Kidnapped Idol Read online

  Woon is driving the rickshaw. Woon is driving the rickshaw.

  I repeat the words in my brain one more time, but they don’t sink in. No matter which way I look at it, I can’t put the puzzle together. Woon might be Maximus, but for a major pop star, he sure seems like he’s in trouble.

  The traffic pools and drips forward like getting the last bit of honey out of a bottle. Not good enough for escaping.

  One of the security guards—the giant of the group—grabs onto the back of the rickshaw, pulling at a chunk of my hair. No way. My hair is my best feature. He’s going to pay for that. He’s not getting Woon either.

  My teeth sink into the stranger’s arm, hard as I can go. Never in my life have I been this brave, but I really want to know what’s going on here. I can’t do that without Woon.

  The guy lets go, jumping back with surprise and awe. There’s an advantage to looking like an innocent girl. No one expects you to fight.

  “That was the coolest thing anyone’s done for me!” Woon yells as he glances back at me.

  My chest swells, but the battle’s not over yet. I watch the other guards with narrowed eyes. “Less talking, more pedaling!” I respond.

  Woon makes a tight turn and my back stretches out of the open cart. I grab tight to one of the bars, catching myself. The rickshaw is thrown off-balance by my weight, the bar creaking under my grip.

  I don’t have a lot in the strength department, but this is life or death, and the adrenaline is at its highest point. I swing my body forward until we’re swaying the other direction. The cart tips back and forth until we’re righted.

  One glace behind me shows a smoking car accident and a guard hopping over a bent hood. Wow, Woon has guts. I’m kinda swooning even though it’s still scary.

  The last guard has some serious stamina, and he’s charging like a mad rhino out of hell. Woon’s going way faster, but I have no idea where we are and I’m afraid this alley we’re in is going to end.

  A chicken flies past my face as an old lady screams and jumps back. “Sorry!” I yell.

  I’m rocketed forward as Woon comes to an abrupt stop. I risk glancing ahead and gulp. Worse than a dead end, all that’s in front of us is a set of stairs.

  “Hold on!” Woon cries, and I panic.

  Nah-uh. I’ve done some crazy things, but I can’t handle this. “Maybe I should just get out!”

  “I’m sorry,” Woon says, “but they’ll take you hostage.”

  I grip the bars tight and close my eyes, my knees to my chest. My teeth tear through my lip as a scream escapes at the first bump. This is not okay. We’re going to die. I’m giving up my life for Woon, and I barely know him.

  There’s a moment when I’m pretty sure we’re flying. The rickshaw crashes as the bumping starts again. A perpetual shriek rips from my throat. Another flight, more bumps, and one last race through the air until we’re safe on flat ground again.

  I look behind me to see what happened and find the stairs in disarray. A couple of people are sprawled out over pavement, a bag of rice spilled across the stone. The security guard is clutching his shin, a red river running out from under his pant leg. We’ve lost them all.

  We turn a corner and all the adrenaline drains from my veins. I don’t know if we’re out of danger or not, but I can’t handle anymore.

  Everything that happened in the last ten minutes processes in my brain, and I have to swallow down the terror. What did I do? The whole of China is probably looking for him now.

  “S-s-stop.” I need to breathe.

  Woon parks the rickshaw and climbs off the bike. He stretches his back then leans forward, hands on his knees. His breath comes out in rasps and he coughs a few times.

  “We...need...to... leave,” he says.

  His hands slip off his knees as his ankles buckle. I jump out of the rickshaw as he falls to the ground. “Woon!”

  I don’t know what to do. I can’t carry him. I can’t even try to pull him up because my arms feel like jelly.

  He tries to stand again but I press my palm to his chest to steady him. Holy mother, I’m touching his chest. I whip my hand back like I just got burned.

  “I’ll get us some help,” I say, half standing.

  He touches my leg. “No!”

  I suck my hurt lip, my fingers gripping and un-gripping nervous-fast. I can’t leave him here.

