Chapter 2
Jennie
Sitting there in Lisa's embrace, I feel the familiar hum of excitement mixed with trepidation. Our separation hasn't changed her one bit. She's still the same woman who almost killed Hanbin, who didn't hesitate to kidnap a girl she wanted.
She's also the one who nearly died rescuing me.
Now that I know what happened to her, I can see the physical signs of her ordeal. She's leaner than before, her skin stretched tightly over sharp cheekbones. There is a ragged pink scar on her left ear, and her dark hair is extra-short. On the left side of her skull, the growth pattern of that hair is a bit uneven, as though it's concealing a scar there as well.
Despite those tiny imperfections, she's still the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. I can't tear my eyes away from her.
She's alive. Lisa is alive, and I'm with her again.
It still seems so surreal. Up until this morning, I thought she was dead. I was convinced she had died in the explosion. For four long, excruciating months, I had been forcing myself to be strong, to get on with my life and try to forget the woman sitting next to me right now.
The woman who stole my freedom.
The woman I love.
Raising my left hand, I gently trace the outline of her lips with my index finger. She's got the most incredible mouth I have ever seen—a mouth made for sin. At my touch, her beautiful lips part, and she catches the tip of my finger with her sharp white teeth, biting down on it lightly, then sucking my finger into her mouth.
A tremor of arousal runs through me as her warm, wet tongue laves my finger. My inner muscles clench, and I can feel my underwear getting damp. God, I'm so easy when it comes to her. One look, one touch, and I want her. My sex feels swollen and slightly sore after the way she fucked me earlier, but my body aches for her to take me again.
Lisa is alive, and she's taking me away again.
As that fact begins to sink in, I pull my finger away from her lips, a sudden chill feathering over my skin and cooling my desire. There's no turning back now, no possibility of changing my mind. Lisa is again in charge of my life, and this time I'd willingly flown into the spider's web, placing myself at her mercy.
Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if I had been unwilling, I remind myself. I remember the syringe in Lisa's pocket, and I know that the outcome would've been the same regardless. Conscious or sedated, I would've been accompanying her today. For some messed-up reason, that fact makes me feel better, and I place my head back on Lisa's shoulder, letting myself relax against her.
It's futile to fight against one's destiny, and I'm starting to accept that fact.
With traffic, our ride to the airport takes a little over an hour. To my surprise, we don't go to O'Hare. Instead we end up at a small airstrip where a sizable plane awaits our arrival. I can make out the letters 'G650' on its tail.
"Is that yours?" I ask as Lisa opens the car door for me.
"Yes." She doesn't look at me or elaborate further. Instead her gaze appears to be scanning our surroundings, as though looking for hidden threats. There is an alertness to her manner that I don't remember seeing before, and for the first time, I realize that the island was her sanctuary as well, a place where she could truly relax and let down her guard.
As soon as I climb out, Lisa grips my elbow and ushers me toward the plane. The driver follows us. I didn't see him before, as a panel separated the backseat area of the car from the front, so now I sneak a glance at him as we walk toward the plane.
The guy must be one of Lisa's Navy SEALs. His dark hair is cut short, and his eyes are ice-cold in his square-jawed face. He's even taller than Lisa, and he moves with the same athletic, warrior-like grace, his every movement carefully controlled. There is a huge assault rifle in his hands, and I have no doubt that he knows exactly how to use it. Another dangerous man . . . one that many women would undoubtedly find attractive, with his regular features and muscular body. He doesn't appeal to me, but I'm spoiled. Few men can hold a candle to Lisa's dark-angel allure.
"What kind of a plane is this?" I ask Lisa as we walk up the steps and enter a luxurious cabin. I don't know anything about private jets, but this one looks fancy. I'm doing my best not to gawk at everything, but I'm failing miserably. The cream-colored leather seats inside are huge, and there is an actual couch with a coffee table in front of it. There is also an open door leading to the back of the airplane, and I catch a glimpse of a king-size bed sitting there.
My mouth falls open in shock. The plane has a bedroom.
"It's one of the higher-end Gulfstreams," she replies, turning me so she can help me take off my coat. Her warm hands brush against my neck, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "An ultra-long-range business jet. It can take us directly to our destination without needing to make a fuel stop."
