Kidnapped Idol Read online

  Kidnapped Idol

  A K-pop Romance Novella

  Jennie Bennett

  To my husband, who made me a believer of true love.

  Kidnapped Idol

  A K-pop Romance Book

  Text © 2017 Jennie Bennett

  Cover Design © 2017 Jennie Bennett

  Cover Photo © Depositphoto Apollofoto

  Font © Astigmatic One Eye Typographic Institute and Manfred Klein

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Precy Larkins

  Contents

  Being Prepared

  Taking Risks

  Tainted Memories

  Getting Out

  Dodging Danger

  Discovering Woon

  Opening Up

  Cleared Air

  The Chase

  Kidnapped Jenica

  Pounding Fists

  Standing Up

  Second Chances

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Being Prepared

  Visit the Great Wall of China

  “Jenica, are you really crossing that off your list, right this second?” Blain says, scrunching her nose and causing her stud to glint in the sun.

  I put the cap back on my pen and shove it into my shoulder bag. “Yeah, why not?”

  Blain gives me her classic nasty-face, which always makes me giggle. “Because we just showed up. You haven’t really done it yet.”

  “Being here is doing it,” I argue. “Even if it’s just the parking lot.”

  If it wasn’t so crowded I’d take a second to enjoy that I’m really here, at the Great Wall of China like I always dreamed. As it is, I’m being jostled between the masses, pushed so roughly I can’t even see ten feet in front of me. The smell of exhaust from all the buses and cars is overwhelming. Stupid tourist season.

  Blain shakes her head, her short bubble-gum pink hair staying in its gelled perfection. She’s not afraid to stand out. If her hair wasn’t enough, the purple lipstick and ripped leggings would give it away.

  I, on the other hand, am wearing my usual buttoned-to-the-chin white shirt and jeans. Okay, I’m wearing a cardigan too. It’s navy blue because Blain keeps begging me to try more colors.

  Before I put my notebook away, I look over my list one last time. It’s always good to double check.

  Visit the Great Wall of China

  Do something that makes me uncomfortable

  Eat a crazy food from a street vendor

  Skip class

  Fall in love

  Okay, so maybe I’ve made some hefty goals for myself. I didn’t intend to write the last one, but I decided I was going to be honest and put down the thing I really wanted to do. I was listening to my favorite song, Ed Sheeran’s Kiss Me as I wrote it and I got sentimental. I don’t expect to cross everything off while I’m in China, but it would be nice.

  Blain tugs me out of the way before I can be trampled by more tourists disembarking. “Your list can wait until we get back to the dorm.”

  I brush away a stray black hair that’s blown in my face. “No,” I counter. “I can’t. It’s part of the rules—once an item has been accomplished it must be checked off.”

  Blain shakes her head, smirk on her lips. “You are such a nerd.”

  She’s one to talk. She was the only white girl back in Oklahoma to ace Mandarin. Since my heritage is Chinese, I was raised speaking it at home. Mandarin was supposed to be an easy A for me, and it was, but Blain still got a higher final score.

  If she wasn’t my best friend, I might be upset she took the valedictorian spot with that grade. But it’s okay, I still got salutatorian.

  “Suck it up,” I say to Blain, tapping her super-tiny waist with my notebook. “You know you wanted to come here, too. Even if it’s touristy.”

  “I guess,” Blain says, obviously trying to play it cool.

  She used to intimidate the crap out of me before I got to know her, but now I see her as nothing more than a bear stuffed with fluff.

  Blain shrugs. “The live music over there isn’t so bad.”

  I hadn’t noticed the stage until Blain pointed it out. She’s five-foot-eight and I’m four inches shorter than that. I assumed the pop music was coming from speakers somewhere.

  To be honest, the Great Wall of China isn’t what I was expecting. Sure, I knew it would be busy; China is the most populated country on the planet. What I didn’t expect was all the vendors. Everywhere I look, someone is trying to sell me something. Cotton candy, stuffed animals, even Great Wall of China balloons. Feels ninety percent amusement park and ten percent historical monument.

  I stuff my notebook back in my bag and pull out my handy guidebook China: A Walk Through Asia’s Heartland flipping to the tab of the Great Wall.

  “It says here,” I read to Blain, “if we hike far enough, the people will thin out. I bet there’s some incredible views.”

  Blain snatches the volume from me, slapping it closed as she goes. “Jenica. Let’s put the books away and enjoy ourselves.”

  I want to. Really. But I also feel the overwhelming urge to be prepared for anything. My stomach has been doing the butterfly dance since we first boarded the bus in Beijing. I have no idea why I’m so nervous, but I can’t seem to settle myself.

  “Fine,” I say, taking a deep breath. Because I know Blain is right. She usually is. “I’ll keep my bag closed for the rest of the day. Promise.”

  “Thank you,” Blain says with a hint of a smile. “Now come on, let’s get hiking.”

  Sure enough, it only takes us twenty minutes of walking to leave the crowds. The amusement park aura hasn’t left, however. Thankfully, we’re able to worm past the zoo section—for real, there were even Monkeys—but we’re still passing little stands with old men selling granola bars and water.

