Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Red Eye.
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"Where are you taking me?"
Lisa's question shattered the heavy silence that had settled in the car since leaving the restaurant parking lot ten minutes before.
"Do we really need to cover this again?" Jackson asked in annoyance, his eyes not straying from the road. "As I said before, it's going to be a fun little surprise."
"I can't help you get to Keefe," she almost pleaded, her voice breaking slightly. "He's not at the hotel…"
"Well, this doesn't involve him" Jackson interrupted with a smirk, relishing her desperate tone. "This time, it's all about you."
His words were chillingly reminiscent of the red eye flight when she'd first had the pleasure of realizing Jackson's true nature. However, Lisa resisted her melancholy and forced a snarky attitude.
"The whole vendetta thing is kind of pathetic, don't you think, Jackson?" she asked cuttingly, attempting to upset him as much as he had her.
"Don't flatter yourself," he replied cruelly. "This is purely business."
"Still," she continued, secretly wondering at his comment. "It must sting to revisit failure."
"You know what stings even more? A bullet through the kneecap," he commented in irritation, wondering why he let her get to him so easily. "You can take my word for it, or just keep on talking and tell me your own thoughts on the subject in about five minutes."
Despite the multitude of questions aching to be asked, Lisa fell silent, taking a small satisfaction in her tiny victory. Simultaneously, it worried her that she was familiar enough with Jackson to know exactly which buttons to press without causing him to become completely murderous. While their connection was anything but intimate, it was close enough to be creepy.
She shifted her wrists, wincing when the rough grain of her bounds cut more deeply into the sensitive skin. Already, this experience with Jackson was far removed from their previous encounter aboard the red eye; he appeared far more reserved and serious, heightening his intimidating image. Besides that, his current intentions were completely mysterious, and she feared the unknown above all.
Only one hope kept Lisa from completely breaking down, and that was the dinner fork that remained concealed in her pocket. She was almost surprised that he had failed to detect the utensil; he seemed somewhat distracted and, though she would never have expected it of his unflappable nature, uneasy.
After twenty minutes of tense silence between them, Jackson abruptly pulled off the road and into a motel parking lot. Lisa's eyes widened in alarm as he pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.
Before she could open her mouth to question, Jackson opened his door and seized Lisa's bound hands. He pulled her roughly out of the driver side.
"I'm not taking my eyes off of you," he explained, slamming the door shut behind them and leading her forcefully to a motel room door.
His hand seemed close to crushing the bone in her arm, and his determined strides caused his open jacket to flap around him in a menacing style as he manhandled her like a ragdoll. Lisa felt like the struggling prey in the grip of a fierce predator and despised the feeling of complete vulnerability and helplessness she'd sworn never to experience again.
Panicked, she made a break for it as Jackson rooted in his pocket for the room key. She pulled from his grasp, which had loosened in his distraction, and dashed across the parking lot. His curse of anger rung in her ears as he quickly gave chase, the light pound of his footsteps quickly closing in.
His arm suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind, effectively halting her. She cried out before he slapped his other hand across her mouth and dragged her backwards to the room.
"Don't make this hard," he breathed into her ear, glancing around to ensure that they weren't being watched. Lisa whimpered, then bit his hand that covered her lips.
"Shit!" he yelled, whipping his hand away and shaking it to relieve the pain. However, to Lisa's utter disappointment, his distraction did not cause him to relinquish his powerful hold on her waist. Instead, it had only incurred his fearsome wrath, and his fingers dug painfully into her as he coerced her more violently towards the building.
Upon reaching the door once more, Jackson thrust the key into the lock, threw open the door, and entered, still not allowing Lisa free. He kicked the door shut before throwing Lisa roughly onto the queen sized bed that dominated the small, dingy room.
"Make yourself comfortable, Leese," he told her, throwing his keys on the desk by the door and removing his suit jacket.
Lisa turned quickly to face her assailant, her eyes darting quickly around the confined space for any possible escape or weapon.
"On second thought," he continued, noticing her obvious assessment of her surroundings, "let me help you with that."
He abruptly pounced, landing lightly over her form, capturing her small arms and pinning them above her head.
Lisa cried out and fought against him, her legs kicking hard. Jackson gritted his teeth and maneuvered his body to settle between her thrashing legs, rendering them useless.
