Chapter 17
After that day, my relationship with Sorn undergoes a subtle, but noticeable change. She's no longer quite so determined to keep me out, and I slowly get to know the person behind the prickly walls.
"I know you think you got a rough deal," she says one day as we're fishing together, "but believe me, Jennie, Lisa really does care about you. You're very lucky to have someone like her."
"Lucky? Why?"
"Because no matter what she's done, Lisa is not really a monster," Sorn says seriously. "She doesn't always act in a way that society deems acceptable, but she's not evil."
"No? Then what is evil?" I'm genuinely curious how Sorn defines the word. To me, Lisa's actions are the very epitome of something an evil man might do—my stupid feelings for her notwithstanding.
"Evil is someone who would murder a child," Sorn says, staring at the bright blue water. "Evil is someone who would sell his thirteen-year-old daughter to a Mexican brothel . . ." She pauses for a second, then adds, "Lisa is not evil. You can trust me on that."
I don't know what to say, so I just watch the waves pounding against the shore. My chest feels as though it's being squeezed in a vise. "Did Lisa save you from evil?" I ask after a while, when I'm certain that I can keep my voice reasonably steady.
She turns her head to look at me. "Yes," she says quietly. "She did. And she destroyed the evil for me. She handed me a gun and let me use it on those men—on the ones who killed my baby daughter. You see, Jennie, she took a used-up, broken street whore and gave her her life back."
I hold Sorn's gaze, feeling like I'm crumbling inside. My stomach is churning with nausea. She's right: I didn't know the real meaning of suffering. What she's been through is not something I can comprehend.
She smiles at me, apparently enjoying my shocked silence. "Life is nothing more than a fucked-up roulette," she says softly, "where the wheel keeps spinning and the wrong numbers keep coming up. You can cry about it all you want, but the truth of the matter is that this is as close to a winning ticket as it gets."
I swallow to get rid of the knot in my throat. "That's not true," I say, and my voice sounds a bit hoarse. "It's not always like this. There is a whole other world out there—the world where normal people live, where nobody tries to hurt you—"
"No," Sorn says harshly. "You're dreaming. That world is about as real as a Disney fairy tale. You might have lived like a princess, but most people don't. Normal people suffer. They hurt, they die, and they lose their loved ones. And they hurt each other. They tear at each other like the savage predators they are. There is no light without darkness, Jennie; the night ultimately catches up with us all."
"No." I don't believe it. I don't want to believe it. This island, Sorn, Lisa—it's all an anomaly, not the way things always are. "No, that's not—"
"It's true," Sorn says. "You might not realize it yet, but it's true. You need Lisa just as much as she needs you. She can protect you, Jennie. She can keep you safe."
She seems utterly convinced of that fact.
"Good morning, my pet," a familiar voice whispers in my ear, waking me up, and I open my eyes to see Lisa sitting there, leaning over me. She must've come here straight from some formal business meeting, because she's wearing a dress shirt instead of her usual more casual attire. A surge of happiness blazes through me. Smiling, I lift my arms and twine them around her neck, pulling her closer toward me.
She nuzzles my neck, her warm heavy weight pressing me into the mattress, and I arch against her, feeling the customary stirrings of desire. My nipples harden, and my core turns into a pool of liquid need, my entire body melting at her proximity.
"I missed you," she breathes in my ear, and I shiver with pleasure, barely suppressing a moan as her talented mouth moves down my neck and nibbles at a tender spot near my collarbone. "I love it when you're like this," she murmurs, raining gentle kisses on my upper chest and shoulders, "all warm, soft and sleepy . . . and mine . . ."
I do moan now, as her mouth closes around my right nipple and sucks on it strongly, applying just the right amount of pressure. Her hand slips under the blanket and between my thighs, and my moans intensify as she begins to stroke my folds, her finger drawing teasing circles around my clit.
"Come for me, Jennie," she orders softly, pressing down on my clit, and I shatter into a thousand pieces, my body tensing and peaking, as though on her command. "Good girl," she whispers, continuing to play with my sex, drawing out my orgasm. "Such a good, sweet girl . . ."
When my aftershocks are over, she steps back and begins undressing. I watch her hungrily, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight. She's beyond gorgeous, and I want her so badly. Her shirt comes off first, exposing her shoulders and washboard stomach, and I can no longer contain myself. Sitting up, I reach for the zipper of her dress pants, my hands shaking with impatience.
She draws in a sharp breath as my palm brushes against her engorged cock. As soon as I succeed in freeing it, I wrap my fingers around the shaft and bend my head, taking her into my mouth.
"Fuck, Jennie!" she groans, grasping my head and thrusting her hips at me. "Oh, fuck, baby, that's good . . ." Her fingers slide through my hair, tangling in the unbrushed strands, and I slowly suck her in deeper, opening my throat to take in as much of her length as I can.
"Oh fuck . . ." Her moan fills me with delight, and I squeeze her balls lightly, reveling in the heavy feel of them in my palm. Her cock gets even harder, and I know she's on the verge of coming, but, to my surprise, she pulls away, taking a step back.
