Forever His

Chapter Two: Alistair

He glanced at the screen in front of him, his gaze lingering on her. An arrogant smirk crept over his lips as he watched her, knowing that by the end of the day, that beautiful girl was going to be his.

He studied her ebony curls, each one looking like silk. His smirk grew wider as he noticed how innocent and curious her eyes looked as she glanced around the plane. His eyes moved down to look at her lips, soft and full. How he wished he could taste her lips, feel her skin against his. He wished to tangle his fingers in her soft curls, pull her close to him and claim her as his and only his.

Soon, he thought. Soon I will have her all to myself.

His phone buzzed, drawing his attention.

David Crowley: 'Sir, we are almost there. The plane is going to land in about half an hour. Are you ready to accept our payment, sir?'

A smile spreads over his face. He was ready. He was going to have her. She would be his. Forever.

'Yes, I am ready,' he texted back, his smirk transforming into a sinister grin.

He poured himself a glass of bourbon, taking a mouthful, enjoying the burn of it as it went down his throat. Heat spread through his body as the liquid burnt it's way through him.

He was one of the richest men in France, taking over his father's empire the day he turned 18. His father taught him how to be powerful and dangerous, to be feared and respected, smart and cunning. And he was. No one crossed Alistair unless they wanted to unleash a wrath upon them that was merciless. He wasn't afraid to hurt people to get what he wanted. And he wanted that beautiful girl that was on her way to him, right now, without her even knowing it.

He turned back to the cameras, observing his girl some more. She was the most beautiful and petite creature he had ever laid eyes on. So small, innocent and fragile. She was perfect. His mind races with all the things he wanted to do to her. To kiss her, touch her, hold her, claim her. The innocence that radiated from her made him want her more.

He watched her, any knowledge of her or the other passengers knowing his eyes were on that plane, all angles directed towards what would soon be his.

He finished his drink and stood up, walking out the door. He gestured for his guards to follow him, a grin on his face.

It's time.

He walked outside and slipped into the backseat of a sleek black car, nodding towards the driver, telling him to go.

Alistair didn't bother to bring anyone other than his personal guards with him. She was a small, weak 18 year old girl. He had gone to the gym every day since he was 15. Almost ten years of weights, kick-boxing, karate and tai chi behind him. He was more than capable of handling his girl.

Possessiveness spread through him like a wildfire. My girl. He thought. He wouldn't let anyone else touch her. She was like a delicate flower that needed to be sheltered from the world. Protected from all the dangers, except for the biggest danger in France. Alistair Couteaux.

In his mind, that's what made him her best protector. No one else dared to cross him in his country unless they had a death wish. She would be his, and only his. After he had her in his car, she wasn't ever leaving him.

He would kill anyone who dared touch his girl. They would die a slow, agonizing death. And he would smile while they bled. Laughed while they screamed. And she would never know the extent of his cruelty. She would love him. Cherish him. He would make sure of it.