. Clearly, I was in the hands of a sadist who thought he could brainwash me into doing his bidding.  
    All I had to do to survive was convince him he had.  
    *****  
    I spent the next hour in the back of a van, my hands still bound at the wrist. Curtains blocked the front seat, but I could tell we were going in circles -- or at least a series of right turns zeroing back in on a final destination. With no seats in the back, I sat on the floor, Dino cushioning me from the metal wall as he sorted through my bag. Removing my ID and bank cards, he shoved them in his jeans’ pocket.  
    I offered a sneer he couldn’t see. He was going to be sorely disappointed if he tried to use any of my plastic. A first-year teacher in the Isaac school district, I had just enough cash on the bank card to buy gas until payday. One pizza away from being maxed out, the credit card was just as useless.  
    Sitting against the opposite side of the van, Feo eyeballed my necklace. Given to me by my grandmother on her deathbed, it was an antique silver setting with an aquamarine. My grandfather had given it to her on their first wedding anniversary. The blue of the stone matched her eyes -- matched mine, too.  
    Dino looped a finger under the chain. He flipped the pendant over, studied its silver back for a second and then unclasped the chain. Holding the necklace up with one hand, he forced me to turn my head until he could see my face. His gaze moved from the stone to my irises and back again.  
    A flick of Dino’s wrist and the necklace landed in Feo’s lap.  
    My body already vibrating with tension, I coiled tighter at the loss.  
    Dino let go of my face and draped one thick arm across my chest. Cupping my breast, he started to tease the nipple with his thumb. I squirmed, but I had no where to move. My back was against his hard chest and his free arm blocked me from moving left. Slowly, he continued to brush his thumb against the hardening tip. His index finger joined in to lightly pinch and tug until the small bud was fully erect beneath my bra.  
    “Better than a slit throat, little dove.”  
    I wasn’t sure he was talking about the necklace or his touch. Either way, he was right. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to relax against him.  
    “Much better,” he whispered in my ear. Releasing my nipple, he gave my