Three hours later and we're still sitting at the bar of Soho Hideout, knocking back a seemingly endless line of drinks from the bad influence that Harry and Eleanor are on me. Both are too encouraging for my own good, constantly suggesting random cocktails for me to try and get Nick to make as if I were a mixologist in a previous life. Sure, I'd worked in a small pub through university to make ends meet, so I had some knowledge...
"Bloody Mary!" Harry shouts from my left once our mojitos are finished.
"You're not even having your own, you're just stealing sips of mine!" I argue, a scowl on my face now that I'm unapologetically drunk. That's the problem with cocktails - whereas I'd probably only be a bit tipsy by this time on a steady flow of vodka and coke. But no, I'm fucked and flirting without an ounce of shame with a pretty man who's shown me too much interest for my own good.
"I have to drive - I'm being cautious!" He argues back, but he's clearly enjoying my new attitude since he's smirking.
His smirk has me wondering what his mouth would do between my legs. Oh, wow... "I call bullshit." I scoff, turning back to Nick who's waiting for my instruction with a smile. Hopefully this will distract me from my own crude thoughts. "Tomato juice, Worcester sauce, vodka, lemon juice, and something spicy like Tabasco."
"Tabasco?" Harry repeats, looking to me with a grimace that screams he's not keen. "Nah, I think I'll skip this one."
"Pussy." I mutter, which sparks a barking laugh from Eleanor sitting on my right. "You've had a fucking bullet in your shoulder and you're afraid of some Tabasco?"
Before Harry even has the chance to respond, the sound of the front door being pushed open and slammed against the wall interrupts us from any further conversation.
"You're fucking dead, Styles!"
Harry is up out of his seat in an instant, any sign of humour or relaxation vanished from his demeanour. "What the fuck are you do-,"
"You went to the fucking pigs!"
Reluctantly, I turn my head to see the commotion, and find four men I don't recognise all stood by the door. They all wear black, and they all look ready for a fight. It sends my heart hammering. I notice that Liam and the other of Harry's boys have stood up from where they were still sitting in their booth, while Mitch is sitting watching from the table with Sarah. I feel Eleanor take my hand, and that's what makes me realise that these men are not on Harry's side.
"What the fuck are you on about, why would I go-,"
One of the men steps forward. He's tall, but he doesn't have much over Harry. His skin is dark and his hair is trimmed to a buzz cut. He wears all black, from the t-shirt on his torso to the boots on his feet. I spot a gold chain around his neck, a big one that's no doubt worth a pretty penny, and when his mouth opens I notice a gold cap on one of his incisors.
"So if you didn't tell the police, why the fuck were two of my boys held up at the pig pen all day for something about what happened last Friday?"
Immediately it clicks that he's talking about the bullet I retrieved from Harry's shoulder and the one taken out of Mitch's thigh. I'd been told they were from the same gun, clearly the police are thinking it's one of this lot. Maybe they're the Morden lot that Sarah mentioned earlier in the week.
"Also," He continues, after catching a glimpse of Mitch in the corner, "he looks pretty good for a Yank who got beaten to a pulp a week ago."
"Oh, so you thought I'd just let him die?!" Harry retorts, folding his arms. "He wouldn't have made it if I didn't do something, and unlike you, Sparky, m'not one to just let my boys go."
"So you did go to the fucking pigs?!"
"No, I went to the fuckin'ospital!"
"That's just as bad! I got people searchin' my mum's house looking for our shit because'a you! I told you not to start something that was already covered when you got here and you didn't fucking listen!"
"And I told you I don't take orders from a wanker."
I probably shouldn't, but I find it deeply arousing that Harry chose that particular insult. It absolutely does not change the fact that I'm worried and maybe even a little bit scared.
"Then you really are fucking stupid, 'cause now I've got a problem and I can only see one way to fix it."
Harry's next move is possibly the stupidest thing he'll do, because while he might have a good eye for trouble and how to handle it, he appears to be an idiot when it comes to letting his feelings get to his head. His eyes fall to me, who's remained incredibly calm since the intrusion (at least on the outside), which is probably surprising to pretty much everyone in the room. Having a brother like Damon taught me a lot of things, and one of them was not to draw attention to myself. Unfortunately, Harry is doing that for me.
"Who's this?" The man Harry had called Sparky asks, a torturing question posed as innocent. "Haven't seen you in here before, she your new slut?"
"Excuse me?" I can't help myself. He's already looking at me, there's no need to try and hide anymore. Another thing that being Damon's sister taught me was that I have to be just as strong as the man in front of me, so when that someone is a six-foot-something gangster and he calls me something so vulgar, I'm not just going to sit back and take it.
"Oo, got a mouth on her, too." He teases, glancing back to Harry.
"Don't fucking touch her." Harry warns, his eyes glaring at Sparky but his frame remains unmoving.
"Can see why you like her. Pretty thing, ain't ya, darlin'?"
I refuse to bait him, keeping my mouth shut while he stands in front of me and leers over me like a lion would over a piece of meat. My gaze is flat; hard as he raises the backs of his fingers to stroke over my cheek. I bat his hand away without flinching as Harry takes a charge closer, and the next procession of events happens so quickly it seems to be nothing but a blur.
"I said don't fucking touch her!" Harry yells, shoving at his shoulder.
"Or what, Styles?!" Sparky threatens, and his hand wraps around the top of my arm to yank me from where I sit on the chair. "Think I might keep her for myself, actually. You couldn't do it last time and you won't do it this time, either."