"No!" she yelled in frustration, bucking wildly beneath him. "Get off!"
"Lisa," he scolded. "You're causing a scene."
However, his cruel taunting masked more startling thoughts. Here he was, trapping his most hated enemy in an utterly vulnerable position. He felt the expected intense detestation. He felt the familiar powerful urge to wring her neck. And he felt unexpectedly aroused.
Lisa, unaware of Jackson's heated reaction, gave into the exhaustion from her multiple escape attempts and took a brief rest from her futile struggle. She lay beneath Jackson, panting hard and glaring up at him with pure, unadulterated loathing.
He paused, digesting her appearance. As he lay between her thighs and she panted, cheeks flushed, hair splayed messily around her head, and white sundress bunched around her hips, she looked as if she'd just been thoroughly fucked. By him. And suddenly, the idea was undeniably appealing to Jackson. He was, after all, sadistic, and naturally identified violence and sex as overlapping entities.
Without warning, Jackson brutally headbutted Lisa, rendering her unconscious. Her tense body went slack, and he climbed off of her and straightened his clothes, forcing himself to calm down. What the fuck is wrong with me? he wondered, more than a little alarmed by his new and wholly unnatural thoughts regarding his captive. He could not afford further complication in this particular mission. A million dollars was too hefty a sum to be trifled with, and certainly was not worth contemplating a round with Lisa Reisert.
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Lisa awoke slowly, her eyelids like heavy weights pulled across her vision. A low hum sounded in her ears, and she could feel her head throbbing with intense pain. Slowly, she opened her eyes, rubbing them and blinking sluggishly as she struggled to get her bearings. Suddenly, Lisa remembered. Ted, the bathroom, Jackson…
Her heart lurching with horror, Lisa struggled to sit up, but the pain in her head strongly discouraged such an action. Sighing in quiet frustration, she relaxed back onto the pillow and attempted to assess her environment from where she lay. A cursory glance revealed that she remained in the motel room, and the bedcovers had been pulled over her. A sudden movement on the bed next to Lisa caused her to immediately tense, and she slowly turned her head.
Her eyes now effectively accustomed to the dark, Lisa realized with some surprise that Jackson lay in quiet slumber beside her. With relief, she noted that he remained fully clothed and slept on top of the covers- a gesture she felt certain was not meant as a kindness to her, but a convenience to himself. She then shifted her focus to the handgun, which remained nestled in Jackson's shoulder holster, and an idea quickly developed. If she could get the gun, her chances of escape would increase tenfold.
Biting her lip in concentration, Lisa slowly sat up to lean on her elbow. Her aching head protested, but she steadfastly ignored it, thinking only of the risky matter at hand. Taking a moment to clear her senses of the pain, she reached a tentative hand across Jackson's rising and falling chest, her eyes flicking fearfully up to his closed ones every second, getting closer and closer until her fingers brushed the cool metal handle. Allowing a triumphant smile to curl her lips, Lisa gave the metal an almost undetectable tug.
Immediately, a hand grabbed her wrist. Lisa gasped and looked up into Jackson's icy gaze. His painful grasp forced her to relinquish the weapon handle, and he snaked his other arm around her waist, tugging her body on top of his. In her weakened state, he found Lisa delightfully pliable.
She braced her hands against his chest, attempting to push herself off of him, but his grip was unrelenting.
"Leese, can you try to keep your hands off my things?" he asked, smiling cruelly at her distress.
"Help! Help me!" she shrieked loudly, hoping that another guest would be alerted to her situation.
"No one's here to save you," Jackson informed her, his low, dangerous tone increasing her fear. "I made absolute sure of that. So just stop screaming, or you'll make me angry."
He had not, in fact, made sure of any such thing, but Lisa seemed to buy it and stopped calling for help. If a guest did respond to her former pleas, he could simply make it clear that they were just a young, very kinky couple.
Lisa reached a hand up and slapped Jackson across his face, the stinging blow making his skin sing. Growling low in his throat, he rolled them over in a flash, pinning her flailing fists to her sides and ignoring her cries of protest.
"You know, I'm beginning to think that you just like having me on you," he stated, bracing his hands on either side of her head.
"You're beginning to think? What a development," she spat sarcastically, surprised by her forwardness in such a vulnerable position.
