HIS PLANS

“Seriously? Can you really do that?”

He is bent on annoying the hell out of me. Why did my father have to sire such an annoying jerk for heaven’s sake? Even if he had to bring in a bastard in this world, couldn’t he just sire a cool kid like me? Bitter sigh!

“You want to try me?” I challenge, sounding as grave as I can ever be.

He stares at me for a moment. From one corner of my face to the last one. I don’t even know what he thinks he is doing by caging me like this and ogling me this way. Maybe another way to annoy me.

“Get in!” He finally speaks, and I jump right into the car, discharging the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I settle in, and he plays the gentleman role and closes the door for me. As if he can ever be what he is pretending to be. Jerk!

He parks his belongings in the car and walks into the car, slamming behind the wheel roughly as if he has no mercy for my poor car.

“Be gentle to my baby, please, will you?!” I say this as I put on my safety belt.

“I don’t know how to be gentle. Unless you are ready to teach me?”

The way he asks that, are we on the same page here? “Just drive, jerk! I left a lot of important things hanging back in the office, and I need to get them all done by the end of this day. And I have some preparation to oversee for my wedding,” I state when I fail to understand his expression.

“As you wish, B. But you will have to forget everything for today. You are all mine until I say otherwise.”

Excuse him! Is this guy sane? No, did he smoke something on the plane that got him high or something? What the heck is he talking about?

“What the hell do you mean?” I ask.

“We are going somewhere very important, then we proceed home for my welcome party,” he states.

I see! He learned to be a controlling dick in the states, and he thinks I am the best option to experiment on? The jerk has been back for a few minutes now, and he is already controlling me like I am his puppet. Who does he think he is? Who told him that I give a fuck about his welcome or go-away freaking party?

“I see you learned to be a controlling jerk in the state, but don’t you fool yourself by trying that shit with me, Joe! I have a cake sampling, which I canceled because of you. I messed up my schedule so much by coming to pick you up. Just don’t make plans for me. Both the wedding preparations and office work are driving me nuts. Don’t just add more to it.” I state.

“And him? What is he doing about this whole wedding sh*t?” He asks, burying his eyes into mine.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes shooting deadly arrows at him. Unfortunately, as deadly as I think the arrows are, he seems resistant to their wrath.

A wedding what? How the heck dare he call my wedding a shit? And just why does he sound like he knows we are crashing with Leon about this wedding?

I furrow my brows, and he hunches his head down, perhaps after realizing that all that shit he just puked was absolutely uncalled for. It was an insult that I will not forgive him in the near future. How can he call something that is God-ordained shit, really?

He then lifts his head, boring his sinful eyes into mine.

There is no remorse in them, but they portray these shades that I can't quite decipher. But it's not guilt. It's something else. "Sorry. We will just check something out real quick, and then you can go back to your schedule," he explains, and without caring whether I will agree to this madness or not, he steps on the gas pedal and pulls off like a beast after a prey!

I hug my belt tight, hoping that we reach the unknown destination safe and sound because the way this beast is dodging cars on this busy road is terrifying!

20 minutes later,

We pull up. I peel my eyes and discharge the breath I was holding. Cruising my eyes around, I realize we are at a certain Luxe hotel that seems to be in a secluded, if not deserted, area. The only thing that gives me hope that this weird beast has not kidnapped me to go on a vendetta against me for all the horrible treatments I gave him is seeing cars packed around and people walking in and out of the seemingly luxurious hotel.

The door on my side opens. He is bent on playing a fake gentleman. All the same, I jump out, careful not to bump into him. He is bleeding a strong and confusing aura that is terrorizing every bit of my feminine being.

"What are we doing here?" I ask after clearing my dry throat myriad times.

He gives me a stare that draws me into more haze. He is acting so weird. I stare back, challenging his dominant eyes. "You might kill me after this, but you will thank me in the future."

I'm glad he finally broke the stare challenge, but why use riddles? Just what is he talking about? I shake my head to let him know that I don't get even a slight whiff of his parable. In response, he grabs my hand, not in a way that can be termed gentle, but nothing hurts either, and the sparks I am getting from this touch are dominating any form of roughness.

In a minute, we are standing before the counter lady, our hands still interlocked, his perplexing words hanging like a cloud in my head, and the oblivion of this mystery shaking me to the core.

I wait for him to speak, perhaps place an order, or ask for a table, but all I get to read is another weird sign exchange between him and the lady. Whatever their gestures meant, I didn't have time to ask, as again, I am being pulled forward.

My heartbeat increases with every step we take and every stair we climb. My moves are fueled by the desire and fear of the unknown as I blindly march beside Joe. He seems well aware of what he is doing and the destination, and I am in utter darkness. I should ask more questions, but something so strong is crashing that idea, propelling me to just wait and see.

Finally, our steps halt at a certain door. My heart skips several beats.

A room? Why is this guy taking me into a room?

My uneven breathing, fused with the trembling, does not allow me to speak, so he does it for me. "I am sorry, but I had no choice, B."

More confusion! He sounds like this is a matter of life and death. Just what is behind this closed door, huh?

"What do you mean?" I gasp between heavy, lagged breaths.

He takes another step to the door, and he gives two signs that I don't understand: a tight squeeze on my hand and a gentle nod of the head, as if assuring me something, or better yet, warning me about something.

But what? Which is which?