During his entire threat, I've spent my time trying to balance myself properly, but finally my defence mechanism kicks in, and that paired with the mixture of alcohols in my system forces me to do something I've only ever done once before. With my fist clenched, my arm thrusts forward until my knuckles are connecting with the underside of Sparky's nose. The moment I hit him, the entire room shifts, while Sparky's boys each pull out a firearm from somewhere on their being and point them directly at me.
Harry pulls me backwards by the wrist and positions me behind him with his left hand so that we're back to back, with me facing the bar, while his right pulls an automatic of his own out the back of his jeans to point at Sparky. Glancing to my left I see Harry's two boys with a gun each, and suddenly I think I might know what Harry's real trade is. I feel the room spinning as my fears dawn on me, and I'm grateful for Harry's grip while I stabilise myself against the bar.
A bitter laugh sounds through the room. "Come on, Styles. We both know you won't be able to do much with that with the state of your shoulder."
"No, but I have two boys that still can." Harry says evenly, and if I were looking directly at him I'm certain I'd see him speaking through gritted teeth.
There's a pause, and someone - I think Sparky, inhales a sharp breath. "Well, you're one down tonight. Wouldn't be much of a fair fight, would it?"
Is he actually backing out..?
"Get the fuck out of my bar, or I really will call the police." It's an empty threat and the entire room knows it, and as Nick silently hands me a wet towel for my fist, I realise my knuckles are bleeding. I can't help but breathe a laugh to spite myself.
I brave a glance over my shoulder, and I'm pleased to see that Sparky is sporting a bloody nose. You can take the girl out of Bristol...
"This ain't done, Styles." Sparky keeps his gun straight as he jabs it forward slightly, but he's slowly moving backwards towards the door, as are the rest of his boys.
"Piss off, Sparky." Harry warns again, but his voice is much firmer this time - like he's done playing a game I wasn't aware was being played.
Harry's hand is still holding my wrist as the rivals retreat, and once again everything happens too quickly for me to fully comprehend what's happening.
"Harry," Eleanor mumbles beside me, and there's a sense of urgency in her tone.
"I know, El." He stresses as he turns to face me again, putting his weapon back where he pulled it from. His eyes scan my face frantically, before dropping to my messed up hand. "Get your bag, pet. We need to go."
I pull away slightly with a frown, glancing to El who's already out of her seat and packing her things away. "What, why? Can't I just go home?"
"If you go home they'll follow you and I ain't havin' that." He shakes his head, and the look in his eyes as he bends down to get my bag for me is the biggest tell-tale sign that he's not making it up.
"What, so I just can't go home ever again?" I ask incredulously as I take my bag from him, and he's already pulling me towards the back door.
"Not tonight, no." He says without feeling. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans as he walks, and holds a set of keys up to the boys standing in the middle of the bar. "Niall - keys."
In a movement as smooth as silk, Harry and Niall toss their keys to one another while still on the move. Eleanor is walking behind us, and I'm struggling to understand anything as I'm rushed from the building by the two of them.
"Where the fuck are we going?!" I stress, making my best attempt not to stumble as I walk in too close proximity to both Harry and Eleanor.
"My house." Harry utters flatly, stopping by an all too familiar looking BMW.
It's dark out thanks to the early dusk that January always brings, only dimming street lamps limply illuminating the gloomy carpark. It's cold, and my leather jacket and the skirt I stupidly opted for are doing very little to help the winter chill.
"H, don't you think we should take her to-,"
"No." He cuts El off before I can even find out where she thought was better.
Things are happening far too quickly for my liking. I barely know these people. I still know nothing about what they do, not really, and I have no idea how I've managed to once again fall face first into another fucking gang war. I suppose it's my own fault - transferring to a hospital in a rough part of the capital. Why couldn't I have gone to Oxford like I'd planned? Oh right, because I'm an idiot. I'd have no gang trouble in Oxford.
As I slide into the passenger seat of the car, I notice Liam and Niall each getting into other vehicles across the car park. The cars are all identical, black Beamers with tinted black back windows. The number plates are all the same, the last three letters just jumbled up. Sarah sits in with Niall while Mitch joins Liam, and my head is completely boggled. Are they really performing a diversion tactic? Is this not a bit dramatic?
Before my door is even shut, Harry has pulled off at a ridiculous speed, and if it weren't for the uneven and gravelly surface beneath the tyres, I'm certain there'd have been a horrid screech.
"Niall and Liam are behind us." El mutters, and I dare turn around to see what she's doing.
She's sitting sideways in the middle seat, her right leg bent underneath while her left sits on the floor of the car, and a laptop has appeared in her lap which she's just logged onto. She glances out the back window, gripping onto the headrest as Harry rounds a corner at stupid speed.
"Any sign of Morden?" Harry asks, glancing in his rear view mirror at her.
"Not yet." She shakes her head, looking again just to make sure.
We sit in silence, no sound other than their clipped conversation and Eleanor typing on her keyboard as she watches out the back window. I feel stupid; uncomfortable. This isn't how I was supposed to be spending the first Saturday night I've had off for months. I was supposed to be celebrating something nice with a slightly misfit family. And here I am running away from trouble like I'm still in Bristol under Damon's protection.
Wordlessly, Harry takes my right hand and brings it into his view. I watch as he inspects my knuckles in glances, and then silently places it back in my lap. "Y'alright?"
I laugh once; a bitter sound that was perhaps a little overdone. "I've been better."
He and El laugh in sync, though Eleanor's is much more high-pitched and amused compared to Harry's.
"Does it hurt? Your hand?"
"No." I shake my head, spreading my palm flat against my thigh. My middle knuckle is split, no longer bleeding but I hadn't cleaned it up properly before I was dragged from the building. It'll bruise before I go back to work on Monday.
