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
When I made my way back downstairs in Harry's flat to the kitchen, I cringed at the sight of the two dead bodies still just laying on his kitchen floor, one beaten to a pulp, the other with a broken neck surrounded by splatters of blood and a broken dish.
Harry was leaning against the kitchen counter with the same bottle of wine in his hand, except now it was half empty.
I stole another one of Harry's shirts once I was out of his shower, the black one I'd taken earlier was soaked in blood. I'd spent almost half an hour trying to get the gash along my back to stop bleeding, dirtying a few of Harry's towels in the process. But with three dead bodies in his flat, I was sure he had bigger things to worry about than some dirty towels.
I'd run my fingers through my damp hair and shaken out most of the water, I didn't really care about it being fully dry. I just wanted to get out of here and go back to my flat.
From across the room, Harry looked me up and down. After taking another long sip of the wine, his eyes locked on mine the entire time, he spoke. "Are you just collecting my shirts now?"
"If you want me to take off my clothes just ask." I shot back flatly, making my way further into the room. I ignored the way he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at my comment, huffing before taking another drink straight from the bottle. I sat up on one of the chairs, making myself comfortable. "The black one was covered in blood." I told him, reaching into the bowl of fruit that sat in the centre of his kitchen counter to grab an orange. "I didn't fancy putting it back on."
"Help yourself then." Harry grumbled, watching as I took a piece of fruit like I lived here.
It was one orange, I was sure it wouldn't be the end of the world.
"I will," I stared at him flatly. Attempting for a few moments to peel the skin off. But it was the thumb on my right hand that was dislocated from earlier, I hadn't managed to pop it back into place, making it one hundred times harder to peel the fruit.
Harry stood up off the counter he'd been leaning against and stepped over to me until he was beside me. He grabbed the edges of the chair I was on, his hands just beside my outer things, his fingers brushed against my skin when he spun the chair around so I was facing him.
He snatched the orange from my hands.
I huffed and turned away from him again. Maybe he was that much of an asshole that me taking one piece of fruit from the bowl actually was the end of the world.
"What's wrong with your thumb?" He questioned.
"I had to dislocate it to get out of the handcuffs you so kindly left me in when a bunch of people broke into your flat to kill us." I hissed, making sure not to hide the fact I was still pissed off about how I'd woken up this morning. I held up my hand in between us, showing him my thumb that was out of place. "I can't put it back in."