  After thirty minutes, I end up breaking my promise to Blain by opening my bag. It’s not to get a book, though. The views are so breathtaking I have to photograph my surroundings.

  My camera was the one thing I insisted on bringing with me. The study abroad counselor told us to pack sparingly, but I couldn’t leave my camera even if it’s the size of a small dog.

  I stop in the middle of a dip between two towers, getting caught up in the lush green hills. Clouds move in at a steady pace, making for incredible picture taking. Overcast skies create great lighting, too.

  I swing the lens around to Blain who immediately throws her hands over her face. She doesn’t seem to understand she’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met. She could be on the cover of a magazine and no one would question it.

  “Come on, Blain, just a couple snaps?” I beg.

  Her hands don’t budge. “No, you’re always taking horrid pictures of me.”

  “Hardly,” I say. “Your pictures always come out flawless.”

  “Whatever,” Blain says into her palms.

  I point the camera down so she doesn’t feel threatened. “How about we make a deal?” I ask, batting my eyelashes. Blain hates it when I do that.

  She peeks between her fingers. “What kind of deal?”

  “You let me snap one picture, and you can pick what we do tomorrow.”

  Her arms go slack. “Really? But I’m picking what we do tonight.”

  I take in a deep breath. “I’ll do both. I can let go sometimes, too.”

  Blain spreads her arms. “Snap away.”


  I take a few in fast succession as Blain poses.

  “All right,” Blain says, pointing at me. “That’s enough.”

  I snap a few more of her finger pointed towards my camera.

  “Jenica Marie Lee,” she says. “You better quit it.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first,” I tease, backing up. I keep snapping as she charges at me.

  She’s not really trying because she knows how much this camera means to me. Her angry faces will make awesome pictures.

  Since she knows she can’t win, she decides to take the flight approach. I’m capturing her running to the next tower—uphill, no less—when I’m startled by a drop of water on my head.

  I turn my face to the sky as two more drops hit my cheeks. There’s no way I’m letting my camera get wet if it’s raining. I stuff it in my bag to keep it dry before glancing at Blain. She’s already made it to the top of the hill, and she’s shaking her head at me like she knows I won’t be able to make it to her before it starts pouring.

  “Later!” I scream so she knows I’ll catch up when it dries out.

  There was no rain in the forecast. I know because I checked a million times this morning. Stupid weather-people.

  The rain, which started slow, picks up until it’s falling in freezing sheets. I sprint uphill in the opposite direction of Blain, but it’s not as steep on this side.

  I’m hunched over in an attempt to protect my camera as I lunge for the tower entrance. This ends up being a crap move as the stone is slick when wet.

  My arms fly forward as my sneakers lose their grip. I try to regain my balance, but in the process I end up twisting my left ankle. My right knee takes the impact first, with my left elbow hitting before I can catch myself.

  I stay flat on my stomach for a second to catch my breath. Using my non-existent army-crawl skills, I pull myself the rest of the way into the tower. I want to stand, but as soon as I put pressure on my left ankle, I yelp in pain.

  Grabbing the wall for support, I slide to a sitting position in the narrow walkway. Only one person can hike through at a time. Even then, the walls seem to close in.

  Blain is like me when it comes to rain. My mom always told me I’d get sick if so much as a drop touched my head, and so as a child I was afraid of it. Now it’s not as terrible, but I still don’t like it.

  Blain has different reasons, but I’m sure she’s hunkering down all the same. Hopefully it’ll leave as quickly as it started. We have a half-hour walk back, and my ankle is throbbing.

  Lightning flashes, and I let out an involuntary scream. A shadow stands in the opening opposite me, backlit by the sudden burst of light.

  I scream again when the thunder booms, this time attempting to stand as the shadowy figure enters the space. This is not how I’m supposed to die. I only got to check the first item off my list. I have so much ahead of me.

  “It’s okay,” the probably-murderer says to me in Chinese. “I’m only getting out of the rain.”

  Lightning strikes again, and this time I see a hint of the guy’s face. He doesn’t look like a gangster, but I still don’t trust him.

  I put my weight on my good foot and hop backwards. “You just stay over there. If you so much as touch me, I’ll call the police.”

  My hand reaches in my bag for my phone to make my point. I hold it up to show him, and then get the idea to take a picture just in case the police need evidence.

  The flash goes off as I hit the button, and the dude stumbles at the bright light.

  “What the crap was that for?” he shouts.

  “Stay away or investigators will be able to track you down through my phone.”

  I’m expecting more anger, but instead, he laughs. “Okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “I promise to keep to my side.”

  I feel a little better, but I still hold my phone out like a weapon, just in case. The space isn’t that big. If he wanted to get at me it wouldn’t take much.

  “You know,” he says, “if you have a flashlight on that phone, we could make a lamp.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, not moving even though my good leg is starting to get sore.

  “I saw it on a show once,” he says. “If you put your flashlight under a water bottle, it can light up a whole room.”

