Chapter 4
Jennie
I must've fallen asleep in Lisa's arms because I wake up when the plane begins to descend. Opening my eyes, I stare at the unfamiliar surroundings, my body sore and aching from the sex we just had.
I had forgotten what it was like with Lisa, how devastating and cathartic the roller coaster ride of pain and ecstasy could be. I feel both empty and exhilarated at the same time, wrung out, yet invigorated by the maelstrom of emotions.
Sitting up gingerly, I wince as my bruised bottom touches the sheets. That had been one of the more intense belting sessions; I won't be surprised if these bruises last a while. Casting a glance around the room, I spot a door that I assume leads to the bathroom. Lisa is not in the room, so I get up and go over there, feeling the need to wash up.
To my surprise, the bathroom contains a small shower, as well as a real sink and toilet. With all these amenities, Lisa's jet seems more like a flying hotel than any commercial plane I've been on. There is even a plastic-wrapped toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash tucked inside a little shelf on the wall. I use all three and follow up with a quick shower. Then, feeling infinitely more refreshed, I go back into the bedroom to get dressed.
When I enter the main cabin, I see Lisa sitting on the couch, an open laptop on the table in front of her. The sleeves of her shirt are pushed up, exposing her forearms, and there is a frown of concentration on her face. She looks serious—and so devastatingly beautiful that my breath catches for a moment.
As though sensing my presence, she looks up, her eyes gleaming. "How are you, my pet?" she asks, her voice low and intimate, and I feel a hot flush moving over my entire body in response.
"I'm fine." I don't know what else to say. My butt hurts because you whipped me, but that's okay because you trained me to enjoy it? Yeah, sure.
Her lips curl in a slow smile. "Good. I'm glad to hear it. I was just about to come get you. You should get into your seat—we'll be landing soon."
"Okay." I follow her suggestion, trying not to flinch at the pain caused by the simple act of sitting down. I will definitely have bruises for the next few days.
Strapping myself in, I look out the window, curious about our destination. As the plane breaks through the cloud cover, I see a large city spread out below, with mountains looming on the edge of it. "What city is that?" I ask, turning towards Lisa.
"Bogotá," she replies, closing her laptop. Picking it up, she walks over to sit down next to me. "We'll only be there for a few hours."
"You have business there?"
"You could say that." She looks vaguely amused. "There is something I'd like to get done before we fly to the estate."
"What?" I inquire warily. An amused Lisa is rarely a good sign.
"You'll see." And opening the laptop again, she focuses on whatever she was doing before.
A black car similar to the one that dropped us off at the airport waits for us when we get off the plane. Bambam assumes the role of our driver again, while Lisa continues working on her laptop, seemingly absorbed in her task.
I don't mind. I'm too busy staring at everything as we drive through the crowded streets. Bogotá has a certain 'Old World' vibe that I find fascinating. I can see traces of its Spanish heritage everywhere, mixed with a uniquely Latino flavor. It makes me crave arepas—corn cakes that I used to get from a Colombian food truck in downtown Chicago.
"Where are we going?" I ask Lisa when the car pulls up in front of a stately old church in a wealthy-looking neighborhood. Somehow I hadn't pictured my captor as the church-going type.
Instead of answering, she climbs out of the car and extends her hand to me. "Come, Jennie," she says. "We don't have a lot of time."
Time for what? I want to question her further, but I know it's futile. She's not going to answer me unless she feels like it. Placing my hand in Lisa's palm, I climb out of the car and let her lead me toward the church building. For all I know, we're meeting some of her associates here—though why she wants me with her for that is anyone's guess.
We enter through a little side door and find ourselves in a small, but beautifully decorated room. Old-fashioned wooden benches line the sides of it, and there is a pulpit with an intricate cross toward the front.
For some reason, the sight of it makes me nervous. An insane, improbable thought occurs to me, and my palms begin to sweat. "Um, Lisa . . ." I look up to find her gazing at me with a strange smile. "Why are we here?"
"Can't you guess, my pet?" she says softly, turning to face me. "We're here to get married."
For a moment, all I can do is stare at her in mute shock. Then a nervous laugh escapes my throat. "You're joking, right?"
She lifts her eyebrows. "Joking? No, not at all." She reaches for my hand again, and I feel her sliding something onto my left ring finger.
My heart racing, I look down at my left hand in numb disbelief. The ring looks like something a Hollywood star might wear—a thin, diamond-encrusted band with a large, round stone sparkling in the center. It's both delicate and ostentatious, and the fit is utterly perfect, as though it had been made just for me.
The room fades in front of my eyes, spots of light dancing in the corners of my vision, and I realize that I literally stopped breathing for a few seconds. Desperately sucking in air, I look up at Lisa, my entire body beginning to shake. "You . . . you want to marry me?" My voice comes out in a kind of horrified whisper.
"Of course I do." Her eyes narrow slightly. "Why else would I bring you here?"
I have no response to that; all I can do is stand there and stare at her, feeling like I'm hyperventilating.
Marriage. Marriage to Lisa.
