“Pack her up and into the helicopter,” ordered the thug in an expensive suit who didn’t even try to hide his criminal nature.
“I wouldn’t recommend touching me if you value your—well, your parts,” I answer calmly, though inside everything is taut to the point of snapping.
“And what will you do, princess?” he smirks, and gives me a sticky, assessing look.
“All the things my father taught the princess,” I hold his gaze—without looking away.
But in the very next second, they grab me by the arms and drag me toward the elevator lifting up to the roof.
“There’s still a chance to change your mind,” I warn bitterly when our strange procession steps onto the roof, where the helicopter’s rotors take your breath away.
“Fine!” he suddenly shouts over the roar of the engines, and barks at the guard: “Change the route. We fly to the mountains. And call me the registrar. I want to be able to get married before New Year.”