"I think y'broke his nose..." Harry chuckles, and I'm relieved that at least this pair think it's funny. I still can't find the energy to laugh, though.
"No, I know I broke his nose." I correct him.
"Did y'do it on purpose or was it just a lucky throw?"
"Harry, I think you've fiercely underestimated the doctor." Eleanor laughs from the backseat, and I'm not sure whether she means in general or just my ability to use my right hook. Either way, it makes me smile.
"I did it on purpose."
"Damn." He chokes another laugh. "First time, or..?"
Why does it feel like we're talking about something else..?
"What hitting someone?" I wait for his nod. "Nah, second. Hit my brother once 'cause he was being a prick."
"No change there, then." Eleanor mutters in the back, and I realise that Sarah must've said something to her about my damned family history.
"Nope."
"There." El suddenly gushes, dropping back so that she's no longer visible. "They're behind Niall, H."
"Did you catch a number plate?"
"No, he just slipped in."
Harry's speed suddenly picks up, and I'm horrified at the way he's got the nose of this car practically sitting on the back of the one in front. I wonder why they need a number plate at all, since it doesn't really make sense for them to care, but I ignore my nitpicking thoughts to concentrate on hopefully not being killed in a car accident.
A phone rings somewhere in the car, and I'm not surprised when Eleanor answers it. "Can you see the number plate?" She asks without hesitation, and I assume it to be either Liam or Niall. "Sick. Thanks, Li."
"Stolen?" Harry asks, looking through his rear view mirror again.
"Yep. Number plate belongs to a Nissan Micra."
That makes me laugh. "Dickheads."
"Sparky probably gave it to his mum as a birthday present."
Harry smirks with me, but remains silent as he focuses on getting us away from this ridiculous situation we find ourselves in. With navigation from El in the back, Harry takes the longest and most ridiculous route back Croydon I've ever experienced.
I nervously rub at the palm of my left hand with my right thumb as I listen to the two of them converse about the position of the Morden lot, too worried for my own good to turn around and see for myself. I doubt it would make much difference if I did turn around, in fact I know it wouldn't make much difference, but I prefer to watch where I'm going and not where I've been, especially with Harry's driving.
At some point we lose both Niall and Liam, apparently for a distraction, but it fails to work since Sparky and Co. are still on our tail. Harry's occasional wary glances in my direction have not gone unnoticed, but I still keep my head down and my mouth closed while I can.
"Do you trust us?" Harry asks me during a moment of silence between him and El, and frankly his question confuses me.
I look up to him with a frown, and he's tearing his gaze from the road to me. "Why?"
"'Cause y'look worried."
"I'm not being funny, Harry, but I barely know any of you. I just punched a bloke in the face for calling me a slut and now you've got me in some stupid fucking car chase claiming that I can't go home and I have to stay at your place. Yeah, I'm a bit worried." I don't know where my attitude has come from but his comment irritated me.
"What do you expect me to do, let you go home on your own? They'll fuckin' follow you and it's a bit bloody different when there's not a group of other people there to make sure you don't get fuckin' shot."
"And yet out of the two of us, I just had four fucking automatics pointing at me but the only one who's been shot is you."
"I mean, I can take you home if you like. Thing is darlin', they won't step foot in my house but they'd have no trouble gettin' into yours."
"How the bloody fuck would you know?!"
"If you let me take y'to my 'ouse you'll fuckin' find out!"
Eleanor's laughter in the back stops the two of us from our bickering, and I'm pretty sure I already know she's about to make some comment about the two of us as an item, but apparently Harry isn't that quick.
"What're you laughin' at, for fuck sake?!"
"You two!" She cackles from her laid down position across the back seat. She props herself up slightly so that Harry can see her in his mirror. "Not even together or anything yet and you're fucking arguing like a married couple."
"She doesn't bloody trust us, what am I supposed to do?!"
"Why has she got any reason to?!" El snaps back.
"Thank you!" I yell incredulously.
"She's right, H. She's known us for five minutes and we've already got her running away from your daft gang bullshit 'cause a bunch of dickheads pulled a gun on her. I'd be just as sceptical too, give her a break for crying out loud."
"What the fuck am I supposed to do, then?!"
"Give her a reason."
I'm certainly grateful to El for her support, and also the fact that her advice shuts Harry up for the time being. Not too long later, Harry mutters something about Liam reappearing behind us from nowhere, and I realise Niall has somehow made it in front of us.
Joining a dual carriageway, the three cars swap and change stupidly for what seems like forever in hopes of confusing Sparky enough to get away. Trees, shrubs, the crash barrier and other cars fly past us as Harry shoots down the bypass, the occasional car horn sounding from those selected irate drivers.
"Quick, get down." Harry demands, and I hastily slide downwards into the footwell so that my back is awkwardly resting on the seat.
I do as he says without question, and I assume it's something to do with the fact that Sparky's Jag is making its way to the left hand side of the car we're in.
"Fuck sake, if I knew I was gonna have to do this much hiding I'd have told Sarah to do one when she suggested going for a drink." I grumble, attempting to shimmy my skirt down my legs a bit so that my arse isn't on show.
"Harry, drop back." El instructs, peering out the back window as subtly as she can.
"You've broken someone's nose today but the biggest inconvenience is hiding down there?" Harry asks incredulously, fighting back a baffled laugh.
"Harry, drop back!" Eleanor stresses.
"El, I'm in the fucking fast lane!"
"Then get forward, for crying out loud!" She presses frustratedly. "They're keeping level, they know something's up!"
