Fucking hell my head hurts! Its the first thought rampaging angry lines of rage as my eyes flutter to greet the light. The dull light I find out.
I sit up startled as my senses make me aware of the fact that I am no longer in my office. No not my office. Instead I sit in a lounged back passenger seat of a private plane, some several thousand feet in the air. With a flight attendant smiling down at me.
"Hello miss, welcome aboard. We have bathrooms at both ends and food and refreshments upon request. Is there anything I can help you with?" Her voice is light and charming. And if I was in any other situation than being just kidnapped by two stupid ass men for some less than confident basted I would be delighted to order a glass of wine.
I ponder this for a moment. On weather or not I should snap at her, a woman who is obviously not involved in anything other than serving drinks. But as I glare into her kindly eyes I just respond.
"Some food please. And a glass of port wine if you have it. And...a talk with the pilot."
She nods robotically and turns on her heels. I stand, watching as she walks away and opens the mini bar, pulling out a large bottle. I walk to her side and sit on a stool as she slides the cup to me, practically brimming. And then a plate of cheese and meats to go with it.
"I will notify the pilot of your request. He may send the copilot out to speak with you. But other than that, the four of us are the only ones on the plain. The two who brought you are not here if you are wondering. You are on a plane to France."
"Well I don't want to be."
"I am sorry miss. I have no control over these things. I will tell the pilot know."
"Thank you."
She walks off once more, this time though a layer of curtains towards the cockpit. I down my drink in three gulps and shiver as it goes down. I then assess the situation as I much my way though my plate. My phone is gone. As is my coat and outfit. I now wear a simple turtleneck black dress that falls to my knees. With sleeves that go all the way to my fingertips.
Modest at least. They may be waiting some time to show me as some soft of spectacle.
The curtain brows back as I down that last of my food and stand up with a start.
The copilot looks young, maybe mid 20s. He smiles, "good day ma'am, we are flying on schedule. Your attendants said you were feeling unwell and that we were to let you rest at your leisure. Have we done something wrong?"
They don't know anything.
"No, save the destination. I had wanted to go to Paris, but now I feel a change of heart. Perhaps, Italy. Or Scotland. Yes take me there please. Should not be much out of the way."
He smiles again, this time a slightly cocky one that makes me doubt my assumptions. "Miss we must stay the course. They gave us strict instructions."
"I understand that, but as I am your passenger, you should do as I say. Yes?"
Clever move, but not enough. He smiles even more devilishly.
"I know whom I work for miss. As you are his returning to him, I will do nothing to hinder that. But you may take it all up with him when we get there. Excuse me."
He bows. He really bows. Low, with a swooping arm. A nod and another smile. He returns behind the curtain. I am left to watch the attendant come back in with her same creepy smile. I don't smile back.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
I decide then, that I will never willingly go back to Paris. I smile. A horrible, cunning manipulative smile. And set my plan in motion.
"Yes, I would like some meat, preferably stake. Medium with light charring on the outside. " I say it all in one breath, but with a stale undertone as the last fuck I give drifts out with the words and lands at my feet.
"We do have a stove, this is one of the finest new modules of aircraft I have ever served in. The master must be very well off. I will get right to that."
With that she walks back across the curtain, as if it is a different world than the trapped one I am now in. And now I wait.
*
She returns in good time. About 20 minutes give or take a few times I forgot to look at the clock. We hit some turbulence some time in the first 10 minutes or so. I shouted into the curtains to ask if she was ok, over there working with fire. She just mumbled that all was well. Then returned to her silence.
When she finally finished she returned to my cell of plush chairs and wine with a large plate in her hand. A simmering steak on top of a pile of asparagus. A marvel what you can do with modern technology. She places the food in front of me. Nothing more than a fork to use. She moves to return behind the curtain. Back into her world, still free to do as she wishes.
"I have no way to cut this. May I have a knife?"
Her reaction is stale, as if she did not expect the response.
"Miss, I am not allowed to grant you such a request. We do not want our passengers being harmed during turbulence. We are less than an hour away. It would be a crime to be injured upon arrival."
I scowl, "Come now, I am a grown up. I do not wish to play with my food I wish to eat it. Please provide me with a Knife so that I may do so." I add in a whisper, "I promise I wont cut myself."
I then smile, large and childlike and allow a laugh to travel loudly around the space. Just a young girl wanting to cut her food. Not a grown woman planning an escape. This felt natural, the taunting, like playing with your food. I would do it often with new costumers. Proud men who wanted to be treated like trash. At first I would come off as kind, innocent. And then shift. By then the smile melts and they have their hands bound to the headboard. But woman are different. Not as dimwitted, not as easily fooled. But this one, this one took the bait. She smiled, a full and real one compared to the shallow costumers service one that painted her face before. And left to retrieve the blade.
If only she knew how bad of a mistake she made, as she folded it up in a fabric napkin and placed it in my hand. As she turned her back and went to return to her world. As she did not hear or see the blade shift in my hand. Or my quick footsteps across the floor. She did not know, until the small steak knife was at her throat.
YOU ARE READING
Yes Mistress
Romance*new original cover coming soon* Former Mafia princess now dominatrix, is pulled back into her old life, and must uncover a plot to overthrow nations and what her heart really wants ...let the game begin. Action Romantic Mystery