  His hand trails off the side of my pant leg. “Give me a second. I’ll be fine.”

  I start bouncing my foot. What if there are more guards around the corner? We’re both dead if that’s the case.

  The sound of dirt scraping brings my attention back to Woon. He supports himself against a building with one hand, and brushes himself off with other.

  “I should explain what just happened,” he says, craning his neck until our eyes meet.

  His beauty hits me hard in the gut. Perfect swoopy hair peeking out from under his cap. Coal-lined eyes. Leather pants. I think he was just about to perform. The hat must’ve come later.

  I search his eyes, rove his face, my gaze lingering on his lips a second too long. It’s not my place.

  “That would be a good idea,” I say, trying not to look at him.

  I study the pattern in the brick for half a second before my attention returns to him. It’s hard not to look at him when we’re right here.

  His perfect eyes are downcast, ashamed. He reminds me of a puppy that’s been kicked. I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself tangled up in this.

  He meets my gaze, and a smile tugs at my mouth. I didn’t ask it to come, but looking at him gets my happy vibes going.

  He breathes a laugh, his head shaking. “Come on, we need to leave. It won’t be safe for long.”

  “Lead the way,” I say.

  He doesn’t budge. One shaking hand rubs his neck as he studies the ground. “Actually, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  Oh. Right. He’ll probably get caught if he goes anywhere familiar.

  “We could go back to my dorm.”

  I didn’t think that sentence all the way through before it burst out of my mouth. I was just remembering Blain’s back there and probably worried sick for me. And it’s safe.

  “Um,” I say raising my hand in a stop motion. “Don’t think anything weird. I mean, Blain is there and I doubt they’ll―”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s a good idea.”

  A little pink rises on the tops of his cheeks. Great, he’s embarrassed for me.

  I stuff a wad of cash under the bike seat, hoping the rickshaw driver finds it and that it’s enough to cover the damage we did. We walk side by side until we get to a main road and hail a cab. Woon keeps his hat down while I do all the talking.

  We’re silent on the ride back to the dorm, both of us exhausted from our adventure. One thing’s for sure, if it wasn’t for Woon I wouldn’t have known what a true adrenaline rush feels like.

  I don’t call Blain before we get there. My phone is dead anyway, because it’s a crappy model. This is better. I know she’ll yell at me, so I’d rather wait until she can see what an awful mess I am.

  I’ve caught sight of myself a couple of times in the cabbie’s rearview mirror, and it ain’t pretty. I’m surprised my camera survived the melee. There’s no reason to fix it though, Woon has already seen the worst of it.

  He’s a little beaten up as well. There’s a scratch on his chin that has dried blood stuck to it. Chicken feathers are sticking out of his shirt, dirt on his shoulder. Somehow that just makes me like him more.

  Pull yourself together, Jenica. You’re going to be hurt otherwise.

  “It’s not much,” I say as we walk to the gate outside my dorm.

  It’s not really a gate; it’s a door in a cement block entryway. But since that door leads to another door, it acts like a gate more than anything else. There’s graffiti on the concrete exterior and the once-white brick on the building is covered with a thin sheen of pollution.

  Every apartment building
in the city looks like this. Thank goodness the inside is nicer than the outside. It might be small, but it’s clean. We have a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom. The kitchen/living room area is tin-can sized compared to my parent’s house back in the states, but the light wood floors throughout brighten the room.

  Blain and I have done what we can to make it a home. We started a wall of all the pictures I’ve taken, mostly of tourist stuff and us being silly. There’s a bonsai tree Blain’s been caring for, and a few other cheap trinkets we bought off the streets.

  “Wow,” Woon says as he enters. “This is nice.”

  I scoff. “You’re joking, right?”

  He nods his head as he walks around, picking up a plastic Buddha I got from a street vendor. “This is way better than the dorm I lived in with my members when my group debuted.”

