Smoke and Mirrors : Royal Angels I

Cookie monster

~Victoria~

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 on 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 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. Yep, 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. Unoriginal, overused -"

"Because you have strawberry hair and you're short." He cocked his head. "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 : "Vote for this and I'll give you a biscuit." ;)