"It's very nice," I say, watching as Lisa hangs my coat in the closet by the door and then takes off her own jacket. I can't take my eyes off her, and I realize that a part of me still fears that this is not real—that I'll wake up and find out that this was all just a dream . . . that Lisa had truly died in the explosion.
The thought causes a shudder to run through me, and Lisa notices my involuntary movement. "Are you cold?" she asks, stepping toward me. "I can have the temperature adjusted."
"No, I'm fine." Nevertheless, I enjoy Lisa's warmth as she pulls me toward her and rubs my arms for a few seconds. I can feel the heat of her body seeping through my clothes, chasing away the memory of those awful months when I thought I'd lost her.
Wrapping my arms around Lisa's waist, I hug her fiercely. She's alive, and I have her with me. That's all that matters now.
"We're ready for takeoff." An unfamiliar male voice startles me, and I let go of Lisa, looking back to see the driver standing there, watching us with an unreadable expression on his hard face.
"Good." Lisa keeps her arm around me, pressing me against her side when I try to step away. "Jennie, this is Bambam. He's the one who dragged me out of the warehouse."
"Oh, I see." I beam at the man, my smile wide and genuine. This man had saved Lisa's life. "It's very nice to meet you, Bambam. I can't even begin to thank you for what you did—"
His eyebrows arch a little, as though I said something that surprised him. "I was just doing my job," he says, his voice deep and slightly amused.
The corner of Lisa's mouth lifts in a faint smile, but she doesn't respond to that. Instead she asks, "Is everything ready for us at the estate?"
Bambam nods. "All set." Then he looks at me, his face as expressionless as before. "It's nice to meet you too, Jennie." And turning around, he disappears into the pilot's area at the front.
"He drives and flies planes for you?" I ask Lisa after Bambam is gone.
"He's very versatile," Lisa says, leading me toward the plush seats. "Most of my men are."
As soon as we sit down, a strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman comes into the cabin from somewhere in the front. Her white dress appears to have been poured on her curves, and with the full layer of makeup she has on, she looks as glamorous as a movie star—except for the tray with a champagne bottle and two glasses she's holding in her hands.
Her gaze lands on me briefly before sliding over to Lisa. "Would you like anything else, Ms. Manoban?" she asks as she bends down to place the tray on the table between our seats. Her voice is soft and melodic, and the hungry way she looks at Lisa sets my teeth on edge.
"This should suffice for now. Thank you, Isabella," she says, giving her a brief smile, and I feel a sudden sharp stab of jealousy. Lisa told me once that she hadn't fucked anyone else since meeting me, but I still can't help wondering if she had sex with this woman at some point in the past. She looks like a bombshell, and her manner makes it clear she would be more than willing to bring Lisa anything she wants—including herself, naked on a silver platter.
Before my thoughts can travel any further down that road, I take a deep breath and force myself to look out the window at the slowly falling snow. A part of me knows that this whole thing is insane, that it's illogical to feel so possessive about Lisa. Any rational woman would be overjoyed to have her kidnapper's attention deflected away from her, but I'm no longer rational when it comes to her.
Stockholm Syndrome. Capture-bonding. Traumatic bonding. My therapist had used all of these terms during our few brief sessions together. She had been trying to get me to talk about my feelings for Lisa, but it had been too painful for me to discuss the man I'd thought I lost, so I stopped going to her. I did look up the terms later, though, and I can see why they would be applicable to my experience. I don't know if it's as simple as that, though, or if it even matters at this point. Naming something doesn't make it go away. Whatever the cause of my emotional attachment to Lisa, I can't turn it off. I can't make myself love her any less.
By the time I turn back to face Lisa, the flight attendant is gone from the main cabin. I can hear the jet engines roaring to life, and I automatically fasten my safety belt, as I'd been taught to do my whole life.
"Champagne?" she asks, reaching for the bottle at the table.
"Sure, why not," I say, and watch her deftly pour me a glass.
She hands it to me, and I sit back in my spacious seat, sipping the bubbly drink as the plane starts rolling.
My new life with Lisa has begun.