lemon's curse h.s.

eleven

emmalyn.

His mouth opens wide again, ready to express another animalistic chortle. But as soon as the sound begins to echo through his chest, Harry decks his temple, hard; hard enough for the force to hit his head against the arm rest and he quietens up abruptly.

His eyes are closed and his grip against his thigh begins to loosen up. For a second, I really believe he's dead and my head begins to throb, it feels like alarms are blaring all around me, loud and deafening.

But seeing the way his nostrils are still flaring slowly, I'm comforted by the fact that he's still alive, just passed out.

My head immediately shifts to Harry, who's already looking - glaring - at me. His raging, green eyes pierce into my own, intimidatingly, making me feel small, and I have to look away to avoid the eye contact, not being able to deal with the arduous stares he's throwing at me.

My frenzied gaze lands on his appearance instead, noticing how he's taken his jacket off and is only wearing a fitted, black t-shirt. His arms are bare and I lightly gasp at the sight of his tattoos, his left arm is almost entirely sleeved up with them, and there's still a handful on his right arm. I didn't know he had so many tattoos, but seeing them right now, when he's hurling venomous daggers my way only heightens his rugged and terrifying air.

His hands are fisted tightly, as if he's trying to physically contain his anger, and there's fresh blood splattered on his knuckles which are blemished and contused with bright red marks; the drops of blood reach all the way up to his forearms, carelessly painting his black tattoos. A gun sits heavy in one of his hands; seeing it makes me wanna cower away and crouch down into oblivion, afraid he can shoot me any second.

He's gonna kill me.

Hearing him release a sigh, my vision shifts back up to his countenance, observing the angry frown etched on his forehead as his eyes harrow down at me and his nostrils flare. His brows are tightly creased together and his jaw is clenched to the point where I think he might break his teeth.

He's really angry.

His chest is rapidly heaving up and down and a thin film of swear coats his hair, like he's physically whelmed.

"Take him," his voice is low and hoarse, a vibration rippling through his chest, holding the sort of dominance which makes shivers run down my spine. His voice sounds deeper than ever before.

With hasty footsteps towards my direction, he growls, "I'll deal with her."

The nameless officer nudges me forward and aside, moving past me and entering the door, walking towards the man passed out in the chair.

I wanna make a run for it, I wanna cry and scream, I wanna push him away.

But Harry's quick. And I'm not quick enough.

His bloodied hand firmly grips my arm and I flinch at the way his calloused skin feels against me, not liking the way he touches me one bit. His grasp is tight and slightly painful as he pulls me with him to another room, identical to the one I was previously in but clean.

He keeps his grip firm, slamming the door shut and aggressively moving me with him while he roughly pulls out the metal chair before harshly pushing me down on it.

For a moment, all he does is look at me with a storm raging behind his pupils. There's an array of emotions flooding through his glare and I so desperately wanna know what he's thinking right now.

I feel helpless and scared, like I'm all chained up, unable to move, sitting at the mercy of the terrifying man in front of me.

He could do anything to me right now.