Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 4
âCookie monsterâ
Victoria’s POV
Have you ever been in a private jet, sipping
vintage wine and dining on lamb steak, while
Mozart played softly in the background?
No? Me neither.
I was in a private jet. Only I was tied to my
seat, choking on a rag with a gun aimed at
me.
My whole body hurt. The cut on my left leg
burned like a bĂŽtch. I felt tired and queasy with
motion sickness.
None of that, however, pissed me off.
If the lights had gone off five minutes later, Iâd
have ten million dollars in my bank account, a
good nightâs sleep and takeout from Wangâs
Kitchen instead.
That didnât piss me off, either.
Iâd been knocked out cold with a lamp, drugged
and kidnapped.
Nope. Did not piss me off.
Not one fĂźcking bit.
No, there was only one reason for my misery.
And he was lounging by the window like a lazy
cat, eating his steak and sipping his wine.
All the while aiming my own gun at me.
(Reloaded, of course).
And to think Iâd felt âkindaâ bad for putting the
tracker on him.
When I woke up five hours back, the first thing
I saw was Danielâs blonde friend, munching on
an Oreo. I didnât know his name, so I came up
with Biscuit.
I soon realised Biscuit was on a one man
mission to exhaust the planeâs food supply.
The guy went at it like he hadnât seen food in
days. No judgement here, but he didnât have to
eat his own weight in front of me. A.k.a the
starving hostage.
On the bright side, it could mean he was the
only one on board who could use a gun.
Or he just wanted to annoy me. In which case,
he was doing an excellent job.
I watched him slice the steak one handed,
practically drooling. Keep it together . This is
exactly what he wants-
My stomach growled. Traitor.
âYou want some, shortcake?â
I groaned internally, shaking my head. Dessert
themed nicknames. How original.
âEither youâre hungry or youâve got a motor
shoved up your äss.â
I glared at him. Biscuit shrugged, chewing his
meat nice and slow.
âThat was a cheap shot.â He agreed, cutting a
large piece. âBut in retrospect, you trying to kill
me wasnât real classy either.â
He put down the knife, picked up the piece
with a fork and stood up, the gun in his left
hand perfectly steady.
Biscuit cleaned up nice. He was pretty tall, at
least 6 3â˛, wearing a form fitting white shirt
and black slacks, which hugged his hard
muscled frame.
âLike what you see, shortcake?â
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I was merely
angry that heâd caught me staring. My cheeks
always got red when I was angry.
Biscuit put the fork between his teeth and
ripped off the duct tape over my mouth. I
coughed as he pulled out the rag.
âEat.â He said, holding out the fork.
I pursed my lips.
âFor heavenâs sake, what are you five? Eat.â
I shook my head.
âThis isnât a fĂźcking union strike. Eat this or
die starving.â
I laughed at his melodrama. He gave me one
look and I stopped.
âWhat are you, a drill sergeant?â Iâd wanted to
sound sarcastic. I sounded like an asthmatic
frog. Totally nailed it. âIâm not eating your
food, and Iâm certainly not dying from
starvation.â
âFortunately, there are other ways you can die.â
He said, pushing the gun into my cheek.
I glared at him. âSave that cräp for when your
brats donât eat veggies. Youâll make a terrific
father.â
âWe can always try and see if youâre right,
shortcake.â
âYeah, you wish.â Before he could answer, and
I could think too deeply about that, I blurted
out. âWhy the hell do you call me that anyway?â
âShortcake?â He smiled. âWasnât it obvious?â
âBecause Iâm edible!? â I wouldnât put it past
him.
âBecause you have Strawberry hair and youâre
short.â He lit up a cigarette, rolling his eyes.
âEdible? Yeah, not so much. You arenât my
type.â
âA) I am not short.â I was 5 8â˛. He just
happened to be freakishly tall.
âB) This coming
from the guy with baby talk literally five
seconds back.â Why did we keep going back
to that. âAnd
C) Not that I care, but how the
hell would you know what type I am? You donât
even know my name.â
Biscuit smiled slowly. A bad feeling settled in
my gut.
âOh god.â It finally dawned on me. âYou know
everything, donât you? My name, how old I am,
where I live?â
âRight down to the butterfly tattoo you got on
your thigh in high school.â He cocked his
head. âIâd very much like to see that, by the
way. You donât strike me as a butterfly
person.â
It was such a simple statement but it chilled
me to the bone. Everything. He knew every
single thing about my life and I didnât even
know his name.
He also happened to be right. I hated
butterflies and got that tattoo on a dare.
I had to get out of here. Right now.
âOn second thought, I will have some of that
steak.â I said, trying to act pale and shaken. I
didnât have to pretend much.
âGood.â He held the fork until I ate.
I looked up at him and met his light green
eyes. I knew they were contacts and they didnât
really suit him. I wondered what the real color
was.
âCan I have some more, Biscuit?â
âBiscuit?â He laughed. âYou really are hungry.â
He turned around and went to his seat where
the food was. I had about ten seconds to undo
the ropes. They were done well, but I knew
how to untie knots better than most people. Iâd
just been waiting for the gun to face away
from me.
I stood up, quietly. My legs felt sore from
being tied up so long and I needed more time.
I looked around.
There was a silver ashtray next to my seat. It
was heavy and I had to struggle to pick it up.
I threw it straight at Biscuitâs head.
I expected him to pass out or at the very least
drop the gun. No such luck.
âBig mistake, shortcake.â
Choose Episodes Below;
Note: episodes already read are highlighted in red!
Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6 Episode 7 Episode 8 Episode 9 Episode 10 Episode 11 Episode 12 Episode 13 Episode 14 Episode 15 Episode 16 Episode 17 Episode 18 Episode 19 Episode 20 Episode 21 Episode 22 Episode 23 Episode 24 Episode 25 Episode 26 Episode 27 Episode 28 Episode 29 Episode 30 Episode 31 Episode 32 Episode 33 Episode 34 Episode 35 Episode 36 Episode 37 Episode 38 Episode 39 Episode 40 Episode 41 Episode 42 Episode 43 Episode 44
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