I have a new image for the story! Thanks so much UP2L8 on fanfiction for the amazing art, it's an honor you would do something like that. Check it out people :)
Sorry for the slow update after the cliffhanger, my other story, Bound to Happen has taken over at the moment.
I'll say it once, and I'll say it again. If you don't like it, don't read it, much less comment.
Monday morning, day after the dinner. Sion office.
Asami was going over paperwork for a new club that would be opening in a few weeks when Suoh got an alert in his earpiece that surprised the stone faced blonde.
Suoh received a message that Mutou, Ibiki and Shuuhei were down stairs asking to see Asami. Mutou was apparently making quite the racket, he had broken two different guards arms and knocked a further one unconscious, and showed no signs of stopping.
The only reason he hadn't been gunned down was because he was Mutou Ryuhei in the flesh, his presence alone was enough to freeze everyone in their place.
That man is one scary fucker, Suoh admitted to himself.
"Boss. Takaba's three housemates are downstairs asking to see you, sounds like Mutou san is going on a rampage to get to the office."
The yakuza looked up from his paperwork.
"Akihito isn't with them?"
"Not by reports, no." Suoh admitted.
At the same time, a very flustered looking Kirishima came practically running into the office. A disgruntled Kirishima never meant anything good.
"Spit it out Kirishima."
"The two men we had watching Takaba's house last night were found this morning with their throats slit, Asami sama."
Asami knew the appearance of Akihito's three friends couldn't have been a coincidence after hearing that piece of information.
"Suoh, let them up."
They didn't have to wait long, Mutou had already by passed everyone in his rage and swung the door open moments after Asami issued the order.
"Where is he?" the furious monster asked coolly, violence emanated from him, his muscles straining from barely contained anger.
He stalked into the room, thunderheads forming as the other two followed. Death walking. They looked like a trio of grim reapers in their black MMA training gear.
Ibiki touched his friend on the shoulder lightly, communicating with his eyes that he would take over from here, lest Mutou lose his temper. He turned and stared Asami directly in the eye.
"I'm gonna cut straight to the point, we know what you are, the type of person you are. So let's not beat around the bush about what you're capable of. Akihito didn't come home last night, and we can't contact him. Does it have anything to do with you?"
The tone wasn't accusatory at all, Ibiki had worded it very carefully, Asami noted he was an extremely smart man.
Behind him, Mutou looked about ready to explode, Shuuhei looked calm enough, but the tapping of his fingers against his folded arms told otherwise.
"It's not like Akihito not to be around when we have training." Shuuhei added.
"Asami san." Ibiki started again, "There is no reason for anyone to target him unless they know about his prior involvement with you, and are still assuming there is some sort of leverage there."
Ibiki hit the nail on the head, Asami could use a man like him, a cool head, sharp intuition and deadly fighting abilities.
It didn't take long for Asami to put all the bits of information together, his men dead, no word from Akihito. The fact that his housemates were here and couldn't contact him only meant one thing. Someone had taken him. Again.
"Kirishima, find him." Came the cold command, the secretary bowed in response and rushed to do his bosses bidding.
"So it's as we thought then. I knew you were nothin' but trouble Asami. You should have just left him alone. Let's go you two, we'll find him ourselves." Mutou made his way to the door.
"Ryuhei wait." Ibiki's words halted his friend in the doorway.
"What?" Barked the taller man.
"Asami san has resources we don't , it would be best too… work together on this. For Akihito's sake."
"What?" Mutou, Asami and Suoh all asked at the same time.
Shuuhei was nodding his agreement at this, however.
"There is nothing you could offer me in the way of assistance that I don't already have." Asami drawled from his desk.
"That may be so, but I can guarantee that we'll work harder then any of your men to get him back. He actually means something to us." Shuuhei put his two cents in this time.
"You're saying he doesn't mean anything to me?" Asami questioned, a little too coldly.
Mutou sighed before deciding to step away from the door and come back to stand before Asami's desk.
"That's irrelevant right now. In any case, we're not leaving til your man brings back some info at least. Then we'll go from there." He had calmed down now, his face unreadable as he spoke.
"Take a seat then." Asami gestured to the couch in his office, it was plain to see they weren't going anywhere until Kirishima got back.
It wouldn't be so bad either, looking at them all, Asami didn't doubt that they would do whatever it took to see their friend safe again.
They all sat and waited quietly, right now they all had one thing in common, and that was getting Akihito back safely.
If Akihito was harmed, Asami would wipe their entire organization out, down to the last man.
There would be no mercy, it would let everyone know what happened if they touched what was his.
Akihito's mind fought for consciousness as the sedative worked it's way out of his system.
He started out catatonic, his brain working frantically to retrieve memories and reasons as to why it was plagued with cloudiness.
As the minutes ticked by and he came closer to waking fully, scenes from the night before began to rush in, hazy at first but more definitive as the drug wore off.
Press conference, his brain skipped over that part, there wasn't anything note worthy to remember there. Dinner, oh his brain flinched as he remembered the awkward questions, then it got to the bathroom. Mutou's possessive kiss filled with feelings, Asami's eyes filled with emotion. Asami, he thought Akihito was dead. His brain reeled when he remembered those eyes. Those eyes from Hong Kong. Why was his brain focusing on that part? It had to be the drugs.
He felt the hangover hit as the last scenes of the night finally became known, there was sakè, lots of sakè. Then he was shuffling out of the bar on his way home when…. When what?
Nope, his brain didn't want to get to that part yet.
He lulled into unconsciousness once more for a few minutes until he began stirring again.
He went through it all again, the press conference, the dinner, the bathroom, the kiss, those eyes, and then the bar.
