The Mafia on 6th Street

Jet Suicide | Part 2 [LONG CHAPTER]

-Unedited-

"What was that?" Angelina breathed, her hands tightening over Damien's biceps - her movements scarce.

The jet had rattled in an unnatural way.

Damien bent his head back to consider Angelina, his lips forming into a hushing gesture. Silent as a night predator, he slipped away from her grasp, leaving her cold. The feeling was the type that sprouted in the warmth of her neck and crawled eldritch to the base of her spine. It irked her because it was the unnerving sensation she got when something unaccounted for was about to happen. Angelina widowed back against the headboard of the bed and swallowed.

Her eyes lingered across the blatant plain enclosed walls of the aircraft and noted nothing chary from the usual.

Yet her gut clenched acidly.

Something wasn't right.

Eyes darting cautiously to the stand next to the comforter she remained in, Angelina slipped her fingers into the drawer and retracted out a needle-point blade.

Well, she didn't exactly pull it out completely because before she did - she felt a familiar stiffness against her skull.

The cold pressure of a gun.

"Don't move."

Two solid words enacted Angelina to swiftly retract her fingers from the drawer and raise her perspiring palms in retreat.

Angelina exhaled into the tensed atmosphere, every second stretching out into miniature awareness and sensitivity.

She was unnaturally calm and found that the gun holder would be expecting otherwise. He'd expect a shivering crying damsel in distress begging to do anything to be alive – even if it meant sucking his c*ck.

So she twitched her throat and forced herself to whimper – holding in the scoff of a chortle she had forming in her head. She felt the gun urge against her skull harshly.

"Put on your shoes." She felt gloved hands grasp her neck and nudge her towards the side of the bed, forcing her head to bob towards her combat boots.

Angelina felt odd at the actions of her captor. How abnormal was it for an abductor to be concerned about the wellbeing of her feet  – rather than actually executing their plans?

Or maybe this was part of his plan. The only time an individual on an aircraft wore their shoes (if they had not taken them off) would be when departure was near. Wearing her shoes on an aircraft meant one thing -

Angelina obliged and hesitantly began untangling the laces of her boots, the hold on her skull not lessening or allowing her to look up.

This simmered the facade of confidence she had constructed in her head. It made her unsure about a prominent part of her plan -

She needed to see the face of the gun holder. If her gut instinct were to be right, then the abductor would be the same man back at her mother's manor - that knocked her out after the confrontation at the swing. Sickly, she found herself familiar with the hands locked onto her.

Too familiar.

Perhaps...what Angelina did not speculate was the possibility of the man being the pair of eyes that lurked in Angelina and Damien's bedroom in her mother's manor and the pair of eyes that witnessed the affair of Alarina and Marcus. Who couldn't forget such treacherous sight? – Well, no one of course, other than the scab himself.

Angelina completed the task of threading her shoelaces and feigned a sniffled cry, "I'll give you anything you want just– "

Her hair yanked back as her head angled in a way where her neck was compromised if the man twisted anymore slighter.