It simply doesn't compute. Marriage and Lisa are so far apart in my mind, they might as well be on opposite poles of the planet. When I think of marriage, it's in the context of a pleasant, yet distant future—a future that involves a doting husband and two noisy children. In that picture, there is a dog and a house in the suburbs, soccer games and school picnics. There is no killer with the face of a fallen angel, no beautiful monster to make me scream in her arms.
"I can't marry you." The words tumble out before I can think better of it. "I'm sorry, Lisa, but I can't."
Her face turns black. In a flash, she's on me, one arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me against her, and the other hand gripping my jaw. "You said you loved me." Her voice is soft and even, but I can feel the dark rage underneath. "Was that a lie?"
"No!" Shaking, I hold Lisa's furious gaze, my hands pushing helplessly against her shoulder. I can feel the weight of the ring on my finger, and it adds to my panic. I don't know how to explain, how to make her understand something that I can barely comprehend myself. I want to be with Lisa. I can't live without her, but marriage is something else entirely, something that doesn't belong in our twisted relationship. "I do love you! You know that—"
"So why would you refuse?" she demands, her eyes dark with fury. Her grip on my jaw tightens, her fingers biting into my skin.
My eyes begin to burn. How can I explain my reluctance? How can I say that she's not someone I can picture? That she's part of a life I never imagined, never wanted, and that marrying her would mean giving up that vague, far-off dream of a normal future? "Why do you want to marry me?" I ask desperately. "Why do you want something so traditional? I'm already yours—"
"Yes, you are." She leans down until her face is mere inches from mine. "And I want a legal document to that effect. You will be my wife, and no one will be able to take you from me."
I stare at Lisa, my chest tightening as I begin to understand. This is not a sweet, romantic gesture on her part. She's not doing this because she loves me and wants to start a family. That's not the way Lisa operates. Marriage would legitimize her possession of me—it's as simple as that. It would be a different form of ownership, a more permanent one . . . and something within me shudders at the very idea.
"I'm sorry," I say evenly, gathering my courage. "I'm not ready for this. Can we discuss it again at some point later?"
Her expression hardens. Abruptly releasing me, she takes a step back. "All right." Her voice is as cold as her gaze. "If that's how you want to play it, my pet, we'll do it your way."
Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a smartphone and begins typing on it.
A sick sensation curls low in my stomach. "What are you doing?" When she doesn't answer, I repeat my question, trying not to sound as panicked as I feel. "Lisa, what are you doing?"
"Something I should've done a long time ago," she finally replies, looking up at me as she pockets her phone. "You still dream of him, don't you? Of that boy you once wanted?"
My heart stops beating for a second. "What? No, I don't! Lisa, I promise you, Hanbin has nothing to do with this—"
She interrupts with a curt, dismissive gesture. "I should've removed him from your life a long time ago. Now I will remedy that oversight. Maybe then you will accept that you are with me now, not him."
"I am with you!" I don't know what to say, how to convince Lisa not to do it. Stepping toward her, I grip her hands, the heat of her skin burning my frozen fingers. "Listen to me, I love you, only you . . . He doesn't mean anything to me—he hasn't for a long time!"
"Good." Her expression doesn't soften, though her fingers fold around mine, imprisoning them in her grasp. "Then you shouldn't care what happens to him."
"No, that's not how it works! I care because he's a human being, an innocent bystander in all of this, and for no other reason!" I'm shaking so hard now, my teeth are chattering. "He doesn't deserve to be punished for my sins—"
"It doesn't matter to me what he deserves." Lisa's voice lashes at me like a whip as she uses her grip on my hands to pull me closer. Leaning down, she grits out, "I want him out of your mind and out of your life, do you understand me?"
The burning in my eyes intensifies, my vision blurring from unspilled tears. Through the haze of panic clouding my mind, I realize there's only one thing I can do to stop this—only one way I can prevent Hanbin's death.
"All right," I whisper in defeat, staring at the monster I'd fallen in love with. "I will do it. I will marry you."
The next hour feels surreal.
After calling off her henchmen, Lisa introduces me to a wizened old man wearing a Catholic priest's robes. The man doesn't speak English, so I nod and pretend to follow along as he chatters at me in rapid-fire Spanish. It's embarrassing to admit, but the only Spanish I know is from my classes in high school. When I was growing up, my parents spoke English in the house, and I didn't spend enough time with my abuela to pick up anything more than a few basic phrases.
When my introduction to the priest is over, Lisa leads me to another room—a small office that has a desk and two chairs. As soon as we get there, two young women enter the room. One of them brings in a long white dress, while the other one carries shoes and accessories. They're friendly and excited, chatting with me in a mix of Spanish and English as they start doing my hair, and I try to respond in kind. However, my answers come out awkward and wooden, the growing knot of dread in my chest preventing me from acting like the eager young bride they expect to see. Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, Lisa shoots me a dark glare, then disappears, leaving the women to fuss over me.
