Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) - S01 E04

Story 3 years ago

Smoke And Mirror (Royal Angel l) - S01 E04

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 4

“Cookie monster”

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Victoria's POV

Have you ever been in a private jet, sipping

vintage wine and dining on lamb steak, while

Mozart played softly in the background?

No? Me neither.

I was in a private jet. Only I was tied to my

seat, choking on a rag with a gun aimed at

me.

My whole body hurt. The cut on my left leg

burned like a bîtch. I felt tired and queasy with

motion sickness.

None of that, however, pissed me off.

If the lights had gone off five minutes later, I’d

have ten million dollars in my bank account, a

good night’s sleep and takeout from Wang’s

Kitchen instead.

That didn’t piss me off, either.

I’d been knocked out cold with a lamp, drugged

and kidnapped.

Nope. Did not piss me off.

Not one fücking bit.

No, there was only one reason for my misery.

And he was lounging by the window like a lazy

cat, eating his steak and sipping his wine.

All the while aiming my own gun at me.

(Reloaded, of course).

And to think I’d felt ‘kinda’ bad for putting the

tracker on him.

When I woke up five hours back, the first thing

I saw was Daniel’s blonde friend, munching on

an Oreo. I didn’t know his name, so I came up

with Biscuit.

I soon realised Biscuit was on a one man

mission to exhaust the plane’s food supply.

The guy went at it like he hadn’t seen food in

days. No judgement here, but he didn’t have to

eat his own weight in front of me. A.k.a the

starving hostage.

On the bright side, it could mean he was the

only one on board who could use a gun.

Or he just wanted to annoy me. In which case,

he was doing an excellent job.

I watched him slice the steak one handed,

practically drooling. Keep it together . This is

exactly what he wants-

My stomach growled. Traitor.

“You want some, shortcake?”

I groaned internally, shaking my head. Dessert

themed nicknames. How original.

“Either you’re hungry or you’ve got a motor

shoved up your äss.”

I glared at him. Biscuit shrugged, chewing his

meat nice and slow.

“That was a cheap shot.” He agreed, cutting a

large piece. “But in retrospect, you trying to kill

me wasn’t real classy either.”

He put down the knife, picked up the piece

with a fork and stood up, the gun in his left

hand perfectly steady.

Biscuit cleaned up nice. He was pretty tall, at

least 6 3′, wearing a form fitting white shirt

and black slacks, which hugged his hard

muscled frame.

“Like what you see, shortcake?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. I was merely

angry that he’d caught me staring. My cheeks

always got red when I was angry.

Biscuit put the fork between his teeth and

ripped off the duct tape over my mouth. I

coughed as he pulled out the rag.

“Eat.” He said, holding out the fork.

I pursed my lips.

“For heaven’s sake, what are you five? Eat.”

I shook my head.

“This isn’t a fücking union strike. Eat this or

die starving.”

I laughed at his melodrama. He gave me one

look and I stopped.

“What are you, a drill sergeant?” I’d wanted to

sound sarcastic. I sounded like an asthmatic

frog. Totally nailed it. “I’m not eating your

food, and I’m certainly not dying from

starvation.”

“Fortunately, there are other ways you can die.”

He said, pushing the gun into my cheek.

I glared at him. “Save that cräp for when your

brats don’t eat veggies. You’ll make a terrific

father.”

“We can always try and see if you’re right,

shortcake.”

“Yeah, you wish.” Before he could answer, and

I could think too deeply about that, I blurted

out. “Why the hell do you call me that anyway?”

“Shortcake?” He smiled. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“Because I’m edible!? ” I wouldn’t put it past

him.

“Because you have Strawberry hair and you’re

short.” He lit up a cigarette, rolling his eyes.

“Edible? Yeah, not so much. You aren’t my

type.”

“A) I am not short.” I was 5 8′. He just

happened to be freakishly tall.

“B) This coming

from the guy with baby talk literally five

seconds back.” Why did we keep going back

to that. “And

C) Not that I care, but how the

hell would you know what type I am? You don’t

even know my name.”

Biscuit smiled slowly. A bad feeling settled in

my gut.

“Oh god.” It finally dawned on me. “You know

everything, don’t you? My name, how old I am,

where I live?”

“Right down to the butterfly tattoo you got on

your thigh in high school.” He cocked his

head. “I’d very much like to see that, by the

way. You don’t strike me as a butterfly

person.”

It was such a simple statement but it chilled

me to the bone. Everything. He knew every

single thing about my life and I didn’t even

know his name.

He also happened to be right. I hated

butterflies and got that tattoo on a dare.

I had to get out of here. Right now.

“On second thought, I will have some of that

steak.” I said, trying to act pale and shaken. I

didn’t have to pretend much.

“Good.” He held the fork until I ate.

I looked up at him and met his light green

eyes. I knew they were contacts and they didn’t

really suit him. I wondered what the real color

was.

“Can I have some more, Biscuit?”

“Biscuit?” He laughed. “You really are hungry.”

He turned around and went to his seat where

the food was. I had about ten seconds to undo

the ropes. They were done well, but I knew

how to untie knots better than most people. I’d

just been waiting for the gun to face away

from me.

I stood up, quietly. My legs felt sore from

being tied up so long and I needed more time.

I looked around.

There was a silver ashtray next to my seat. It

was heavy and I had to struggle to pick it up.

I threw it straight at Biscuit’s head.

I expected him to pass out or at the very least

drop the gun. No such luck.

“Big mistake, shortcake.”

****

Victoria : “LIKE AND I’LL GIVE YOU A

BISCUIT.”