Stockholm Syndrome

Prologue

I had high hopes for my eighteenth birthday.

It was supposed to be frills and thrills, sweet enough to give you a tooth ache and still come back for more. I wasn't typically the party type. But I had a handful of persistent friends that were both bossy and kind enough to drag me along for a day that was all about me. Which was a major deal considering my parents were constantly drowning in work as co-owners of a multi-billion yen company, and couldn't be troubled to spend more than money on me.

But the thing is, we were out from day to night. From shopping spree to club hopping. And for the night at club Venom, I donned my birthday sash and crown, slipped into the sexiest little black dress I owned, and wore my louboutin red bottoms. The ideal outfit for stepping out and showing up to any event illegally gorgeous.

But it took an hour...maybe two hours, for things to go sideways.

A man not much older than me took the stool closest to me, ordering me a drink from the eye candy that was the bar tender. It was a long island ice tea. Something I knew was alcoholic and was sure to fan the flames of the shots of tequila I'd already done with Uo. But through booze goggles, this man was everything I've been looking for my entire life.

His hair was the very shade of my favorite bird, like the refined dark feathers of a raven. And his eyes were a shrewd onyx, so flooded with mystery and classic intrigue that I wanted to stare into them forever. His body was slender and oh was it like a fine wine. I'm certain it would get better with time. He seemed like the type to age beautifully. I couldn't help but smile as the long day and tequila made my eyes heavy, though my body was waking up as he trailed his fingertips along my upper thigh and offered me an enticing smirk.

I allow a small sigh of pleasure to slip past my lipstick stained lips, wanting to encourage him to speak to me in more than just the whisper of his fingertips against my skin. I craved his secrets, his interests...his past. I could never help myself when in the presence of the tall, dark, and handsome. I liked my boys bad.

"Where might you be from?" He purrs, the promise of a wild night pouring into me through the connection of our shared gaze. "You look far too exotic to be a Tokyo native."

I giggle and playfully shove him, allowing my foot to brush against his as I cross one leg over the other. One of my many signature flirt tactics.

"Little old me? What makes you say that?"

"It must be your eyes," he says, turning briefly to receive my drink and hand it to me. "They're bluer than the depths of the ocean. And I've seen many oceans in my lifetime."

He was edgy and smooth.

Is it just me, or did anyone else get chills?

I smile, putting the straw between my lips and once again meeting his stare. He watches me take a long taste of a drink I've never tried but have heard good things about, his features darkening as lust enters stage right. I let it slide from my lips with a pop, feeling the fire burning brightly in my belly as I realize I've found my challenge for the evening.

Getting his number.

"Thank you," I say, angling my body to show that I was far from hostile, and was open to hearing more of what he thought.

Much to my surprise, while maintaining eye-contact, he leans forward and takes my straw into his mouth, swallowing a couple of gulps of my drink. Rosiness colors my cheeks from the suggestiveness of the act, watching him set my glass down on the bar and rest his elbow on it.

"I call things as I see them. And I'm hopelessly blunt about the things that I notice. Like how heartbreakingly beautiful you look."

My pulse whirs to life with his words, my brain aware of the numerous girls that must have heard the same things he's saying now, but my body not really caring if I were the first or the last to listen.

I shrug, drawing attention to my bare shoulders while conveying nonchalance. "You know, they say that flattery gets you nowhere. But I happen to think it looks pretty good on you."

He smiles at this.

And I mirror his expression, completely blind to his hidden agenda as we continued on in our flirty banter. Eventually, the night dipped into early morning and my friends faded into the background as my mind grew drenched in fog. The club's deafening music drifted off into a lullaby as colors teetered between vibrant and washed out, the sensation of my body against his loud as we danced as intimately as two people could dance.

But the next morning...

Came the hangover nightmares were made of.

I heard the distant sound of rattling metal, accompanied by something harsh and painful digging into the sensitive skin of my wrists. Lost and confused, I force my eyes open though I desperately wanted to shut out the light. And my brain begins to work overtime when I register the handcuffs that latched onto my wrists and chained me to a headboard's bed posts. As I attempted to wriggle free, I felt the brush of the comforter against my bare chest and legs. A strangled scream explodes past my lips as fear assaults me, on top of the thumping surround sound of my headache.

Just where was I?

Akito is a female in the canon version, so...consider this a gender-bend. Because in this particular story, he's all male.

This year I will be completely stepping out of my comfort zone and branching out, writing different things you've never seen from me, though I hope you enjoy them all the same.

For those of you that know what Stockholm Syndrome is, you might have an idea of what's to come. And for those of you that don't, well...you're in for a wild ride. :)

See you for the first chapter! :D