"They haven't seen her yet!" Harry argues, glancing over his shoulder. "Where's the next exit, for fucks sake?"
"It's coming up, but if you want to lose them you need to drop back!"
"Alright, I know!"
I attempt silence again while the two of them figure out what they're doing. I can see the shadow of Sparky's Jag beside me, and even though I can't actually see what's happening, I'm certain that Harry is attempting to keep them level until he can slip behind and off the carriageway. El is counting him down to when he needs to make his move, and I'm listening as well because I'm desperate to get sat up properly.
"Y'alright, pet?"
I look up from where I hide to give Harry a hard glare. He's watching me with a slight gleam in his eye between paying attention to his driving, and it irritates me. "I'm fucking marvellous, Harry. But if you keep looking at me and talking they're gonna know something's up."
He desperately wants to smirk - I can see it with the way his lips twitch.
"Are you ready, H?" Eleanor interrupts, and I go back to sulking for the moment. I can hear car horns in the background, making it apparent that the other drivers around us are getting fed up with the boys' bullshit driving. I'd be getting fed up too, if I were them.
"Yeah."
"Niall and Liam have left enough room for you to get across without hitting anyone." El mumbles, before sitting up straight again. "Alright, go."
I feel the car dart left as I hit the centre console to my right with the swift change in direction, and Eleanor reaches between the seats to tap my shoulder.
"Should be good now, hun."
I rest my elbows on the seat behind me and hoist myself back into a sitting position. Looking around me, I find myself nearing home, and then a sinking feeling hits when I realise that's not even where we're going.
"You okay?" Harry asks for what feels like the hundredth time.
"Shoulder's probably gonna bruise tomorrow, but I'm alive so I shouldn't complain." Or so I suppose. I look to Harry with a half attempt at a smile - one that doesn't touch my eyes to emphasise my frustration.
He returns my smile, though it's much more sincere than mine; sympathetic. "Sorry, love."
"Maybe I shouldn't have broken his nose..."
Eleanor and Harry laugh together at my reluctant backtracking. Their amusement brings a small smile to my face, one that's all through my eyes as I stare out the windshield. It's pretty much silent for the rest of the journey back to Harry's.
Somewhere near Clapham South tube station, on Hazelmere Road, Harry drops Eleanor off at the gates of a private community of property, and I notice that she stashes the laptop she'd been using in a secret compartment under the back seat.
"I'll see you both in the morning." She calls over her shoulder as she climbs out of the car, but says nothing more before she closes the door, leaving me no chance to return her goodbye.
I can't help but sigh as Harry pulls off again. For the short distance between El's and Harry's, I find myself getting wound up about pointless trivial things, like the fact that I don't have a change of clothes, or a phone charger, or a toothbrush. I've got nothing to wear to bed, and I don't even know if Harry's got a spare room, so there's every chance I'm sleeping on a sofa.
I know I'm pouting and I know it's petty because it's only being done so I don't get murdered in the middle of the night, but the entire evening has left me feeling nothing but fed up. What had started as a nice evening teaching cocktails in a shit bar, has ended up with a bloody fist and sleeping in a stranger's house for the night.
Harry pulls his car onto the driveway of a semi-detached property, one with sandy-coloured brick and white-framed windows. The exterior is pristine, as if it should belong to a wealthy family with a weekly gardener to trim the one bush that lines the ground floor front window. The driveway is pebbled and lined with a matching brick wall, and Harry's Beamer looks anything but out of place.
I follow suit as he steps out of the car, and he waits for me until the door is closed to lock it, before guiding me to the black painted front door that sits on the right hand side of the two-storey home. I realise it's actually a flat from the staircase that sits against the wall, but I've still no doubt that the value of the apartment is in the higher regions.
Once the door is unlocked he gestures for me to go in ahead of him, and as I reluctantly step over the threshold, he takes a cautious look over his shoulder to make sure no one is lurking.
He silently turns the light on to illuminate the dark space. "Do you need anything for your hand?" He asks quietly once the door is closed and locked, and where I thought I'd feel uncomfortable with him locking the door with me inside, I actually feel safe.
"Um," I glance to my bruising and bloody right hand, and then back to Harry, "just a cold, wet flannel. Please."
Harry nods once. "Sure, wait here just a sec." He hums, and then disappears into the door on the left hand side.
Taking my boots and my jacket off, I leave both neatly by the doorway next to a shoe rack on top of my handbag, and allow my eyes to scan Harry's frankly unexpected apartment.
The wall on the left is exposed brick - the same that makes up the exterior of the house. Spread out to the right is an open plan kitchen, living room and dining area. My feet move of their own accord into the open space; curious. The kitchen cabinets are a handsome dark grey wood, just a few shades shy of black so that you can still make out the pattern of the grain. The island homes the oven and hob, while the unit against the left wall provides the sink, a tall fridge-freezer and plenty of preparation space.
The back wall is just one large retracting window, with a grand view into the modest back garden which is currently romantically illuminated with spotlights around the edges. On the right hand side of the kitchen island sit three individual bar stools, the only place I can see to sit and eat besides the sofa, since he's neglected a dining table for the sake of a larger living space. A large light grey corner sofa sits sideways against the right hand wall, facing a generous sized TV on a low cabinet.
There's a room to my right, possibly a bathroom, but the door is closed, so I'm not certain. Sat beside the closed door is a tall bookshelf/cabinet, and the content of books is a little perplexing. There's a variety of novels - some classics like Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, some newer that I don't recognise. There's a collection of books on wars, mostly World War I and II but also a fair share about civil wars. Upon closer inspection, I notice a collection, in the very top left hand corner, something that maybe confirms my suspicions for what Harry does to earn himself a place as lovely as this; a collection on firearms.