  I scrunch my brow. There are seven boys in his group. If I’m understanding what he’s saying, he lived in a place smaller than this when his group was starting out.

  I’m not sure what to make of that so I accept the compliment. “Thanks. I guess.”

  Awkward silence fills the small space between us, and I start looking around hoping Blain will pop out at any moment. Maybe I should’ve found a way to call her first.

  I point to the bedroom. “I’m going to plug in my phone so you can use it. You should take a seat.”

  “Wait,” he says, as I make for the door. He takes off his cap and fluffs his hair. “Can I just...I wanted to say...I mean...”

  For someone who performs in front of huge crowds he’s sure being shy. I thought I was the one with that problem.

  “You can tell me,” I say, putting my back against the wall next to my bedroom door. “I haven’t blabbed to the media yet, have I?”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s what scares me. You might be the only person I can trust in the whole world.”

  I frown. It’s not funny. No one should feel like that.

  “When I saw you in that rickshaw,” he continues, his gaze on the floor. “You have no idea the hope you gave me.”

  He raises his eyes to mine, paralyzing me. “You trusted me without knowing who I was. You saved me when the media has done nothing but slander my name. You brought me to safety even though it put you in danger.”

  It wasn’t anything spectacular. Just one human helping out another.

  “Basically,” he continues, looking back at his shoes. “I’m trying to say thank you.”

  I stand straight, wishing I could run over and hug him. How unloved has he been that he would say those things to me?

  “You’re welcome,” I answer, unsure of what else there is to say.

  He points a thumb over his shoulder to the couch. “I’ll just—”

  I nod. “Sure. And I’ll just—” I say pointing to my bedroom.

  It takes an incredible amount of energy not to shut the door on him too fast. My heart is beating triple time, fingers shaking.

  You’re welcome? That’s really all I could think of? He poured his heart out to me and I acted like it was a business transaction.

  I try to ignore my own stupidity, searching for my charger next to my bed. It’s gotten twisted on one of the legs, and it takes me a second to unravel it and get my phone juiced.

  My hand is on the doorknob when I hear a bloodcurdling scream come from the other room.

  I rush out to see Blain with her hand over her heart, breathing heavily. She takes her purse and whacks Woon on the back with it.

  “Don’t scare me like that!” she says, adding a few more swings.

  Woon is holding his arms over his head, shielding himself from her blows. “What did I do?”

  I jump between them, pushing Blain back. She tackle-hugs me, sobbing into my shoulder.

  Woon catches my eye and I shrug, not sure what’s going on.

  “I thought you were dead,” Blain says between sniffles. “I lost you out there and your phone wasn’t working, and then there was stranger in our house and I thought he was going to murder me.”

  Maybe I’m a bad friend, but I can’t help but laugh. I thought Woon was a murderer when I first met him, too. Must be his height and his extreme manliness. I’m glad she was so worried about me. I was starting to worry about her.

  “I’m fine,” I say between giggles. “And Woon didn’t deserve that beating.”

  Blain lifts her head, giving Woon a death stare. “You,” she says, letting go of me and walking toward him with her finger pointing at his chest.

  He backs into the corner as she approaches. “Are you the reason I thought my best friend died?”

  “I’m sorry,” Woon says. “I didn’t mean to. The second I recognized Jenica, I saw a way out.”

  Blain flexes her jaw. “That’s no excuse.”

  Woon rubs his hands together, head bowed. “Forgive me. If I can use a phone, I’ll leave.”

  “No,” I shout, losing my senses for once.

  I clap my hand over my mouth, holding my breath. Am I really that desperate to keep Woon here? It’s stupid. Logically, there’s no reason for me to want him around. My body reacted without my brain keeping up. I can’t remember the last time I let myself do that.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to shout like that.”

  Half of Blain’s mouth rises in a smile. “Jenica being impulsive? Never.”

  I bury my face in my hands.

  “You can stay,” I hear Blain say. “If Jenica wants you around, I can’t argue.”