As she spoke, Lisa slowly moved her hand to her pocket and closed her fingers around the fork, steeling herself to attack. Then, in one fluid motion, she pulled the utensil out and stabbed the long, sharp silver tines into Jackson's inner thigh, impaling him forcefully through the thin material of his slacks.
The attack elicited a strangled cry of surprise and pain, and Lisa quickly shoved his crumpled form off of her and dashed to the door, grabbing the small silver cell phone that Jackson had left lying on the desk. She turned the knob frantically and yanked hard, but the locks prevented the door from opening.
Now shaking nearly uncontrollably, she threw back the chain lock but as she turned her attention to the lock on the door handle, Lisa found herself roughly slammed against the wooden door.
"You have so much pain coming your way," Jackson rasped from behind her.
Lisa felt a cool blade press lightly against her neck and she immediately stiffened. A knife. God, she hated knives. And she hated that he knew it.
His fingers wrapped around her upper arm and guided her back to the bed. The glinting weapon coaxed her to lie down, and she reluctantly complied, eying it from the corner of her eye.
Still poising the knife at her neck and not removing his steely eyes from the unpredictable captive, Jackson reached one hand down and deftly unbuckled and removed his black leather belt.
"Hands above your head," he ordered calmly, looking down at her intensely.
"I was wondering how you manage to get any girls in bed," she stalled, not complying with his chilling request.
"It's nice to know you have such an interest in my sex life, Leese, but if you don't put your hands above your head, I will cut you," Jackson replied evenly, increasing the pressure behind the blade.
Lisa inhaled sharply and lifted her chin to escape the blade, but it remained. Slowly, she moved her arms from her sides and slid them above her head, watching him warily. He grabbed her wrists tightly in the hand holding the belt, then swung a leg over her body to straddle her. Tucking the knife into the back of his pants, Jackson took the belt and lashed her hands to the headboard, pulling tightly and eliciting a small gasp from her prone form.
"Bondage works for you," he remarked, patting her fisted hands before climbing off of her.
She watched as he walked across the small room, limping slightly and running a hand through his hair.
"Oh, Lisa," he muttered distractedly with his back turned, talking more to himself than to her. "You are a fucking piece of work."
She didn't answer as he rummaged through a black bag sitting on the desk by the window. He must have brought it from the car when she'd been unconscious, she reasoned. After a few moments, Jackson turned back to her, holding a first aid kit. He limped back to the bed and threw the box near her feet, sparing a glance at her angry visage.
Then, to her surprise, Jackson unbuttoned his black slacks and kicked off his shoes. The small sound of a zipper followed.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lisa asked fearfully, her voice wavering. She began to tug at her belted hands as she watched his impromptu strip with widened eyes.
"Well, Leese, since you've stabbed me again, I'm attempting to patch myself up," he responded, not looked up at her as he dropped his pants and pulled them off, taking a moment to grimace at the blood-soaked fabric. "Please accept my fervent apology for doing this in your precious presence, but since you would most likely try to kill me if I left the room, I think you will understand my reluctance to do so."
As his bare legs were exposed, Lisa was taken aback by the amount of blood that had dripped down his leg, the crimson stark against his pale skin. She watched as he sat on the edge of the desk chair and pulled back the leg of his boxers to reveal the wound. Four small puncture wounds marred his thigh, neatly aligned and still oozing blood.
Jackson leaned forward and extracted a few supplies from the first aid kit, then began to expertly clean the injury without any indication of the pain she knew he must be feeling. After bandaging his leg with gauze, he arose from the chair and returned to the black bag, throwing the kit back inside and removing a fresh pair of black pants.
"Congratulations," he suddenly stated as he donned the pants, startling her. "You've managed to draw blood."
His blue gaze flicked to hers.
"It's a skill I can relate to," he told her, bending down and picking something up from the floor. "And I feel obliged to return the favor."
Her gut twisted, and she realized that the object he held was the fork, still shining with his blood. He wiped the utensil clean on the bedspread, leaving an ugly red streak across the mustard yellow fabric.
Suddenly, he whipped his hand back and threw the fork. It spun through the air, and Lisa clenched her eyes tightly closed as it flew directly at her. With a loud thunk, however, it imbedded itself instead in the headboard, not an inch from her head.
She slowly reopened her eyes, looked up at the quivering fork, then met his amused gaze with hatred.