"Here you go, love." Harry's return is both welcomed and rejected, but I never let my confliction show.
"Thank you." I mumble, taking the dampened towel from him to begin cleaning up my hand.
I move into a better light, away from the cabinet. As I do, Harry crouches down to the cupboard to retrieve two crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey from underneath. I can't help but notice that there's something missing in the back of Harry's jeans, and I silently wonder where he's put it. If I had any sense, I'd assume it was in a safe somewhere really cliché like the back of his wardrobe or behind a piece of art.
"Drink?" He asks as he stands straight, a lighter expression on his face.
"Um..." I blink at the bottle as he sets it on the island with the glasses, and then sheepishly look up to him. "Have you got anything else?"
Harry grins; tight-lipped and a little mischievous. "M'sure I do." He skirts around me to open a cupboard up high on the far left of the wall, revealing bottles of various types of alcohol as if we were back in the bar again.
I debate making a sarcastic remark as to why he only keeps whiskey in the cabinet and everything else in a kitchen cupboard, but I'm too invested in my hand to really care. He probably does it for some daft aesthetic. I laugh to myself.
"Any preference?"
I look up from my hand to the cupboard, and the first thing visible is a bottle of Grey Goose. "Vodka? Please?"
He nods, retrieving the bottle from the front and twisting the cap off as he moves back towards me. He pours a dash into the glass closest to me, putting the bottle aside without putting the lid back on, which irks me a little but I remain silent on it, before he does the same with the whiskey for himself. Without hesitation he knocks back the liquid, and I've stopped faffing over my hand to watch him for some reason. The way he does it is entrancing, because it's so effortless and lacking struggle, that just that simple act is oddly attractive.
"Sure you don't need a plaster for it or somethin'?" He sets his glass back on the counter as he asks his question, nodding towards my hand before meeting my gaze.
I shake my head with a small smile, now awkwardly passing the cloth from hand to hand being done with it. "Plasters are just a nuisance. They delay the healing time and I'll just end up with a load of weird fluff caught in it. Not worth it."
Silently while nodding, Harry takes the flannel from me and tosses it across the room to the back wall near the large window. I assume there's a washing machine at that end of the room. Pouring himself a second, slightly larger glass, he watches as I drink mine in one.
Even though there's a million questions running around my head, I don't feel confident enough to ask any of them. I want to know if it's really arms trafficking he's up to. I want to know if the late shipment in Southampton is a shipment of firearms. I want to know how he knows where I live. I want to know what El was doing with that laptop in the back, besides running Sparky's number plate. I also have an odd desire to check his shoulder and the progress of his healing.
All of this and yet I'm terrified that if I ask any of them, he won't be as forgiving as he has been. Maybe I should start with the least weird of my questions and see where it gets me... That rules out the one about checking his shoulder since he'll be required to take his shirt off. I would like to know what El was doing...
"Harry, are you gunrunning?"
Or, I could just get straight to the point like that.
His eyes widen as he pauses with his glass to his lips, not having quite consumed his second shot yet. His pause lasts maybe three or four seconds, before he tips the liquid down his throat and smacks the glass back on the table with a horrible scratching sound. If I weren't so shocked at my brashness myself I might've flinched.
He turns to me with an expression that I'm struggling to read. He looks angry, but also scared, and not to mention confused. "What?"
I wet my lips, inhaling a subtle breath before I swallow the lump in my throat. "Are you running guns?"
"How did you-,"
"I spent a long time around my brother. He's been in a gang for nearly twenty years and he's never once had a gun. Each of your boys had one, each of their boys had one, you've got novels and dictation on war, guns and fucking book-keeping on your shelf over there. I just... tell me if I'm wrong, but I can't imagine there's much else you could do to get yourself a bullet-shaped hole in your shoulder."
"More people carry arms than you realise," he mutters, a hard edge to his tone that I take an immediate distaste towards, "and I'm willing to bet Damon's had a gun in his safe at one point or another. Just because you never saw-,"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Harry. Just tell me the truth."
His glare is reminiscent of that in the hospital that first day again, when I'd demanded he take his bloody shirt off. I'm not sure if he's pissed because I've guessed wrong and he's insulted, or because I've guessed right and he's cursing himself for being so obvious. Still, the answer I get is the opposite of what I want to hear.
"It's not any of your business what I'm running-,"
I begin shaking my head half way through his sentence, gaze unimpressed with his refusal as my jaw locks, and I turn around and begin walking towards the front door.
"Where are you going? Hey!" He calls after me, catching my wrist and blocking my path.
"I'm not fucking staying here if you won't be honest with me, Harry. If it means I run into fucking Sparky then so be it, but you can't keep me here and lie to me."
"I'm keeping you safe by being here, you should be grateful!"
"I didn't fucking ask to stay here, Harry! You forced me to! If I have to sit in this house with you, do you not think I at least deserve to know what I should expect? I haven't judged you for it or shunned it, I just feel like I deserve to know!"
He silently reaches behind me, jaw clenching and breathing coming heavier through his nose. I step out of his proximity, studying him as he pours the contents of the still open bottle into his glass.
"That's it, you take a drink while I stand here waiting for a fucking answer." I huff, arms crossing my chest as I glare at him through pinched brows.
"A week ago you didn't want to fucking know me at all, and now you want to know all of my fucking business?!" He's demanding in his tone, refusing to look at me between speaking and necking his drink.
"What, 'cause it's not like you haven't had Sarah feeding you information about me all week?! You know where I fucking live, it's a two-way thing, Harry!"