She's breathing heavily, her eyes glittering like a diamonds, but she manages to control herself long enough to get rid of her remaining clothing before she climbs on top of me. Her hands wrap around my wrists, stretching them above my head, and her hips settle heavily between my open thighs, her thick shaft nudging against my vulnerable entrance. I stare up at her with a mixture of apprehension and excitement; she looks magnificent and savage, with her dark hair disheveled and her beautiful face drawn tight with lust. She's not going to be particularly gentle today—I can already see that.
And I'm right. She enters me with one powerful thrust, sliding so deep inside me that I gasp, feeling like she's splitting me in half. And yet my body responds to her, producing more lubrication, easing her way. She fucks me brutally, without mercy, but my screams are those of pleasure, the tension inside me spiraling out of control one more time before she finally comes.
At breakfast, I'm a little sore, but happy regardless. Lisa is here, and all is right with my world. She seems to be in a good mood as well, teasing me about watching an entire season of Friends in one week and asking about my latest running times. She likes it that I'm so much into fitness lately—or rather, she likes the results of it.
Physically, I'm in the best shape I have ever been, and it shows. My body is lean and toned, and I'm a walking testament to the benefits of a healthy diet, lots of fresh air, and regular exercise. My thick dark brown hair is growing without any sign of split ends, and my skin is perfectly smooth. I can't remember the last time I had so much as a pimple.
"My last three-mile run was 16:20," I tell Lisa without false modesty. "I bet not many guys can beat that."
"That's true," she agrees, her green eyes dancing with laughter. "I probably couldn't."
"Really?" I'm intrigued by the idea of beating Lisa at something. "Want to try? I'd be glad to race you."
"Don't do it, Lisa," Sorn says, laughing. "She's fast. She was quick before, but now she's like a fucking rocket."
"Oh yeah?" She lifts one eyebrow at me. "A fucking rocket, huh?"
"That's right." I give her a challenging look. "Want to race, or are you too chicken?"
Sorn begins to make clucking noises, and Lisa grins, throwing a piece of bread at her. "Shut up, you traitor."
Laughing at their antics, I throw a piece of bread at Lisa, and Sorn scolds both of us. "I'm the one who has to clean up this whole mess," she grumbles, and Lisa promises to help her with the bread crumbs, soothing her temper with one of her megawatt smiles.
When she's like this, her charm is like a living thing, drawing me in, making me forget the truth about my situation. On the back of my mind, I know that none of this is real—that this sense of connection, this camaraderie is nothing more than a mirage—but with each day that passes, it starts to matter less and less. In a strange way, I feel like I'm two people: the woman who's falling in love with the gorgeous, ruthless killer sitting at the breakfast table and the one who's observing the whole thing with a sense of horror and disbelief.
After breakfast, I change into my running clothes—a pair of shorts and a sports bra—and go read a book on the porch, so I can digest my food before the run. Lisa goes into her office as usual. Her business doesn't wait just because she's on the island; an illegal arms empire requires constant attention.
While Lisa rarely talks about her work, I've managed to glean a few things over the past several months. From what I understand, my captor is the head of an international operation specializing in the manufacture and distribution of cutting-edge weapons and certain types of electronics. Her clients are those organizations and individuals who cannot obtain weapons by legitimate means.
"She deals with some really dangerous motherfuckers," Sorn told me once. "Psychopaths, many of them. I wouldn't trust them as far as I can throw them."
"So why does she do this?" I asked. "She's so rich. I'm sure she doesn't need the money . . ."
"It's not about the money," Sorn explained. "It's about the thrill of it, the challenge."
I wonder sometimes if that's what Lisa likes about me—the challenge of making me bend to her will, of shaping me to become whatever it is she thinks she needs. Does she find it thrilling, the knowledge that I'm her captive and that she can do whatever she wants with me? Does the illegal aspect of the whole thing excite her?
"Ready to go?" Lisa's voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up from my book to see her standing there, dressed in a pair of black running shorts and sneakers.
"Um, yeah." I get up, putting down my book and begin to stretch, watching Lisa doing the same out of the corner of my eye. Her body is incredible, and I wonder what she does to keep in shape. I've never seen her working out here on the island.
"Do you do some kind of exercise when you go on your trips?" I ask, shamelessly staring as she bends over and touches her toes with surprising flexibility. "How do you stay so fit?"
She straightens and grins at me. "I train with my men when I can. I guess you could call it exercise."
"Your men?" I immediately think of the thug who had beaten up Hanbin. The memory makes me sick, and I push it away, not wanting to think about such dark matters now. I have to do this sometimes, to separate this new life of mine into neat little sections, keeping the good times apart from the bad. It's my own patented coping mechanism.
"My bodyguards and certain other employees," Lisa explains as we head out toward the beach, walking fast to warm up. "Some of them are former Navy SEALs, and training with them is no picnic, believe me."
"You train with Navy SEALs?" I stop and give Lisa a hard look. "You were just kidding earlier, weren't you? About not being able to beat me in a race?"
