Page 31 of Mila: The Godfather

He felt real.

Then, as that thought triggered it, sleep pulled backward like a fog lifting, making the quiet numbness seem to wear off.

Feeling overwhelmed and completely not understanding what was going on, I heard my voice say in a very small, very vulnerable way, “My head hurts.” My savage-looking prince seems taken aback at either my words or my tone, his brows drawing together as he watches me for a long moment. “Where are we?” I continue to ask questions until the man gently puts me down on my feet, and that is when I am able to see where we are. It looks like an abandoned plane track. In the distance, I can hear the low sound of what appears to be a plane heading our way.

Oh, no.

I’ve read this scene way too many times to know what this is.

This feels like a scene out of a crime and dark romance.

Villains.

Villains kidnap people. Heroes do not.

Fear should be seeping into my bones right about now, but nothing happens.

The stranger’s rough voice brings me back from my thoughts. “You will feel better as soon as you take something for the headache. Inside the plane, there is aspirin. Are you allergic to aspirin?” He clears his throat, and all I can focus on is that: 1. He has a lot of tattoos on his neck, and I mean a ton. 2. He said inside the plane as if he expected me to go inside.

“Are you kidnapping me?” I blurt out. Nice one, Mila.

The maybe villain chuckles. I don’t know why, but I feel a warm feeling in my stomach as if a thousand butterflies like the ones he has tattooed on his neck are flapping their wings erratically, causing havoc inside me. Huh… how strange.

I never felt that before.

Sadness? Yes.

Happiness? Uh-huh.

But this strange feeling in my stomach just by hearing this man laugh? Nope.

Again… strange.

And that is a very dangerous path because strange things make me curious and lead me to very bad ideas.

“I am not kidnapping you, sweetheart, but that filth from before sure was.”

“You killed him.” I point out the obvious.

The man grunts as my eyes remain on his neck where the tattoos conceal where his pulse should be, on occasion, my eyes drift up to his face. “I did.”

“How did it feel?” I ask, feeling transfixed with not only the man before me but the situation.

“Pretty satisfying.” He replies without hesitation.

“Pretty satisfying,” I repeat. “How odd. I was not expecting that answer…” I frown, most criminals I know hide their cruelty behind locked doors and pretend they’re good and law-abiding civilians, but this one is… proud?

The man clears his throat, and I follow the movement of his lips. “Does that scare you?”

I think about his question. A lot of things scare me, but watching this man murder the big bully from before doesn’t, and that should scare me. It would scare a sane person. “Not really. I don’t lose sleep over cruel men or what happens to them.” I shrug. It’s true.

I learned a long time ago that pity doesn’t live inside of me when it comes to people who cause others harm.

“Huh.” The man chuckles again, and I force myself to look into his eyes, and there goes that strange feeling again.

“What is it?” I don’t quite understand the look on his face. His eyes look bright, but his facial expression is not happy at all.

“You are just…” I hold my breath knowing the punch is headed my way. This is where my brutal honesty makes people uncomfortable so much that they don’t know how to act, so they choose to hurl insults my way or pretend I don’t exist. The latter hurts less. “A breath of fresh air.”

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