NIGHTMARE

chapter 17

Y/n's POV.

"Quit moving, you fucking whore." I made my best attempt to ignore the devils' derogatory comments as I shifted uncomfortably in the clothes that he had made me wear.

Actually, no; to say that what I had on were even clothes was an exaggeration.

I held my arms around my bare and shivering shoulders, doing my best to trap my body heat.

It was freezing, and although we were on a jet plane, whatever fuckhead had turned on the air conditioning to bloody 12 ̊was a lunatic.

"I can't help it! You didn't give me a fucking shirt to wear!" He glanced up from his phone, his eyes trailing over me.

"I did give you a shirt, whore; you're fucking wearing it." His eyes were drawn back to his phone.

Wow, some attention span you have, asshole.

I don't know what he considered a shirt.

But the tiny piece of cropped and strapless fabric covering my chest and mid-torso was not clothing.

Maybe for a doll—a shitfaced Barbie doll—but not me.

He sat back, reclining in his tanned leather chair, pulling the glass of wine from the holster and crossing his leg over the other, gazing out the window coolly.

Why did this fucker have to be so goddamn hot?

If the man wasn't such an asshat, I might have actually taken some interest in him.

The plane had taken off a couple of hours ago, and in that time, I had been locked yet again in an uncomfortable war of silence with the devil, contemplating who should break it first and tossing up what the hell to talk about.

He wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to.

"Why exactly are we traveling?" He gazed up from his phone, surprisingly switching the thing off to give me his full attention.

Well, that's a first.

The man had been side-glancing at me all morning, occasionally making the effort to look up from his device and spare me a slight eyeroll.

"My advisor thinks that it would be best to take some time to get to know you personally, alone." He put the phone in the seat holder, reclining on the chair some more, breaking our intense eye contact.

"Personally though," he spoke to the roof, "I think it's utter bullshit. This is my organization, and I decide what I do and how I handle situations. I don't even know why I fucking listened to him in the first place. I make my decisions alone; this is my organization." I shivered again. 

This man was serious, contemplating and calculating every thought and decision that he made.

He ran a ringed hand through his hair.

I glared at this bitch.

So fucking good-looking, and that suit, ten out of ten.

What the hell was going through my head?

My eyes caught sight of the 9 millimeter that was tucked neatly inside of his suit jacket pocket.

It was probably in my best interest not to piss him off.

I brought my knees to my chest, instantly feeling insecure about the lack of material that covered my legs, knowing that he was sitting across from me.

The devil stared, burning holes into my flesh.

I turned away from him, shifting myself to face the window and closing my eyes.

Sur came to the fatigue that had been eating away at me since the moment I had been taken.