Abducting BTS

Chapter 22- Eat them.

I couldn't help the anxiety that rose in my throat and choked me.

The tightness didn't leave as I smoothed the back of my gown down.

It felt like I was back at the compound waiting for Satan to come on one of his nightly visits.

Footsteps grew nearer and louder as he made his way forwards but he was steady and slow. When the man finally turned the corner, I was somewhat confused. I don't know why I expected, but a short stout, white man in his late forties with thinning hair was not it.

My eyes immediately flew to Yoongi as I saw his shoulders relax ever so slightly that it was nearly unnoticeable.

If things ever got at all violent with this man, every one of us would have the substantial upper hand. This contrasted quite heavily with any experience of this I'd had with Satan.

He looked at us barely as he made his way to his chair at the head of the huge table and seated himself. We all quickly followed suit and he looked us over, eyes barely lasting a second longer on Yoongi and I thought he might have gotten away with it. When he finally spoke, it was in a strange accent that both Namjoon and I picked up on. He immediately turned to me with brows ever so slightly furrowed as he spoke in English with a French accent that didn't fit.

"It is good to see you all here finally, even with more of you than anticipated." He said looking at me intensely but not angrily. "You're all here for my dearest darling you see, you won't meet her tonight as she would not eat her vegetables yesterday, but if she behaves you will meet her tomorrow." It was almost comical, the idea of a girl grounded and as such not being allowed to see her abducted celebrities, yet something was still bothering me in how I still couldn't quite figure out his accent. It was obviously some strange version of French, but it was so strikingly odd. Like he had a severe speech impediment.

It wasn't until he then spoke in Korean that it hit almost everyone. "I am French but since none of you are, I will only speak Korean and English to you."

He was lying. Very obviously so but as I looked around the table, I could see the first realisation then the visible quelling of this realisation from near everyone on the table.

He sounded odd in English because his accent was fake. He wasn't French, he was mental. 'Sir' was obviously American when he spoke Korean, but it was a twisted American accent like he'd learnt Korean normally first but then decided he was French.

His French accent in English was significantly better than his in Korean. He was obviously fluent enough, but not to the point of being able to do a native Korean accent, let alone a foreign one other than his own.

Despite everyone realising this fact, however, I was impressed at the lack of a reaction. The most was a glance between people to check if everyone else was hearing that too.

The silence was deafening once he'd stopped talking and I took the opportunity to study the man.

He was remarkably short, perhaps a few inches taller than 5ft and in his mid to late forties. He had a receded hairline but what he had was not greying at all and was somewhat overweight. His neck folded over itself and seemingly choked from the pressure. I couldn't help but be disgusted by him as I heard him breathing heavily and hack up something from his throat. A think sheen of sweat covered his large forehead and dropped slowly down his skin before catching on a stray mole hair.

I hated Satan and being near him sometimes, but at least he was always clean.

The man wasn't particularly deadly by the looks of him and he didn't seem especially intelligent either so I couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten to such a high and privileged position.