Gunrunners // A Harry Styles AU

13. How's Your Head, Poppet?

Thursday 12th September

I set my watch to time me as I pad out to the end of the driveway. It's a relatively warm day considering the drawing in of autumn, but it's not so hot that I'll feel uncomfortable. Quickly glancing up and down the street, I start my usual journey towards Grangewood Park.

In amongst all the reading I've been doing, I've taken up running as a way to distract myself. Yes, really. I find it oddly relaxing (you know, minus the heavy breathing and profuse sweating), a way to let my emotions out without being aggressive. I like the ease of it, the route I take being long enough to wear me out but flat enough not to be a complete chore. Grangewood Park is nice enough, as well, especially at this time of year when the autumn colours start to come in and everything seems kind of warm, even if the weather is cooler.

I'm content when I'm running. At least you think I am.

As I approach the bottom corner of Grangewood Park, I notice two annoyingly familiar looking men approaching me. Yep, my two kidnappers. I slow my run to a walk, and just as I'm about to stop, a car pulls up on the road to my right - an all too familiar looking Jag saloon. I let out a deep breath as my two kidnappers smirk at me, and I glance to the car as the window rolls down.

Sparky rests his chin on his arm as he grins at me from the passenger seat. "Well, what a coincidence this is. Eh, poppet?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." I mutter. "What do you want, Gregg?"

His smirk falters slightly. "Fancy coming for a pint? I wanna talk to you about something."

"Depends what the talking involves."

"Ah, come on. Not gonna hurt ya. I promise. I owe you an apology, so lemme get y'a drink with it. Yeah?"

I inhale a long breath; hesitant. If he's offering to take me for a drink, surely that means somewhere public with other people around? The honest truth is that I don't trust Sparky as far as I can throw him, because why would I? He had me kidnapped, he had my boyfriend beaten up and dumped on my operating table, and he's caused nothing but trouble since the moment I met him. But he currently has nothing on me. I'm not with Harry anymore, and I don't have anything to go after him with. So if he wants to apologise, I'd quite like to hear it.

"Come on, doll. Can't do much out here in broad daylight, can I?"

I swallow. "Alright, fine. But they," I point to the two stupidest men I've ever met, "need to stay the fuck away from me."

"Fine by me." Sparky shrugs with an easy smile. "Hop in the back, poppet."

Sparky takes me to a pub somewhere in Morden on the A239 - the Surrey Arms. I've never been in there before, and honestly it's a bit of a dive. Much like Soho Hideout was before Harry had it renovated. Unsurprisingly, he seems to know everyone in the pub, and greets each regular and the bar staff by name. Something tells me he might just own the place.

I feel a little out of place, but only really because I'm in my running gear and still a little bit sticky from my exercise. No one comments on it as we pass, though. I follow him through to an empty corner of the floor, and a private booth that could accommodate no more than four people at one time. The man who'd been driving stands at the foot of the table like some sort of bouncer, and he's honestly the biggest bloke I've ever seen - like The Mountain from Game of Thrones but taller. Oh yeah, I've finally got around to seeing what all the hype was about with that.

Not a moment after I've sat, someone brings over two pints and leaves them in front of us, neither on beer mats which frankly makes me itch. I mumble my thanks, and drag the glass and a beermat closer, before taking a long drink.