His Camelia [Completed]

Chapter 40- Mia

Camelia groaned as she came out of a deep slumber, lifting her pounding head.  She struggled to sit upright, her half-lidded eyes desperately trying to focus on her surroundings.  Her cramped muscles screamed in protest as she moved propped against a what felt like a leather seat from the feel of the material under her fingertips.  Her thoughts were muzzy and she closed her eyes briefly to try to regain clarity.

She opened her eyes catching a sound of slight movement.  Camelia blinked several times in order to clear her disoriented vision.  

Sitting crossed leg, a large grin stretched across his face sat Nathan Diam himself, holding a glass of wine saluting her silently.  He was dressed in a white blazer and matching pants, the color straining against his reddish skin.  His dark salt and pepper hair was clean cut.  He looked the same as he did in the pictures she saw of him months ago. 

Oddly enough she wasn't afraid, at least not at that moment. 

She groaned in relief when the bonds were removed from her hands by another who approached her.  She attempt to make an effort to stand, but she couldn't move.  Hands seized hold of her and roughly lifted into a sitting position.

A instant bout of nausea swamped her.

"I'm so pleased to see you can join me, Camelia.  How was your nap?" Nathan's greeting sounded almost caressing, holding no hint of a threat.

Camelia frowned at him. 

Oddly, he made her feel like they were old acquaintances as she stared at him apprehensively. People who acted calm and casual ultimately had dangerous, hidden agendas.

Nathan shrugs, a devilish twinkle appearing in his eyes.

"It's my birthday today." He continues. "Do you know what I've wished for the last twenty-five years?" He pauses as if expecting her to answer, but Camelia could not form a response, her breathing shallow and quick. Inwardly, she was quaking in fear the more she listened to him speak. "No? Well, allow me to enlighten you...It's revenge and now I have it in the palm of my hands."

"Go to hell."  She slurred, trying to blink the haze from her eyes and fighting to stand straight. 

"Where are your manners?  I would think Julien and Annie had more class than that..."  He uncrossed his legs and directs his attention to the one holding her by the arm. "Get me a Turkish coffee, would you? I need something to keep me awake." Nathan looks to Camelia again. "We are a long way from home, little one. Not even Julien himself will be able to find you...would you like a drink before we begin?" He smiles, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You look like you could use it."

Finally, she able to scan her surroundings, blinking rapidly. The first thing she made out was she was not on land but on a plane.

This is bad...so, so bad. She thought. There was no way she would be able to plot for a way to escape trapped on a plane. The moment the realization hit her, the fear, stark and ugly, struck her with a strangling force. 

He turns his attention back to the guard. "See that our guest has use of the restroom, give her something to drink, and bring her back here."  He orders dismissively.

After Camelia was half dragged, half hauled, she was allowed to relieve herself in the small and tight confines of the restroom.  While washing her hands she stares at her reflection in the mirror.  A pale face reflected back–her hair a tumbling mess behind and over her shoulders.  Her clothing wrinkled, her cardigan hanging off one shoulder and torn on the side.