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
As soon as my eyes opened, I became aware of the dull ache in my head, like a drum was playing inside my skull. My eyes blinked a few times once they were open, trying to adjust to what was going on. I had no memory of getting into bed. The room was dark, and when I inhaled to try and wake myself up a little more, I realised quickly that this was not my bed. The smell I inhaled from the pillow was one I recognised but I couldn't exactly place.
My eyes opened wider and confusion hit me quickly when I tried to take in my surroundings. I was in a bed, not my bed, all of my limbs felt heavy like my body was still asleep, the tips of my fingers began to tingle when I thought too hard about moving my hands. A wave of panic spread through me quickly when I realised my hands were bound to the bed posts at either side of my head by cold metal. Handcuffs. I was handcuffed to the bed. Adrenaline shot through me and I was suddenly very awake.
What the fuck did I do last night?
I scanned the room, trying to make out objects in the dark, and even with what I could see, I couldn't identify the room at all. I'd never been here before. Nothing but bare walls stared back at me, not giving me a single hint as to where I was or how I ended up here. My mind was a complete mess, my head was aching and I was in desperate need of a drink of water and a trip to the bathroom so I could throw up this hangover.
I managed to shuffle up the bed a little bit since my legs were not bound in any way. There was a fluffy blanket sprawled on top of me, my body not beneath the bed sheets though. The metal was tight around my wrists and as soon as I looked I saw that they were real handcuffs, not fun ones. That still gave me no indication as to where the fuck I was or who had been the one to lock me in them, this was something I couldn't have done myself. I tugged on the metal, wincing when a little bell sounded like a bell on cattle.
There was a little bell attached to the handcuffs. Whoever had locked me up had just been notified that I was awake.
My mind still struggled to clear the fogginess, I searched desperately in my memory, even though thinking too hard made me feel like I was going to throw up. There was no information that could provide me with a single clue as to how I ended up here.
My head shot toward the door when I heard footsteps outside. I tried to pull my legs up higher to my chest but my thighs ached. Why did my thighs ache? It took a lot to scare me, and I wasn't scared. I was concerned as to why I was chained up in an unfamiliar bed with an ache spreading through my body.
The door across the room opened, letting in a crack of light that had me squinting my eyes since my head could hardly take it. A figure appeared in the doorway but I couldn't properly make out what was going on, not until they reached for a light switch and flicked it, making the two lamps on either side of the bed turn on.
"Mornin'," that familiar accent sounded out, a hint of a morning rasp to his voice. Nothing filled me with dread more than his voice.
When my vision cleared and closed on him properly, I knew I wasn't making this up. Harry stood in the doorway. In a pair of grey joggers and a slouchy white t-shirt, his hair tied back into a messy bun like he had slept in it, Harry fucking Styles stood in the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his face, both of his dimples prominent on his cheeks.