Resting both of his forearms on the island, his crystalware still in his right hand, he eyes me from where I stand beside him. It's not a friendly gaze - it's intimidating, or at least it's meant to be. But once again I only find myself irritated by his stubbornness.
"Y'better off not knowing."
My scoff is no doubt unattractive, but I don't care. "Why? Why am I better off not knowing? Because you think I'll judge you? I've already said I'm not judging - there's nothing to hide. Bear in mind I lived with my brother for God knows how long, and he's still doing what he does. Hell, I've fucking been in the middle of it, who the hell am I to tell you what you should and shouldn't be doing? It's only fair, Harry - you can't know every detail about my life and I know nothing of yours in return. It doesn't work like that."
"Why are you talkin' as if you're not going anywhere? You've just threatened to leave and now you're acting like this is a thing." He gestures between the two of us with a flick of his index finger.
"Jesus Christ, do you think I'd still be fucking stood here if I didn't think something of this? If I was that desperate to get away from you I'd have left the bar the moment you turned up."
While his eyes remain with mine, his expression softens the smallest amount. He's struggling, I can see that. I don't know whether it's because he's scared or because he's proud - maybe it's both. There's only so much arguing and reassurance I can give him before I give up.
"I don't want to know the ins and outs of it, Harry. I don't want a permanent spot in your little operation, I just want you to be honest with me. So either you tell me the truth, or you take me home."
He studies me for a moment longer, jaw slacking as he once again argues with himself in silence. It's amusing really, how little I let pass me by. He probably thinks I must've had him figured out from the moment I walked into that patient room eight days ago. Part of it is true, but I've still failed to realise that he's never given himself up to anyone the way he has to me. No one else has ever had that effect on him. And it's ridiculous really, because my personality is such a contrast to what he'd expected on first appearance, and after slowly learning more about me from Sarah he thinks he should've probably figured out by now that I'm just not one to let things go so easily.
"Y'always do this." He laughs once through a breath, shaking his head while he fights a smile. He speaks as if we've known each other for years, as if I'd know exactly what he's talking about. But I don't.
"Do what?"
"Just come straight out with it - fucks blown to the wind. First thing you did was call me out, don't know why I expected anything less."
"Yeah, so here's me calling you out-,"
"Yes." He interrupts flatly, pressing his lips together as he inhales a sharp breath.
"Yes, what?" I utter; confused.
"Before you ask me that fuckin' question again, the answer is 'yes', Nikita. I do."
I shiver at his admission, watching him through wide eyes for a moment because in all honesty I thought he'd chuck me out for being irritating as shit. But he's not. He's giving up, or rather giving in. I drop my arms. "Right."
"Happy now?"
I narrow my eyes while my jaw sets, because of course he still needs to act like an arrogant prick about it. "Yes, thank you." I snip, and step forward to pour another glass.
"And what do you intend on doing with this information now you've got it?"
I meet his eyes again with a dead gaze, necking my shot quickly before uttering, "Sweet fuck all."
Clearly my answer is entertaining, because Harry's expression moulds into one of proud amusement. He takes a step towards me in a rushed movement, placing his hands on my hips and pulling me flush against him. His head drops, lips hesitant for a flash of a second, before he leaves a hard kiss to my lips.
With my back pressed against the edge of the kitchen counter, Harry's body seems to swallow me; enveloping me as he forces his entire front against mine. His lips are eager, swapping between claims of my top and bottom lip, before coaxing my lips wide open, hot breath whispering against my tongue as his own begins its search. His hands are around my middle, holding me against him while pushing me back against the side of the counter.
One hand holds the top of Harry's arm while the other grips the back of his head. There's not much to grip onto in terms of hair, but there's no denying the short strands I'm left to make do with are beautifully soft. It leaves me with a strong desire to push my fingers through the thick waves on the top of his head.
Meeting him halfway in my own desperation, I lace my tongue with Harry's, a small groan slipping helplessly from the back of his throat. Both of our breathing grows heavier as our needs grow stronger; Harry's hands roaming my sides until they're eventually squeezing my arse, while my hands massage and squeeze at his shoulders as I cling to him.
The burning desire in the floor of my stomach makes itself known once more as Harry grinds against my front; a pitiful whine of my own escaping as I feel the bulge in his jeans rub against my front. Against my mouth, his lips turn upwards smugly, and he repeats the action in hopes of hearing my need for him again. It works.
"Harry," I breathe pathetically, pressing my front into his to feel him again - like it's some sort of teasing relief.
He hums into me, tongues dancing just a little longer before he snatches my top lip between his teeth with a firm bite. It hurts, but in the best kind of way. As he begins dragging his wet kisses along my cheek, his hands move upwards to the buttons on the silk blouse adorning my top half.
"Let me make y'feel good." Harry whispers, his lips lightly sucking in strategic movements towards the crook of my neck.
"Already doing a pretty good job." I admit, my voice breathy and uneven, not to mention a little high-pitched in places.
Harry chuckles; a dark sound reminiscent of mischief while his hands get up to no good of their own as they continue making their way down my front in quick and swift movements to undo my top. "Let me make y'feel really good."
His voice is just above a whisper - deep again like it had been that first night in the hospital. It's intoxicating - I'm helpless for it, and I know he can tell by the way I'm practically melting for him.
My response is wordless as I drop a hand between our bodies to rub against the ever-growing and prominent bulge in his jeans. He groans again at my touch, a little broken and caught in places but still just as desperate. As the last button comes loose on my blouse, Harry pushes it off my shoulders to pool on the floor around my feet. He's got me out of my bra moments later, leaving me in nothing while he stands still fully clothed.