  That doesn’t sound so dangerous. I keep my eyes on him as I riffle through my bag for my bottle. It’s only about half full, but hopefully it’ll still work.

  The flashlight is pretty bright on its own, but the second I put it under my water bottle something incredible happens. I might as well have flipped on a light switch for how bright it is. But that’s not the cool part. Because my water bottle is blue, it looks like we’re totally submerged in the clearest lake. With the sound of the rain outside I might as well be. It’s calming.

  “This is amazing,” I say, turning my attention from the walls to my tower-buddy.

  For the first time I can see him clearly. He’s not murderer material at all. In fact, he’s more like puppy material. He has adorable smiling eyes and full lips that turn up in the corners. His thick hair is all messed up from the rain, but the cut is really nice so it looks more casual-cool than bed head.

  My face heats up for no reason whatsoever. I guess if lightning can make a person look ominous, streaks of water-light can make a person look beautiful.

  It isn’t until he moves his gaze from my eyes to the floor that I realize I’m staring. Super bad idea. I’m not sure where all my common sense went. He’s still a complete stranger.

  If anyone could win an award for being weird around strangers, it would be me.

  Taking Risks

  I lean against the wall, hoping to support myself. The sound of rain highlights how quiet it is, but I have nothing to say. “Rain, eh?” isn’t exactly a stunning conversation starter.

  “I—”

  “You—”

  We say at the same time.

  I stay quiet so he can talk, but he stays quiet too, leaving nothing but weight between us.

  My good leg aches so I try to shift positions, but I end up putting weight on my sprain. I wince as I draw in a breath through my teeth.

  The guy reaches out a hand, but seems to remember to keep his distance.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, keeping firmly to his space.

  “Yeah,” I say, even though it’s not true. “I just slipped a little in the rain.” Since I’m pretty sure this guy’s not going to kill me, I decide to sit again.

  “You...” he starts, pausing as if to gather his words. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  I look in his eyes and feel myself getting warm again. “No,” I say. Because I don’t.

  He sighs, and it looks like he’s relaxing for the first time since he came into my tower. “That’s good,” he answers with a nod.

  I nod with him, even though I don’t know what I’m nodding about.

  He sits cross-legged, facing me. I can tell he wants to ask me something more, so I stay quiet.

  “You really don’t recognize my face?” he asks again. “Even a little?”

  This is getting weird now. “No. I don’t. But I’m not Chinese.” I don’t know why I felt the need to add that part, but it seems relevant.

  “I mean,” I correct. “I am Chinese. But I’m from America. I’ve only been here for three days now.” Why am I still talking? Shut your mouth, Jenica.

  He smiles, his eyes turning to half-moons. “That makes sense, then.” He says this in English, and his English is way better than his Mandarin.

  “I grew up in Hong Kong mostly speaking English, but I took Mandarin classes while living there, too,” he explains when he sees my face.

  I smile back, feeling like a total idiot. I shouldn’t have made the assumption.

  “In that case,” the guy continues, extending a hand. “I’m Woon.”

  Woon? Doesn’t sound like a Chinese name. I wonder if he has another ethnicity in him. Korean, maybe?

  “Jenica,” I respon
d, hesitantly taking his hand and shaking. It’s warm, and my fingers are freezing.

  He points to my foot. “Do you mind if I take a look at your ankle?”

  I’m a little weirded out, but I’m also worried I won’t make it back to the buses in this condition. “Um,” I say, not ready to give in. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Hardly,” Woon says. “But there’s a lot of ankle injuries in my profession.”

  What kind of profession? “So you’re an athlete?” I guess.

  He looks at the light playing across the ceiling as he contemplates. “Sort of.”

  I stare at the ceiling too. We’re alone, and he hasn’t done anything but be kind. Not only is my ankle hurting, but my knee and elbow have taken a beating, too. I still have to get home at some point. If I’m going to do that, I need his help.

  “Go ahead,” I say like I don’t care, even though I do.

  He shuffles closer to me, hands hovering over my injury. “Let me know if it hurts.”

  I suck in a breath, readying myself for the pain.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be gentle.”

  There’s talking, and there’s doing. I’ll reserve my judgement until he proves it.

  His touch is so soft my shoulders ease away from my ears, body relaxing. He nudges at my sock, pulling it down to expose the skin.

  “Still okay?” he asks when my ankle is totally bare.

  It’s just my foot, but I feel a tad naked. “Yeah.” My voice comes out all wobbly.

  His fingers prod at the flesh near the bone. “No discomfort?”

  “It’s a little sore, but not unbearable,” I answer, barely managing to keep my tone level.

  “Now,” he says, raising his head so we make eye contact. “I’m going to move your foot. Let me know if it hurts. I don’t want to push it.”

  Is this a bad time for me to notice he’s beautiful? Because he is. Truly.

  He eases my toes toward me, and I cringe but don’t cry out. He takes his time moving my foot forward and back, side to side. I can handle the ache, even if it still hurts.

  “Good news,” he says. “Nothing is broken, but you’ll still want to rest your foot today.”