Her lips curve in a slightly mischievous—and utterly seductive—smile. "I don't know, my pet," she says softly. "Was I? Why don't you race me and see?"
"All right," I say, determined to give it my best shot. "Let's do this."
We start our race near a tree that I marked specifically for this purpose. On the other side of the island, there is another tree that serves as the finish line. If we run on the sand, along the ocean, it's exactly three miles from here to that point.
Lisa counts to five, I set my stopwatch, and we're off, each starting at a reasonably fast pace that's not our top speed. As I run, I feel my muscles easing into the rhythm of the movement, and I gradually pick up the pace, pushing myself harder than I usually do at this point in the run. Lisa runs beside me, her longer stride enabling her to keep up with me with ease.
We run silently, not talking, and I keep sneaking glances at Lisa out of the corner of my eye. We're halfway through the course, and I'm sweating and breathing hard, but my gorgeous captor seems to be barely exerting herself. She's in phenomenal shape, her smooth skin glistening with light drops of perspiration, bunching and releasing with every movement. She runs lightly, landing on the balls of her feet, and I envy her easy stride, wishing that I had even a quarter of her obvious strength and endurance.
As we get into the last half-mile, I put on a burst of speed, determined to try to beat her despite the obvious futility of the effort. She's not even winded yet, and I'm already gasping for breath. She picks up her speed too, and no matter how hard I run, I can't put any distance between us. She's practically glued to my side.
By the time we get within a hundred yards of the tree, I am dripping with sweat and every muscle in my body is screaming for oxygen. I'm on the verge of collapse and I know it, but I make one last heroic attempt and sprint for the finish line.
And just as my hand is about to touch the tree, marking me the race winner, Lisa's palm slaps the bark, literally a second before mine.
Frustrated, I whirl around and find myself with my back pressed against the tree and Lisa leaning over me. "Gotcha," she says, her eyes gleaming, and I see that she's breathing almost normally.
Gasping for air, I push at her, but she doesn't back away. Instead, she steps closer, and her knee wedges between my thighs. At the same time, her hands grab the backs of my knees, lifting me up against her, my thighs spread wide as she grinds her erection against my pelvis.
Our little race apparently turned her on.
Panting, I stare up at her, my hands grabbing at her shoulders. I can barely remain upright, and she wants to fuck?
The answer is obviously yes, because she sets me down on my feet for a second, pulls down my shorts and underwear, and then does the same thing to her own clothes. I sway on my feet, my legs shaking from the exertion. I can't believe this is happening. Who fucks right after a race? All I want to do is lie down and drink a gallon of water.
But Lisa has other ideas. "Get on your knees," she orders hoarsely, pushing me down before I have a chance to comply.
I land on my knees heavily and brace myself with my hands. The position actually helps me regain my breath somewhat, and I gratefully suck in air. My head is spinning from the heat outside—and from the aftermath of a hard run—and I hope I don't end up passing out.
An arm slides under my hips, holding me in place, and then I feel her cock pressing against my buttocks. Dizzy and trembling, I wait for the thrust that will join us together, my treacherous sex wet and throbbing with anticipation. My body's response to Lisa is insane, ridiculous, given my overall physical state.
She brushes my sweat-soaked hair off my back and leans forward to kiss my neck, covering me with her body. "You know," she whispers, "you're beautiful when you run. I've been wanting to do this since the first mile." And with that, she pushes deep inside me, her thickness stretching me, filling me all the way.
I cry out, my hands clutching at the dirt as she begins thrusting, both of her hands now holding my hips as he rams into me. My senses narrow, focusing only on this—the rhythmic movements of her hips, the pleasure-pain of her rough possession . . . I feel like I'm burning inside, dying from the violent brew of heat and lust. The pressure building inside me is too much, unbearable, and I throw my head back with a scream as my entire body explodes, the release rocketing through me with so much force that I literally pass out.
By the time I become conscious again, I am cradled on Lisa's lap. She's got her back pressed against the finish-line tree, and she's feeding me small sips of water, making sure that I don't choke. "You okay, baby?" she asks, looking down at me with what appears to be genuine concern on her beautiful face.
"Um, yeah." My throat still feels dry, but I'm definitely feeling better—and more than a little embarrassed about my fainting spell.
"I didn't realize you'd gotten this dehydrated," she says, a small frown bisecting her brow. "Why did you push yourself so hard?"
"Because I wanted to win," I admit, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of her skin. She smells like sex and sweat, an oddly appealing combination.
"Here, drink some more water," she says, and I open my eyes again, obediently drinking when she presses a bottle to my lips. The bottle is from the cooler I keep stashed on this side of the island to keep hydrated after my runs.
After a few minutes—and an entire bottle of water—I feel well enough to start walking back. Except Lisa doesn't let me walk. Instead, as soon as I get to my feet, she bends down and lifts me into her arms as effortlessly as if I were a doll. "Hold on to my neck," she orders, and I wrap my arms around her, letting her carry me back home.