Every muscle in his body lit itself on fire as he remembered something he would rather forget. He felt the blows land all over again, he heard the grating Russian accent. The Russian accent. Shit.
He was a fucking idiot. An idiot that let them take him.
The overwhelming panic threatened to drown him, a vision of that blonde piece of shit that tried to strangle him years ago rearing its ugly head, trying to pull him under like it had all those years ago. That guy was dead, wasn't he?
Oh he was fully awake now, he kept his eyes shut though, he hadn't moved, better let people think he was still asleep.
Not that it would matter, because he was sure the deafening beat of his heart would alert everyone that he had come to.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, blasting the last cobwebs from his brain, letting the oxygen alleviate the raging storm inside him.
He went through the exercise again and again until it was just him, him and the bindings on his wrists and ankles, the cold wall against his back and the thick carpet under his legs. He did notice one thing that boded well, he still had his clothes on and that no one seemed to be in the room.
Tucking away all that he could remember into his mind, he grasped the horns of calm and was determined not to let go, no panicking, he was not that person anymore. He could do this himself. He would do this himself. No matter what it took.
He shifted slightly to assess the damage to his body, and knew at once the situation had just got a whole lot worse.
He felt like every bruise and strain from all the matches he'd ever fought were racking his body all at once. His ribs were bruised badly on both sides, he could feel the ache in his upper thighs from the impact of steel cap boots, he was sure most of his body would be decorated in shades of blue and purple, including the shiner he had on his right cheek bone.
His bindings were tight, not enough to cut off circulation, but they rendered him immobile nonetheless.
He lay against that cold wall breathing, welcoming the purity of mind that it brought him, he lay there just thinking. Thinking of what he could do.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard a door open to his right, the person took 13 steps, each footfall getting louder as they approached and stood above him.
He was calm, he would win this one. This was the most important one of all.
He was prepared for anything, prepared for the bucket of icy cold water that sloshed aloud and doused the fire in his muscles, cramping them with the sudden change in temperature. He was soaked, but this was nothing, Yamato had done this to him plenty of times before, this and much worse.
He wouldn't give the fuckers the satisfaction of a reaction.
If he was going down, he was going to put up the best fight he had ever fought, he would fight until his muscles tore, until his bones cracked, and he would take as many of the bastards with him as he could.
They picked the wrong person this time. He would make Asami seem like a sweet dream, and he would be their worst nightmare. Whoever it was, for whatever their reason.
He opened his eyes slowly, shining bright with feral intent, he smiled a callous grin, the grin of prey become predator.
He stared into the face of a person who had been partial to his breaking two years ago, the face of the person who put the bullet in his shoulder, and the marks he once bore around his neck.
He matched the fuckers sadistic grin perfectly as he looked upon that face, Yuri's face.
"Long time no see." Takaba Akihito said darkly.
Oh, how he relished watching the old bastard's eyes widen in surprise, the way his body stiffened in shock, hearing the breath catch in his throat.
Akihito knew he was doomed, he was sure no one would come for him, much less know what happened to him.
So he prepared to fight tooth and nail to the death the only way he knew he could win, his demeanor. He would reveal nothing, these people got off on reactions, they got off on the scent of fear, and he would make sure to give none.
He barked a heartless laugh at the irony of it all.
He'd come full fucking circle, the deities must be playing a sick joke.
He met the Russians cold eyes, glare for glare as Yuri drew a hunting knife out of the case on his belt.
"Looks like you're going to make this fun for me. I like that." Came the accented Japanese reply.
"Sure, lets have a party shall we?" Akihito shot back with all the nonchalance in the world.
He didn't budge, he never gave an inch as Yuri brought the cold steel down to his throat and traced a line up along the length of his trachea, pretty red droplets blossomed up his neck and traveled down his chest, staining his white shirt a sickly pink as it mingled with the water on his body.
"Is that the best you have?" Akihito asked mockingly.
Yuri stared down at the man in front of him, his arms bound in his lap, his legs stretched out and tied at the ankles. He was helpless, he couldn't move, he should be seeing fear, panic and despair.
He should be struggling, calling for that bastard Asami so he could finish the both of them off. His own personal men had seen Asami outside Takaba Akihito's residence only a few days ago, reported that they went to a Ramen bar before Asami walked him home. There was no doubt Asami would come for him like he had in Hong Kong.
He would kill the blonde for his disgusting ways, and he would bury a bullet in Asami Ryuichi's brain for shooting him on that cruise boat. He still couldn't use his arm properly from the bullet that had embedded in his shoulder, and he had been in hospital for 6 months, in an induced coma for 3 out of the 6.
It all stemmed from the man lying in front of him. That pretty fucking neck that had made him snap and give chase on that boat. He was going to lacerate that neck into an ugly mess.
He would make him beg, make him scream, he would fill those eyes with fear and pain.
There were no signs of it yet, Takaba had guts after all, but Yuri had all the time in the world. He would break him, utterly and completely.
The Russian sneered as he gripped his throat, spreading the blood out in a sickly handprint underneath his hand, he closed his fingers around that disgusting throat and gripped down hard, cutting off oxygen.
He waited for the panic to come, waited for the protests to start, waited for the body to start flailing.
But it never came, those eyes never wavered, that blank face never changed as he choked the boy into unconsciousness before letting go.
He looked down at his hand, covered in blood, his shaking hand, why was he shaking?
It should be the other way around, shouldn't it?
It didn't matter, he would wake up again soon, Yuri was prepared to go through the process as many times as possible in order to see fear light those eyes once more.
He would make sure of it.