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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Harry Styles
I'd lost my mind.
I'd officially lost my fucking mind.
What in the living fuck was wrong with me?
I hadn't seen Winter in two weeks.
After that... incident. After she held the knife to my throat when I told her to make me stop, she left almost immediately, and I hadn't seen or heard from her since. I wanted to bash my head off the table to knock some sense into myself. A killer, a psychotic murderer that happened to be the same psychotic murderer that I was assigned to go after and take down. Yet, I had her in my flat, and I kissed her and let her go.
I'd lost my fucking mind.
Forensics were at my flat within half an hour, looking into the bodies, the people that had broken in and tried to kill us. That was the part I couldn't understand. When I first opened up my door to a bullet being fired at me, I immediately came to the conclusion in my head that they were there for her. They were guys from whoever she worked for coming to save her ass since I had her handcuffed to my bed. Something I didn't feel great about, she did seem genuinely scared to see herself in that position, and from all of the interactions we'd had, I didn't think she was scared of anything.
But I was honest when I said I was worried about her waking up and murdering me in my sleep.
But they'd gone after her too, they tried to kill her too.
So who the fuck were those guys and why were they trying to kill us both?
I thought my head hurt before, but it was nothing compared to now.
I'd been off work for those two weeks, medical leave since I was shot, even though I told them I was fine. Winter had done a good job stitching me up, so good that the doctor I'd gone to see didn't redo them because he assumed they were done by a professional. Those two weeks were spent at some shitty hotel because my flat had become a crime scene. A hotel that I had immediately turned into a map of my mind. The walls were decorated, completely covered in pictures, pins, maps, files, people, anything I'd thought about in my attempt to piece all of this shit together.
