Mikey's POV.
I stopped outside her door.
This problem girl had me waiting for her outside.
I know I shouldn't have given her the joint like I did; that shit fucked you up the first time around, and from Sanzu's reaction, she was pretty fucked up.
I straightened up the tie on my suit and adjusted the 9 millimeters in my jacket before giving the door a firm knock.
From the twenty colorful curses that came flying my way, I think it was safe to say that she had sobered up.
Why had she been keeping me waiting for them?
Taking her out to dinner was such a dumb idea.
But if she was going to be standing by my side, then I supposed I should start treating the little whore better.
I flung open the door and stared.
I had been doing that a lot lately, but really, how could I not?
I am a man who likes beautiful things.
And this girl was certainly a beautiful thing.
She stood there wearing the spaghetti-strapped dress that I had ordered earlier; it wrapped around her body and fitted her perfectly.
You couldn't not stare.
She definitely wasn't a prostitute or a whore; I don't know why I was stupid enough to believe that she was when I first saw her.
She was so innocent and so pure, and it made me love her all the more.
I just couldn't stop staring.
"You fucking drugged me, you shitfaced asshole, what were you thinking?" Ah yes, and then the second she opens her mouth, the sweetness and innocence are all but gone.
Angered boiled inside of me; she still dared to speak to me with such little respect!
The little bitch didn't know who she was dealing with.
I pulled my pistol from my pocket and, in one swift move, snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her in close and pressing her head against the gun.
"Be careful what you say to me. You won't be so pretty if you keep running your mouth like that." I sneered into her face, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against her skin.
I might actually be enjoying torturing this girl.
Sure, it would be a waste of beauty, but it would be fun at least.
Her breathing heightened; I could tell that she was biting her tongue.
Probably to restrain herself from shouting a string of profanities in my face.
She might not be as much of an idiot as I thought.
In truth, I don't really want a girl in my life right now.
I had too much on my plate to focus on 'presenting myself in a settled manner'.
But Y/N seemed different; she made me stare; she made me lose my train of thought just by looking at her; she made me vulnerable, and I wasn't sure if I liked that.
I pulled the gun away from her head and slid it smoothly back into my jacket.
She let out a gasp and a sigh of relief, slumping her shoulders forward slightly.
I took my arm away from her, and she stumbled back a bit but managed to catch her footing.
"Put your shoes on." I handed her a pair of white and sparkling heels.
I had been cautious not to give them to her earlier with the dress for fear that Sanzu would lose an eye alone with her.
She scoffed and let out a small, smartass smirk.
"You overestimate my slutty abilities, Mr. Manjiro." She smirked up at me through her eyelashes, cocking her head to the side a little, studying me.
"If anything, I underestimate them. Now put the fucking shoes on." I could feel my temper boiling inside of me; she better hurry the hell up before I lose my shit.
She nodded reluctantly, putting the heels on; they looked good on her.
But I could tell she didn't think the same way.
It bothered me that she had called me Mr. Manjiro, like she didn't like my name.
It was petty, but for some unknown reason, it mattered to me.
"Don't call me Mr. Manjiro," I side-glanced at her as she did up the buckles on her shoes.
"It's Mikey," I told her in a threatening voice.
She nodded, standing up and wobbling on her feet.
She was trying so hard to be everything but what she was here to be, and that irked me also.
I grabbed her wrist and dragged her down towards the garage, hearing her utter cursing words and slurs under her breath.
I paid her little attention as we moved down the halls.
"Move," I ordered; she walked so goddamn slow.
I pushed open the door and let her gaze at my personal garage.
Ferraris, Aldi's, Porsches—you name it, I had it.
I smirked as her big (E/C) stared at my collection.
It made me proud.
"You own all of these?" she questioned, her eyes shimmering in awe.
"Yes," I said, giving a brief nod.
I wasn't one to gloat about my possessions.
I tapped my foot impatiently on the floor.
"Pick one." I gestured towards my collection.
She looked shell-shocked.
She shakily pointed towards my Porsche 911, and I smiled.
It's one of my favorites.
"Get in," I told her, climbing into the front seat and directing her towards the passenger side....
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Y/n's POV.
Oh my God, the devil drives so fast!
He's an absolute shithead driver.
This man is an absolute maniac!
It was like the rules of the road didn't at all apply to him.
He raced through red traffic lights, zoomed over crossings, and sped up when people were about to cross the road.
He was beyond reckless.
I squeezed my eyes shut for at least fourteen minutes of my near-death experience in Mikey's car.
Soon after, I felt the car start to slow down.
"You can open your eyes now, Y/N," he instructed me, his voice still as cold as ice.
My eyes fluttered open, and my head spun from the sudden intake of light that my eyes were thrust into.
The buzzing sounds and dazzling lights of downtown flooded my view; it was beautiful, and my eyes glistened with amazement.
The place was thriving.
The devil stared at me, but I only shot him a side glance before returning my gaze to the brightness outside of the car.
All of this beauty, all of this freedom
I glanced back at the devil to see if he would notice if I made a mad dash for it and ran.
When I looked back, all hope I had was stomped out; he was loading more guns.
Packing in bullets like no tomorrow, loading and pocketing a gun in every single holster and pocket he had on him.
That's when it dawned on me.
This man could kill me.
He didn't seem like he would give much of a shit if he did anyway; I was replaceable.
I would have to do what he said if I was to survive.
He shoved extra bullets into his pockets, and my eyes were fixed on him.
My eyes were drawn to his nape, and I saw a Bonten tattoo on it.
"Don't stare," he mumbled in a harsh and dry tone.
"It's fucking rude," said the son of a bitch.
He glanced at me, half expecting me to scream something extremely rude at him, but I held my tongue.
It wasn't worth it.
"Let's go." He swung open the car door before coming around to the passenger side and opening my door for me.
I hopped out, and my heart drowned.
At least five SUVs pulled up behind us.
I glanced at the devil, but he seemed unbothered.
"Relax, those are my men," he told me coolly as I jerked my head slightly.
I guess running into more Bonten men wasn't much of an escape route.
I took a step closer to the road; maybe I could flag down a passing car and get some kind of ride out of this hell hole.
He must have sensed my desire to escape because he wrapped a hand tightly around my waist and began to lead me into the restaurant.
I couldn't help but stare; this place was so posh and beautiful.
Anyone would have their jaw drop at a place like this.
The tables were lined with elegant clothes and candles, along with a waterfront and beachside view.
We approached the waitress at the front desk, and she let out a forced and fake smile; you could clearly see the anxiety behind it.
"Welcome back, Mr. Mikey. I see you've brought someone with you—your sister?" she gave me a cocky smile.
Bitch.
The devil let out a scoff and rolled his eyes dangerously, piercing hers with his glare.
"This is my date; we booked a table," he said, shutting her down.
I was satisfied to see her cocky and proud face turn a blotchy red with pure embarrassment.
The devil and I sat down in our seats, only meters from the water.
I noticed how close the two of us were sitting; it unnerved me.
This was going to be a very interesting dinner, to say the least.