  I stare at her wide-eyed, relaxing my arms. Blain winks at me, and I know she did all that to protect me.

  “Here,” Blain says, reaching out her phone. “Use it, and then stick around.”

  Woon accepts the phone with two hands, bowing as he goes. “Thank you,” he says, bowing two more times. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Blain gets my attention as Woon turns around. She widens her eyes and tips her chin at the bedroom behind us.

  I don’t want to go in there, I want to stay with Woon. I shake my head, but she stomps her foot.

  Woon puts the phone to his ear, back still to us. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let him have a private conversation. I sigh so Blain knows I’m not happy, and lead the way to our room.

  Blain shuts the door behind us and falls hard on her bed. “What happened?”

  I pace the room, not able to contain my nerves. “It’s a bit of a blur, honestly. Woon was running, and I ran with him.”

  “So, you brought him here?”

  I try sitting on my bed. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Blain shakes her head. “Your heart is too soft, but I like that about you.”

  “Blain,” I whine, resting my forehead on my palms. “You need to help me. I don’t know what to do. I can’t kick him out now that he’s here, but what if he needs to stay?”

  “Well,” she says, stretching her arms behind her and resting her weight on it. “I wouldn’t have let him in here in the first place. That CSTAR company is not to be messed with.”

  I know it, too. I’ve done some research since that day on the Great Wall, and I found out that CSTAR talent gets abused. Long hours, no food, so many appearances they don’t get to sleep. It seems like they’re dealing in shady stuff too, though I can’t piece any of that together.

  What I do know is people who try to leave them end up worse than when they began.

  “But,” Blain continues, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I’m not you, and you probably did the right thing.”

  I look up, studying her face. She’s not joking.

  “For now,” Blain says, “we let him stay. But...he has to go at the first sign of trouble.”

  Discovering Woon

  “Go talk to him,” Blain says, her voice weary. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Worrying over you has left me exhausted.”

  I snicker. She always has a delicate way of putting things.

  If she’s going to stay in here, then I’ll be alone with Woon in a sma
ll room. Why does that feel dangerous?

  He’s a celebrity, I remind myself. There’s no way he’d go for a girl like me. Nothing to be worried about. I take a deep breath and nudge the door open, and then close it softly behind me.

  “Good news,” Woon says when he sees me.

  He takes a seat on our couch, setting Blain’s phone down in front of him. There’s no tension in his body, no confusion in his features. He’s totally comfortable, so I should be too.

  I chose the chair furthest from him, anyway.

  There’s a small coffee table between us and we’re sitting diagonal from each other. He narrows his eyes for half a second before scooting over so we’re directly across. My gaze flits to the floor, heat tickling behind my ears.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and I catch his knees straightening in my peripheral. “I’m imposing, aren’t I?”

  I look up, mouth open. “What?”

  “Now that I’m safe and I’ve made my phone call, I should go.”

  He starts to get up, but I latch onto his wrist. “Wait.”

  Why can’t I just be a regular person who responds when they’re spoken to? He must think Blain convinced me he has to go, when in reality, just the opposite happened.

  “You don’t need to leave yet.” The words come out tiny, and for a moment I’m not sure he heard them.

  He sits, and my gaze travels to his face. He’s on the edge of the couch. I had launched forward when I grabbed for him. That leaves our faces closer than they should be. This coffee table is much too small.

  “Sorry,” I say, removing my hand from his like it’s scalding.

  “You keep apologizing,” he says, not moving from his position.

  When I look at him again his eyebrows are down, mouth thin. His eyes are so clear, brown stained glass with sunlight beaming through. Common sense tells me to turn away, but I’m swallowed up in his gaze.

  “Don’t,” he finishes in a whisper.

  My tongue has turned to metal. I have to say something or he might run away again, but speaking is harder than I remember it being.

  “Habit,” I say, the word breathy.

  He chews on his bottom lip, his dimple popping out with the movement of his jaw.