Harry Styles, a secret service agent working for British intelligence is tasked with finding the killer after a series of brutal but calculated murders across Europe. His mind is sharp, he's smart, arrogant and works with a precision that leaves no...
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Winter
"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Pearl asked me, her warm breath fanned my face. Her nose was inches from mine, her eyes focused and downcast as she applied a deep cherry coloured red to my lips for me, I never had a steady enough hand to do my own lipstick.
I waited until she had pulled away and put the lid back on the lipstick. I pressed my lips together to spread the colour a little more, careful not to mess up what she had already done. Before I replied to her, I blinked a few times, the long fake eyelashes on my eyes fluttered as I did. I nodded to respond to her question. "I'm fine."
It was my first day back working since my injury last week when some annoying snoopy fucker decided to chase me out of a cafe and shoot me in the street. Fucking idiot. I was still trying to figure out how he knew who I was, where some sort of evidence had come from that tied me to the murder, he knew who I was and what I was there to do.
"It was only last week that you were shot." she reminded me, glancing down at my lower stomach. "What if you need to move fast, get away from something?"
"Then I'll move fast and get away from something."
I looked at myself in the mirror and Pearl stood behind me.
I smoothed my hands down my sides, the wound didn't really hurt anymore, not unless I picked at the healing stitches or pushed down too hard on it, besides that, I felt nothing. The injury was covered by the floor length red gown I was wearing, a deep red to match the cherry on my lips. The deep neckline enhanced my chest, giving me so much more cleavage than I actually had, and the necklace that sat right between my chest drew more attention to that spot of my body. The less people that looked at my face the better. My hair was down, loosely curled, the natural lighter streak through my hair was parted evenly to frame my face as if I had put it there on purpose.
"You couldn't lift your arm above your head a couple of days ago." she raised her brows, meeting my eyes in the reflection.
"Yeah, and that was a couple of days ago." I gave her a flat look, I was used to Zayn babying me, not her. He wasn't here so apparently she was doing it for him. "I'm fine now."
"Winter."
"I'll be fine." I repeated. We had both done worse than this, done work with wounds fresher than this, put ourselves more at risk than this. Maybe she was more worried because I was doing this one on my own, we could both look after each other if we got to work together.
She looked me up and down from behind, and began adjusting, making sure every curl was sitting perfectly behind my back. "I just want you to be safe."
"I got shot once." I turned around to face her, our eyes met. She shot me a small glare, knowing I had to go to this, I wanted to go to this, she just had to shower me in worry and concern first. "Just because it's the first time in like almost two years I've been shot and now you're all concerned."
