Midnight Black Stilettos. [L.S.]✓

Ch. 2; Mounting Concern.

"What the fuck was that?!" Harry exclaims. There's more noise, people yelling, screaming.

"Find the grooms!" One voice yells, gruff and gravelly. There's scuffling, more yelling, people bursting into the hotel.

"Great, now more people want to kill me." Harry mutters. Louis realises what he's wearing.

His wedding dress, curls pinned back so they create a sort of halo around his head, lipstick painted across his lips. He looks gorgeous.

Ravishing.

"Right, so some arseholes have hijacked our wedding." Harry begins. 

"No shit, Sherlock." Louis spits. He's tense, alright?

"I do not need the attitude." Harry responds. "Now, let's think. We shouldn't wait for them to come to us, should we? We need to find them."

"Honey," Harry glares, and he sighs. "We're two to whatever."

"Yes, but I'm prepared." Harry reminds him. He withdraws a series of weapons from his suitcase, three guns, four knives. He tosses the guns over his shoulder, Louis barely managing to catch them. "Tag team them? You get half, I get half?"

"No-" Louis says. "That's stupid. We work better as a team."

"We did, until you insulted my dress." Harry snaps. "But fine, have it your way, since apparently all I do is make things go my way."

He saunters past Louis, opening the door and purposefully making a loud noise before tugging Louis out the window, pulling him into the foliage, the two of them hiding behind a rock.

Someone runs past, dressed in ragged, dirty dark colours, random bits of fabric wrapped around their waist, their arms, hanging from their belt, a half leather mask with spikes over their eyes. 

Harry sticks his foot out, tripping them over as he quicky gets to his feet, putting a knife to their throat effortlessly.

"Why are you little fuckwits at my damn wedding?" He hisses, pressing the blade in slightly.

The person struggles, Harry tightening his grip. "I'll die before telling you, fag." They spit in a heavy accent, voice gravelly. 

Harry roll his eyes, promptly slicing the man's throat. The guy collapses against Harry, a gurgling noise releasing from his throat as he chokes on his blood.

"Check his pockets, will ya, Lou?" He says, disinterested. 

Louis does, finding a glass shank, a screwdriver and a grenade. 

Harry throws the shank to the side, scoffing lightly. He grabs Louis' lapel, stowing the othet two items away inside his blazer. 

Then, he grabs the man's body, unceremoniously shoving him in a bush, the man almost dead already since he's drowning in his own blood.

"So, the only place we can get service is up that hill, so that'd where we need to go. Call the police, whoever can be responsible for these fucking arseholes." Harry says firmly, rightening himself and wiping the blood on the man, grimacing in disgust. "Just keep a lookout for them. I suppose we should avoid killing, unfortunately."

"Let's go, then." Louis says.

***

- Liam -

"Get in the pool!" One of the pirates yells. He figured out immediately who they are, Somalian pirates. He read about them on the plane. 

"You're joking, right?" Louis' sister, Lottie, exclaims. 

"Get in the pool or there's a bullet going through your skull." One growls, shoving her lightly. She scoffs, a Louis-ism in the face of danger.

They all get in, Zayn shivering slightly. He wades over in an attempt to comfort him, when one of them yells at him to stay still.

"Have they found the grooms yet?" The leader asks. He glances at Zayn. He has a suspicion that Harry will hunt the pirates down. "You! Best man! Where are they?"

Liam shrugs noncommittally. "Haven't seen them in a while."

The pirate rolls his eyes, talking to one of his fellows quietly. Harry's not gonna to be found if he doesn't want to be, they learned that the hard way, in Vegas.

Especially if he's angry at someone, and he's bound to be furious if these guys hijacked his wedding, especially if the atmosphere was already tense because of this fight.

Fucking brilliant. It's like nothing in Louis' life can go right (granted, part may be his fault).

Now they'll just have to wait.

***

- Louis -

"Hide!" Harry hisses, ducking into a bush.

A group of about four walk past, all dressed similarly to the last guy.

"We should follow them." Harry whispers, holding his shoulder so they're still crouching in the undergrowth. 

"What? Why?" Louis hisses back. "They're looking for us?" 

"Exactly, so we find out why, then figure out how to stop them." Harry hisses back, rolling his eyes. 

He creeps forward slightly, pulling Louis along as they follow the group from a distance, catching fragments of conversation.

"...need to find them." One says. 

"Really? ...no idea!" One snaps back, and Harry snorts quietly. The speaker appears to be a woman, judging by her tone. He's not one hundred percent sure. It's a high probability.

"...We know... not in hotel..." Another chimes in.

"But... Where in resort?" The forth questions.

The other three shrug, and they continue searching for them. It's laughable, really, how the two of them are literally following people searching for them.

Suddenly one turns around, and Harry quickly presses him to the ground, lowering himself down as well.

"What's wrong?" One asks, the woman, cocking her head at the one who is now frantically looking around.

"Thought I heard something. Must of beem animal." He shrugs, turning back to the group.

"Wait, what's that?" Another questions, pushing past to peer in the bushes where they're concealed. "Saw something white move."

"Oh for fucks sake, seriously?" Harry mutters in his ear, carefully moving himself to keep his knives in his hand. "Guess we're killing after all. Well, gun at the ready, LouLou." Harry only calls him LouLou when he's angry at him but too focused on whatever he's doing (it's usual violence) to put energy into hating him. These people are in for a treat.

Louis carefully prepares himself, fingers poised on the trigger.

The group step closer, all holding out their weapons, the woman with a bedazzled baseball bat that Harry eyes with interest.

Louis would bet money that he's going to steal it once these people are dead. A lot of money, too. He just knows. He knows Harry.

"It's the grooms!" The woman exclaims, pointing at them.