He pulls back for a moment to scan my frame, a sigh leaving his lips that sounded like it had carried the weight of the world until this moment. "Fuckin' beautiful."
While the warmth of my flatter decorates my cheeks, Harry gets back to work - his kisses moving south down my front in measured but eager pacing. His hands focus once again on more buttons, this time on my skirt, but only the top two to leave enough room to just slip it down my legs. I delicately step out of it while he hooks his fingers between the lace of my knickers, and before I know it I'm stepping out of those too.
Harry never removes his lips from my skin, my need for him growing with each kiss he presses closer to my core. When his lips brush against my navel I can feel the heat pooling in my centre and escaping to between my folds, and it's only moments before Harry's lips will be there to collect it. His hand grazes between my legs, a long finger brazenly swiping between my folds, and the moan he breathes into my skin is guttural.
"Fuck, pet." He murmurs, eyes locking with mine as I gaze down at him on his knees. "Can I?"
My expression is blank but my eyes are giving everything away. I nod once, a quiet and breathy, "Please," rolling through slightly parted lips.
Harry's gaze drops back to my centre, his right hand with a grip on the side of my thigh while the fingers of his left begin spreading my heat between my folds. His index and middle finger part my lips before his tongue delicately runs over my clit. A cry tumbles from my lips, my head rolling backwards to stare at the white ceiling above me. His tongue works in shifts; slow and careful at first and then fast needy. His hot breath fans over my core with each exhale, adding to the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Taking hold of the back of my right knee, he brings my leg off the ground to rest over his left shoulder, parting my wet lips naturally to put his hands to better use. Holding me closer to him, his hands grip my arse, his face buried in my release as he makes the most of the way I taste. I, never one for feeling particularly flexible, find myself gripping onto the side of the island with one hand while the other finally manages to take a good grip on his hair. And yes, it's just as soft as I'd imagined.
Harry's tongue teases my clit in erratic and hectic flicks, and I'm gasping helplessly while the ache between my legs gets bigger and bigger.
"Holy shit, Harry." I whisper; high in pitch and a little caught.
With my praise, Harry only buries himself deeper, his tongue stretching its full length into my core while his hands squeeze my arse just that bit harder. I continuously run my fingers through his thick hair as he coaxes me closer and closer to an end I'm craving.
To my disappointment, Harry pulls away to press a litter of soft kisses to the top of my thigh. My head rolls forward again, eyes wide as my hand combs through his hair with a new urgency.
"No no no," I heave, eyes frantically searching his face as he meets my gaze with light eyes, "Why have you stopped?"
"If I'm gonna do this, we're doin' it properly." He pants, kissing my thigh again before rising to his feet. Harry stands a little taller than me, gazing at me with warm eyes again, and my excitement is all over his face.
"Um," I giggle, pressing my lips into a hard line as I struggle with how to word it, "you've um, got a bit of something on your face."
Harry's brows raise, a prominent smirk proudly pulling at his lips as his hands graze my sides. "Have I now? Fancy helping me clean it off?"
I yelp suddenly as he lifts me off the ground to sit me on the counter, sandwiching himself between my legs. I roll my lips inwards, wiping my thumb around his face and lips as he watches me with that same smirk. Before I can even debate what to do with it, Harry's got my thumb in his mouth, sucking on my digit until it's clean.
Harry kisses the palm of my hand, before pressing his lips to mine again. "You don't mind doing it properly, do you?"
I laugh girlishly, resting the hand he'd just pecked at the crook of his neck while his palms settle on my thighs. "No, but you will have to take some clothes off first."
"Gonna help me?" He prompts, hands smoothing up and down my thighs.
"Where d'you want me to start?"
Harry grins. "Why not from the top? Work your way down?"
I giggle again, nodding as I begin unbuttoning his shirt. As I do, he leans forward to claim my lips again, tasting myself on his lips and his tongue. It's invigorating.
Pulling the bottom of Harry's shirt out from where it's tucked into his jeans, I undo the last two buttons and then move onto his jeans. With a swift yank the button comes free, and in the next movement his zipper comes loose.
"Don't waste much time, do you pet?" He murmurs against my lips; smiling.
Harry pulls back to slip out of each item of his clothing, and while he does I take the time to assess him. You know, professionally. He's still as toned as I remember, much cleaner now but bruising obvious where it hadn't been before. I notice the way he winces as he moves his shoulder in awkward ways, and it's when he stands straight again that I can finally see the progress of his stitches. They're looking pretty gnarly still, dark around the edges and perhaps a little stressed, but they'll calm down over the next few days with the right care.
"They're a right pain in the arse at times." Harry grumbles, having noticed me staring at them.
I tear my gaze from his wound to his eyes, and I'm relieved to see him smiling still. "Shouldn't have got shot, then."
Harry snorts, snaking his hands around my waist to the small of my back, and he drags my frame to the very edge of the counter, only supported by his naked frame blocking me from falling. "A valid point."
The air around us is still for a moment, both knowing what we need but perhaps a little too nervous to cross the bridge to get there. Our eyes are holding one another's, sort of telling each other to just do it through warm but urgent gazes. I'm relieved when Harry finally presses his lips back to mine, tasting me like he had the first time. My hand drops between our bodies, Harry grunting when I wrap my hand around his stiff dick. It's big. Me being the way I am - far too concerned with what his injuries look like - completely failed to notice the sheer size of it, even when it was staring me right in the face.