By the time they're done prettifying me, I'm both mentally and physically exhausted. Even though Chicago and Bogotá are in the same time zone, I feel jet-lagged and utterly drained. A strange numbness steals over me, easing the churning tension in my stomach.
It's happening. It's really happening. Lisa and I are getting married.
The panic that gripped me earlier is gone, having mellowed into a type of weary resignation. I don't know what I expected from a person who held me captive for fifteen months. A reasonable discussion on the pros and cons of getting married at this point in our relationship? I mentally snort. Yeah, sure. In hindsight, it's clear that our four-month separation had dulled my memories of those initial terrifying weeks on the island—that I had somehow managed to romanticize my abductor in my mind. I had foolishly begun to think that things could be different between us, to believe I had some say in my life.
"All done." The woman who was working on my hair gives me a beaming smile, interrupting my thoughts. "Beautiful, señorita, very beautiful. Now, please, the dress, and then we make your face nice."
They give me silk undergarments to go with the dress, and then tactfully turn away, giving me some privacy. Not wanting to drag it out, I swiftly change and pull on the dress—which, like the ring, fits me perfectly.
Now all that remains is makeup and accessories, and the two women make short work of that. Ten minutes later, I'm ready for my wedding.
"Come look," one of them says, leading me toward the corner of the room. There is a full-length mirror there that I hadn't noticed before, and I stare in stunned silence at my reflection, hardly recognizing the image I see.
The girl in the mirror is beautiful and sophisticated, with her hair styled in an artful updo and her makeup tastefully done. The mermaid-style dress is just right for her slim frame, with a sweetheart bodice exposing the graceful slope of her neck and shoulders. Teardrop-shaped diamond earrings decorate her small earlobes, and a matching necklace sparkles around her neck. She's everything a bride should be . . . especially if one ignores the shadows in her eyes.
My parents would've been so proud.
The thought pops out of nowhere, and I realize for the first time that I'm getting married without my family there, that my parents won't get to see their only child on that special day. A dull ache spreads through my chest at the thought. There will be no wedding-dress shopping with my mom, no cake-tasting with my dad.
No bachelorette party with my friends at an all-male strip club.
I try to imagine how Lisa might react to something like that, and an unexpected snicker escapes my lips. I have a strong suspicion those poor strippers would leave the club in body bags if I so much as ventured near them.
A knock on the door interrupts my semi-hysterical musings. The women rush to answer it, and I hear Lisa speaking to them in Spanish. Turning toward me, they wave goodbye and quickly leave.
As soon as they're gone, Lisa enters the room.
Despite everything, I can't help staring at her. My wife-to-be is simply breathtaking. My mind flashes to our sex session on the plane, and wet heat gathers between my thighs even as my bruises begin to throb at the reminder. She's studying me too, her gaze hot and proprietary as it moves over my body.
"Isn't it bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony?" I inject as much sarcasm into my voice as I can, trying to ignore the effect she has on my senses. At this moment, I hate her almost as much as I love her, and the fact that I want to jump her bones bothers me to no small degree. I should be used to it by now, but I still find it disturbing, the way my brain and my body don't communicate in her presence.
A small smile tugs at the corner of her sensual mouth. "It's okay, my pet. I think you and I are past such concerns. Are you ready?"
I nod and walk toward her. There's no point in delaying the inevitable; one way or another, we're getting married today. Lisa offers me her arm, and I loop my hand through the crook of her elbow, letting her lead me back into the beautiful room with the pulpit.
The priest is already waiting for us, as is Bambam. There is also a sizable camera sitting on top of a tall tripod.
"Is that for wedding pictures?" I ask in surprise, stopping in the entryway.
"Of course." Lisa's eyes gleam at me. "Memories and all that good stuff."
Uh-huh. I can't fathom why Lisa wants this—the dress, the church. The entire thing is confusing to me. We're not entering into a loving union; she's simply binding me to her tighter, formalizing her ownership. All these accoutrements are meaningless, especially since Bambam is the only one who'll witness the event.
The thought makes my chest ache again. "Lisa," I say quietly, looking up at her, "can I call my parents now? I want to tell them about this. I want to let them know I'm getting married." I'm almost certain she will refuse my request, but I feel compelled to ask regardless.
To my surprise, she smiles at me. "If you wish, my pet. In fact, after you talk to them, they can watch our ceremony on a live video feed. Bambam can set that up for us."
I gape at her in shock. She wants my parents to watch the wedding? To see her—the person who kidnapped their daughter? For a moment, I feel like I entered an alternate universe, but then the sheer genius of her plan dawns on me.
"You want me to introduce you to them, don't you?" I whisper, staring at her. "You want me to tell them that I came with you of my own free will, to show them how happy we are together. Then you won't have to worry about the authorities or anyone else coming after you. I'll be just another girl who fell for a beautiful, wealthy woman and ran off with her. These pictures . . . that video . . . it's all about staging a show . . ."
Her smile widens. "How you act and what you say to them is entirely up to you, my pet," she says silkily. "They can witness a joyous occasion, or you can tell them you were abducted again. It's your choice, Jennie. You can do whatever you wish."