"If you're going to kill me," she began in a low, unsteady tone, "then just do it. Stop playing games."
"You. Are the only one playing games," Jackson said, his amusement evaporating as he moved towards her. "I've already told you, everything would be perfect if you just. Stopped. Fighting."
By this time, he had reached the bed and placed a hand over her bound ones, gazing intently at her.
"Never," she spat. "And get your fucking hands off me."
His eyes hardened and he withdrew his touch.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear you say that," he clipped, reaching up and yanking the fork from the headboard.
He thrust it in front of her face, and Lisa eyed the points fearfully. Suddenly, Jackson grabbed her left knee and pushed it, forcing her legs to spread. Lisa cried out in surprise and protest, immediately kicking and resisting.
However, he would not be dissuaded, and climbed onto the bed angrily.
"Get away from me!" she yelled, lashing out with her right knee. Jackson avoided the attack easily and maneuvered himself so that he straddled her right leg, rendering it useless. Then, he again grasped her left knee, forced it open, and shoved her dress up to reveal her upper thigh.
Lisa felt tears well in her eyes as she continued her futile resistance. Oh god, Jackson wouldn't…
"Jackson, don't," she pleaded suddenly through her tears, pulling fearfully on her wrists.
He glanced down at her panic-stricken face angrily before poising the fork at her exposed leg.
"Oh, Leese, you should be so lucky," he snarled, pressing the fork tines against the sensitive flesh of her thigh. "No, I only intend to show what happens when you resist. You get what you give."
"A little unimaginative, don't you think?" she asked, feeling a twisted sense of relief that he at least had no current intention of raping her. "I already had that idea."
He blinked, obviously slightly disconcerted by this unexpected show of bravery. However, even more unsettling was the small prick of admiration he suddenly felt. He clearly needed to change tactics.
"You know, you're right, Leese," he remarked, his tone shifting from one of frustrated rage to a lower, raspier pitch.
He relieved some of the threatening pressure behind the fork and skimmed it slowly down the skin of her thigh. Goosebumps erupted in its wake, and the fear immediately returned to Lisa's hazel eyes.
Perfect, he thought, his lips curling up in satisfaction. As low as it might be, this was the only method he could devise of controlling his captive; playing upon her one utterly dependable fear.
"Maybe I should go with your first idea. You know, leave more of an impression," he continued, dropping the fork on the bedspread and replacing it on her leg with his hand.
Slowly, he ran his calloused palm up the length of her thigh, easily feeling the tense muscles beneath the soft skin. Lisa, determined to deny him the pleasure of hearing her distress, clenched her teeth and forced back tears as she returned his intent gaze. Fury illuminated her cheeks; he could practically feel her humming with violent emotion.
Just as he reached the top of her leg, bordering on far more dangerous territory, Jackson removed his hand.
"If you ever pull another stunt like tonight, we will pick up right where we left off just now," he rasped harshly, injecting menace into each syllable. "Understand?"
Lisa merely looked at him, so overcome by disgust and rage that she could not form words as a tear slipped down her cheek.
"Good," he said, pulling her dress back down.
He reached a hand into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. To her horror, he extracted a syringe.
She struggled against the belt, kicking and protesting as he uncapped the needle and lowered it to her arm.
"Night, Leese," he murmured, and she focused on his unfeeling stare as the room tilted, blurred, disappeared.
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A/N- Haha, yes, gratuitous physical interaction with strong sexual undercurrents. Don't pretend like you don't love it.
So thanks to you because if you are reading this, then you probably read the whole chapter and that means I love you. Not to be creepy or anything. But I do.
To Blushing Sigh- thanks for the honesty about the title. Actually, part of the reason I chose it is because it is so incredibly lame that it cracked me up. Thanks for giving the story a chance!
Roja-Syd- Ah! I love specific reviews! Thank you! And wow thanks for pointing out my really great mistake- I thought that sentence didn't look right. It is fixed now, so thanks much.
Mini Nicka, Mirth, Feline of Ave. B, Choco Goddess, RingoGirl, cypris88and SleepingNadine- Thank you so much for the kind words- you make me so happy but nervous because I hope new chapters will not let you down! Ah!
And the Cruel Intentions line is I guess more obscure than I thought, but it is from when Sabastian tells himself "get it together, you pussy" which is a strange line to quote, but whatever. I quoted it.
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