Rescued by a Villain®

Chap. 2

Keisha:

He continues to stare at me with silent amusement and I internally pray to God for him to put his face closer. I'll be sure to spit in it and smash it in real nice.

Seeming to read my mind or the killing expression on my face, he takes a step back and brushes off the invisible dust off his suit jacket.

Asshole.

And yes, I am calling the richest man in New York that. Why? Because I have seen his antics first hand and of how cruel he is and can be. And no, I don't hate him. It goes deeper than. Even resentment wouldn't cover half of it.

Yet no matter how much I resent him and avoid him as much as possible being in the same city he frequents, I still end up seeing his stinking face with that Cheshire grin of his. Life doesn't get any sweeter than this.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I stop my thrashing to give him my deadliest glare. He was never much of a talker and neither am I, but an exception is being placed for today.

"So now you acknowledge me as your father?" He inquires lifting an eyebrow at me, almost reminding me of myself when I am asking a rhetorical question. I guess that's what makes him easy to read. For me anyways.

"You're making a scene," I tell him before stomping on one of his goons foot and I bite back a scream. What is his foot made of? The guy didn't even flinch and my foot is throbbing from the pain. No, seriously just no. That is freaking impossible. There must be some sort of metal in that shoe. The goon just tightened his grip on me.

I did flinch at this, feeling the blood flow in my arm stopping. The good thing is that if I lose an arm, I can sue this man for all the money he's got and live comfortably.

With a smile to the little rich and snobby audience of suck ups, Mr. Giorgio turns to them as if nothing is wrong.

"Thank you for your services here," he nods to some of his stand by goons. "My men will collect and pay for my choices."

He then turns to me and for some sick moment, I think about how it was being this man's princessa and being the first to see him smile in the mornings. But then I remember the actual monster he is and I snap out of my reverie with a scowl.

His smile widens before I am dragged outside into a big black vehicle. Looks to be a Cadillac, but I really didn't want to care.

"Okay, this is just plain abuse," I state, my voice a little breathless and betraying my anger as I continue to thrash. "Help! Call the police!"

I hear him chuckle behind me and that just fuels my anger. It is so hard to not blame him for that though, since that was a very useless call for help. This is New York after all. Everyone lives in their own little bubble, ignorant to everything else. The most you'll get out of these people is when they're videoing you or recording and in a few short minutes, Bam! it's online.

I am sure I am red faced as I put my feet on either side of the door, trying to not be pushed into the vehicle. This is of course unsuccessful since with a little more force, I am thrown inside like some rag doll. Well, unless feeling pain and aches in my feet were somehow a goal. That was successful of course.

The next thing I knew as I was rubbing my sore legs and feet, the proud bastard slips into the vehicle with that smirk of his.

The same smirk I can't stop remembering.

The same smirk that makes me hate myself.

The same smirk that evokes my anger in hundredfolds.

I am about to pounce on him and scratch his eyeballs out when he takes out a sharp curved knife. A bodyguard also slides in with a gun firmly aimed at me.