Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 19

**THIS WAS A DOUBLE UPDATE. Read Chapter 18 first <3**

Chapter 19

It unnerved me that the place was deserted when I walked in.

"Are you guys... closed?" I asked quietly, wringing my hands together.

But Harry hadn't seemed to have heard me. His attention was on my shoes. Shoes that had squeaked with every step once I'd walked inside. "Are those new?" he scolded. "They sound like they've never been out of the fucking box."

I braced my hands on my hips. "Sorry, I don't go for a run every day," I muttered sarcastically. "They'll work perfectly fine to kick you in the ass though if you want me to demonstrate–"

"Let's go," Harry interjected with an annoyed breath through his nose. He shook his head, disappearing behind those same curtains beside the front desk. I glanced at it briefly before reluctantly following after him, wishing Morgan were here.

It was like a mirror of the first time I'd been here. Walking down the long, dark hallway with tattoo beds on either side in search of Harry. Only this time, I knew he was scary and dangerous – wasn't just assuming it, like I'd been when he'd given me the tattoo. No wonder he'd seemed so angry and uptight at the time, given the shit I now knew he dealt with on a daily basis.

Not that it at all excused his behaviour but... If I ran a drug cartel, had to worry about someone possibly trying to murder me every day and was forced to attend creepy masquerades every couple of weeks, I wouldn't want to stick around after hours to give a handful of drunk girls any tattoos either.

This time, Harry didn't stop at any of the tattoo beds. Instead, he barrelled on all the way to the back and stopped in front of a weathered, paint-chipped black door that I hadn't noticed before. Creeping up slowly behind him, I watched while he swung it open to reveal a small office on the other side.

I frowned upon stepping inside. "This?" My hand gestured toward the battered, overflowing filing cabinet and old, oak table full of papers and sketches of tattoos. "This is where you're teaching me self-defence?" It was barely bigger than a fucking shoe closet.

The door slammed shut behind me. I jumped, stumbling back a few steps, only for Harry to brace a hand on my waist to keep me steady. He rolled his eyes. "Actually, change of plans," he muttered, "This isn't where I'm teaching you self-defence, it's where I'll be killing you and storing your body."

I blinked at him, shoving his hand off my waist.

Harry set his lips into a flat line. "A joke." He clarified. "That was a joke, River."

It was a few seconds before I quietly said, "I didn't think you were capable of those."

He only rolled his eyes with another half-chuckle, before spinning around to face a large tapestry hung on the far wall. I watched, mesmerized, as he suddenly gathered up all the material and pulled it to the side, balancing it behind the filing cabinet. In its midst revealed a large, metal door.

"Not ominous at all," I mumbled under my breath, instinctively taking a step back.

Harry hauled it open, the metal singing out as it slid against the floor. I covered my ears, wincing at the noise, the hairs on my arms standing on end. No fucking way was this happening. He turned to face me once it was fully open.

"You must be fucked in the head if you think I'm going down there," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Mm," Harry hummed. He'd somehow, in the span of two seconds, grabbed a cigarette. He was lighting it as he mumbled, "Need me to go first, do you, princess?"