Stockholm Syndrome

Prologue

Blood.

It's everywhere. The pool of dark red liquid on the floor is spreading, multiplying. It's on my feet, my skin, my hair . . . I can taste it, smell it, feel it covering me. I'm drowning in blood, suffocating in it.

No! Stop!

I want to scream, but I can't draw in enough air. I want to move, but I'm restrained, tied in place, the ropes cutting into my skin as I struggle against them.

I can hear her screams, though. Inhuman shrieks of pain and agony that slice me open, leaving my mind as raw and mangled as her flesh.

He lifts the knife one last time, and the pool of blood turns into an ocean, the rip current sucking me in—

I wake up screaming his name, my sheets soaked through with cold sweat.

For a moment, I'm disoriented . . . and then I remember.

He will never come for me again.

Chapter 1

Eighteen Months Earlier

I'm seventeen years old when I first meet him.

Seventeen and crazy about Nick.

"Harry, come on, this is boring," Niall says as we sit on the bleachers watching the game. Football. Something I know nothing about, but pretend I love because that's where I see him. Out there on that field, practicing every day.

I'm not the only boy watching Nick, of course. He's a forward and the hottest guy on the planet—or at least in Holmes Chapel.

"It's not boring," I tell him. "Football is a lot of fun."

Niall rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just go talk to him already. You're not shy. Why don't you just make him notice you?"

I shrug. Niall and I don't run in the same circles. He's got twinks climbing all over him, and I've been watching him long enough to know that he goes for short blond boys, not tall brunettes.

Besides, for now it's kind of fun to just enjoy the attraction. And I know that's what this feeling is. Lust. Hormones, pure and simple. I have no idea if I'll like Nick as a person, but I certainly love how he looks without his shirt. Whenever he walks by, I feel my heart beating faster from excitement. I feel warm inside, and I want to squirm in my seat.

I also dream about him. Sexy dreams, sensual dreams, where he holds my hand, touches my face, kisses me. Our bodies touch, rub against each other. Our clothes come off.

I try to imagine what sex with Nick would be like.

Last year, when I was dating Rob, we nearly went all the way, but then I found out he slept with another boy at a party while drunk. He groveled profusely when I confronted him about it, but I couldn't trust him again and we broke up. Now I'm much more careful about the guys I date, although I know not all of them are like Rob.

Nick might be, though. He's just too popular not to be a player. Still, if there's anybody I'd want to have my first time with, it's definitely Nick.

"Let's go out tonight," Niall says. "Just us lads. We can go to London, celebrate your birthday."

"My birthday is not for another week," I remind him, even though I know he's got the date marked on his calendar.

"So what? We can get a head start."

I grin. He's always so eager to party. "I don't know. What if they throw us out again? Those IDs are just not that good—"

"We'll go to another place. It doesn't have to be Aristotle."