I pull on it a couple of times - just enough to get him riled up a bit more, and it works apparently since he's all but clawing at my back as he steals my top lip between his teeth with an animalistic growl. Proud of myself and smirking, I guide his length towards my heat, teasing his tip between my wet folds. I can't help whining into his mouth while I rub him over my anticipative clit, and his hand squeezes my hip as a result. Not wanting to waste any more time, I spread my legs a little further, and guide him into my heat.
In unison, we both emit satisfied groans against one another, because fucking hell I haven't found a relief like it for the longest time. I certainly can't remember the last time someone touched me the way Harry has, and I definitely don't think anyone has stretched me so quickly the way Harry is doing so right this moment.
Impatient all of a sudden, Harry pulls me off the counter by my arse, and I'm giggling into his smirking lips as he walks us both somewhere unknown to me, with my legs clinging around his back. He nestles me into the corner of his massive sofa, surrounded by an abundance of pillows and cushions. It sounds stupid but I'm conflicted, because on the one hand I feel like a little girl again, getting excited at the prospect of having one too many pillows like a princess would, and on the other hand I still feel like a grown woman because this incredibly attractive idiot has his huge knob buried inside of me.
Harry kisses me harder again, with another harsh nip of my lips, before he pulls back to readjust himself, kneeling on the sofa between my legs. I watch through curious eyes as he brings both of my legs from behind him, and rests them against his front, keeping my left leg closer to his head by holding it there to ensure I don't catch his stitches. In a way I want to protest, but he seems to know what he wants so I keep quiet.
His left hand strokes up and down my right leg as he leans forwards again, and when he finally moves his hips the feeling of it is nothing short of insatiable.
"Fuck me." I gasp, bringing my arm across my face to bite at my skin.
The way his length moves so easily in and out of me while stretching me still is glorious; unholy. He's smirking at me, but there's still that hint of care in his eyes that I silently appreciate.
"Feel good, pet?" He asks, his voice a deep rumble; gravelly and tight.
Lowering my arm to my chest, I fight to keep my eyes open. "God, you have no idea."
Harry's expression tells me he disagrees, and he cocks his head slightly before he speaks. "Nah, I'm pretty sure I do. Y'feel... so fuckin' good."
Pressing a kiss to my left ankle, he suddenly ramps up his pace. He's pounding into me, my boobs jiggling with his dire force as he drives in and out of me. Watching him is mesmerising but I'm also struggling to keep my eyes open because it really does feel that fucking good.
I'm biting my hand at the joint of my thumb, the other hand at a complete loose end. I want to push my fingers through his hair, I want to stroke his face, I want to rub my clit in time with his thrusts. I also want to keep one hand free to bite on because I'm embarrassed by my noise, but I'm certain Harry wouldn't see it that way.
I ignore my irrationalities and force myself to glide my fingers through his soft hair, gripping a small fist as I reach his crown. He staggers slightly from it, apparently too wrapped up in what I'm doing than what he's doing.
"Pull it again, love." He begs, slowing a little until he feels my tug, and then driving into me faster again. "Fuckin' hell."
Without a warning, he stops, hastily letting my legs fall to his sides again so he can lean forward and claim my lips. His hands slip behind my back, and he pulls me up from where I lie, until he's collapsing backwards with his knees bent behind me for support while I straddle him.
I know I need to be careful with my left hand as I allow it to roam his chest, while my right has a light hold on his cheek and my thumb delicately strokes over the bruising on his eye. Harry's hands are massaging my breasts, his thumb and forefinger occasionally pinching my nipple, and it's that action that has me squeezing my core around him.
Harry hisses into me, reaching a hand behind my head to grab a fistful of hair from the base of my neck. "Ride me." His demand is breathless and rough, and the mere suggestion has me feeling a little lightheaded.
Kissing the corner of his mouth, I sit back against the support of his legs. His hands fall to my waist, eyes scanning every visible inch of my front as I begin rolling my hips over his. He groans as I do, moving his hips just a touch so that his length sinks deeper into me.
I release a soft moan of my own, moving faster over him while he watches in blissful silence. His hands squeeze my hips occasionally, and I'm pulling my hair out of my face and draping it across one shoulder. Harry's eyes follow everything my hands do, with occasional glances to where our hips meet. Needily, I reach for one of his hands and guide it to my breast, keeping it there while we hold eye contact for a moment. He smirks.
Back to massaging my breast, Harry watches as I let my ecstasy slowly consume me. My eyes close as my head rolls backwards, my tits bouncing in his hand while I gradually lose myself. I think I hear Harry swallow, but I'm not too sure given that I'm not actually looking at him. Still, the idea of him being so taken with me is boosting my tiny ego some.
He pinches my nipple, stroking his thumb over it and then squeezes it once more. Every time he does my core clenches around his stiff cock, and it's that simple thing that brings along his release. His hands take a firm grip on my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as his crotch rises up into me. It pushes his length into that far-reaching place in my centre, hitting that sacred spot that causes my very own wave of pleasure. It washes over me; consumes my entire being as my back arches, stretching against Harry's bare and hairy thighs as my whines fall through my lips.
Harry's legs drop, and I allow myself to collapse against his chest as we both begin to relax. His arms lazily wrap around my back, his left hand grazing up and down my spine. Nothing can be heard but our paired heavy breathing, and honestly it's quite refreshing.
I'm left wondering what possibly happens now. If this is something Harry and I are going to keep up, how are we going to go about it? I'm a professional doctor, and he's a professional criminal. If anyone I work with were to find out what we're doing I could get sacked. And I'd struggle to find work thereafter.
All that still doesn't change that Harry just risked his and his boy's lives to save my stupid arse after I lost my temper. I know everything is about to get extremely complicated, and the only thing I can think to do to manage it is to take it one step at a time.