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.
Mikey's' POV.
Fucking hell.
There was something about her that forced me to stay.
Why was I even fucking doing this shit?
The idea of 'stability' and 'trips' seemed like an utter disaster to me.
I didn't even like this bitch.
The only reason I kept her around was to figure out why she affected me the way she did.
She made me feel emotional, and I haven't felt anything emotional in a very long time.
I didn't like the feeling.
Feeling is just a setup and a scam for more pain and grief.
I needed to learn how to stop myself from caring for her or for any other person.
An hour passed by, but I couldn't force myself to look away from her.
She was so beautiful in her sleep; her dirty (c) eyebrows furrowed and moved as she slept.
I wondered if she was dreaming.
I watched as she shivered in her slumber.
I was selfish in making her wear those clothes, but I had been expecting my men to pick up a prostitute in Japan, not Y/N.
I just hadn't had or made the time to go out and refurnish the wardrobe for her.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath in an angry mutter.
I hastily tore off my suit jacked and draped it over the front of her curled-up body, watching as she instantly pulled it closer to her like a blanket, snuggling into it.
I couldn't take it from her.
I walked into the small bathroom on the jet, letting strings of colorful words fly as I walked down the isle of the private plane.
I made an attempt to calm myself and my nerves.
Taking out my 9-millimeter, I extracted and reloaded the bullets into it over and over again.
I was in a fit of unimaginable rage.
I didn't want to feel
I was the most feared criminal organization leader, I don't feel.
But she was stained into my mind.
I spent the rest of the plane ride locked in the bathroom. .........
After hours, we had arrived in the Maldives.
The warm sun and tropical atmosphere of the island greeted us as I glanced outside the window at the crystal-clear water.
Y/N was still asleep, and I didn't have the strength to wake her.
She had cocooned herself in the jacket and was knocked out in her sleep.
I wrapped my arms under her knees and around her back, pulling her from the leather seat and holding her close to my heart.
It sped up.
The jet door slid open, and I made my way with the light weight that was Y/N down the jet stairs and onto the tarmac, where at least five black SUVs greeted us all, accompanied by men in black suits bearing ear pieces.
I made my way with Y/N to the other car waiting for us, the pitch-black Rolls Royce that was our ride.
My men were here for protection.
I had chosen the Maldives for a very good reason: it was quiet and less likely for Y/N to get into trouble, but I also had some mafia business I needed to attend to.
It was a win-win.
The car sped off, barreling down the road towards 'Soneva Fushi,' the grandest and priciest hotel in the Maldives.
The lights and sights of the island flew by my window as we made our way towards the hotel.
Yet the only thing that I could focus on was the beautiful girl lying next to me, silently sleeping and looking ever so peaceful.
Her dark and long eyelashes hooded her eyes, and her wine-colored lips parted slightly in her slumber.
The car halted outside the hotel, and once again I looped my arms around the little girl in my arms, carrying and holding her close to my heart.
My men followed behind me; we had drawn the undivided attention of every staff member and guest on the perimeter.
It was quite clear as to why we had drawn the attention of so many people.
One of the world's most wanted and dangerous men walked into the hotel, holding an unconscious girl in his arms. With body guards surrounding the both of them, it was quite the scene.
"Good evening, Mr. Sano." The blond woman at the front desk addressed me.
Her accent was thick in French.
"You will be staying in our deluxe ocean view double story villa; it includes five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a full kitchen, a pool, and a hot tub. Enjoy your stay," she said with a brief nod.
You could tell that her lines were practiced for when someone of my status came to say hello in the hotel, but her hands still shook when she handed me the room key.
I said nothing to her as I adjusted my grip on Y/N and made my way onto the jetty towards our villa.
Obviously, I was sharing a room with Y/N; she was, after all, my property, and besides, we needed to get to know each other, and she was too much fucking trouble to leave anywhere else.
I carried her into the room closest to mine, peeling back the crisp white covers and planting her down on the bed.
Just as I was about to leave, I felt her hand brush mine.
I turned around and glanced at her.
I planted a brief, single kiss on her porcelain forehand before again turning to leave.
"Goodnight, my angel,"