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.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked me, switching on the car so the engine began to create a noise, the headlights turned on and illuminated the dark street in front of us.
"Mine." I told him, sliding my hands to rest beneath my thighs, my fingers were so cold. "Safer."
"Safer?" He questioned, reaching to press the button that turned on his heated leather seats. It was the best thing I'd ever felt.
"If we were being followed. It's safer." I kept my knees facing away from him, my eyes out the window in front of me. "You'd rather them not know where you live."
"And why would we be followed?" He glanced over his shoulder, turning on his seat so he could press his hand flat against the back of the passenger's side chair. His eyes met mine briefly, before focusing out of the back window so that he could reverse out onto the main road. "Them?"
"Because you don't know what kind of shit you've got yourself involved in." I muttered, still in a bit of shock, and still incredibly fucking pissed off at this entire situation.
"And how am I meant to know if you won't tell me?"
"I can't tell you everything you want to know." I turned my head to face him, his side profile as he watched the empty road in front of him. He drove a little slower than the speed limit since ice had begun to form on all of the roads, I could see it shimmering under the headlights.
"Then tell me what I need to know." he pressed, lifting up his hip one one side to withdraw his carton of cigarettes. He tossed it in the cupholder between us, then pinched one between his fingers to take it out. He held it in his lips when he pulled out his lighter, sparking it a few times until it lit, and the end of the cigarette caught the flame.
"You don't want me to."
"I do." smoke pooled from his mouth when he muttered the two words.
"You don't." I shot back.
"Winter." His tone was clipped.
"Can you just let me think... for one fucking second, Harry?" I snapped at him. His voice ringing in my head like a high-pitched static, even though his voice was so far from high-pitched, it had that sane fucking irritating sound to it. "Please for the love of god stop talking."
He just hummed, blowing smoke from his mouth. His eyes flicked to me ."You're extra moody today."
Thankfully he was quiet after that, giving me a little more time to think about what I was going to do.
If Roman had seen Harry, if Roman knew that Harry was after him, Harry was already dead. I would probably be fucking dead too.
As much as Harry did annoy the absolute fuck out of me, and I'd thought about killing him more than a few times, just as I knew he had thought about just throwing me away into a prison cell for the rest of my life, for some weird fucking reason apparently we had this game of delaying both of those things for as long as possible. I wasn't actually sure why I was here with him, why I hadn't just let him do whatever he wanted and left him to it.
