[ ON HOLD ]
CAPTIVE X CAPTOR
Twist me, Keep me , Hold me ( A set of trilogy )
Taken to a private island.I never thought this could happen to me. I never imagined one chance meeting on the eve of my eighteenth birthday could change my life so comp...
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Y/N
WHEN I REGAIN CONSCIOUSNESS, I AM FEELING ONLY A LITTLE BIT BETTER. MY head appears to be stuffed with wool, and the nagging pain in my side remains, though it feels different now, less sharp and more like an ache. For a second, I think that I fell asleep feeling sick and dreamed the whole thing, but the smell convinces me otherwise. It’s that unmistakable antiseptic odor that you only encounter in doctor’s offices and hospitals.
That odor means I’m alive… and off the island.
My heart starts racing at the thought.
“She’s awake,” an unfamiliar female voice says in accented English, apparently addressing someone else in the room. I hear footsteps and feel someone sitting down on the side of my bed. Warm fingers reach out and stroke my cheek. “How are you feeling, baby?” Opening my eyes with some effort, I gaze at Jungkook’s beautiful features.
“Like I’ve been cut open and sewn back together,” I manage to croak out. My throat is so dry and sore that it actually hurts to talk, and I can feel a dull, throbbing ache in my right side.
“Here.” Jungkook is holding out a cup with a bent straw in it. “You must be thirsty.” He brings it toward my face, and I obediently close my lips around the straw, sucking down a little water.
My mind is still hazy, and for a moment, the wall between the good and the bad memories crumbles. I remember that first day on the island, when Jungkook had offered me a bottle of water, and an involuntary shiver runs down my spine. In that moment, Jungkook is not the man I love; he is again my enemy, the one who stole me, the one who made me his against my will.
“Cold?” he asks, taking the cup away before leaning over to pull the blanket higher up, covering my shoulders.
“Um, yeah, a little.” I’m off the island. Oh my God, I’m off the island.
My mind is spinning. I feel torn, like I’m two different people—the terrified girl who insists this is her chance to escape and the woman who desperately craves Jungkook’s touch.
“They took out your appendix,” Jungkook says, brushing back a strand of hair that had been tickling my forehead. “The operation went smoothly, and there shouldn’t be any complications. Isn’t that right, Angela?” He looks up to the left.
“Yes, Mr. Jeon.” Jeon? Is that Jungkook’s last name? Recognizing the voice from before, I turn my head to see a petite young woman in white scrubs. Her smooth skin is a beautiful light brown color, and her hair and eyes are dark, nearly black.
To me, she looks Filipino or maybe Thai—not that I can pretend to be an expert on either nationality. What I do know is that she’s the first person I’ve seen in fifteen months who is neither Beth nor Jungkook.
