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
"Harry, no!"
I was mid-way through trying to steady myself after my legs gave out from beneath me. But I was too late. I couldn't stop him in time. Harry, with his barely buttoned shirt, his sweaty glow and that smug fucking grin, rested his hand on his hip and swung open my front door.
My eyes landed on the knife left on the couch, the one he had used with me when we just fucked, I was now considering stabbing myself with, because it seemed like the best way out of this situation.
The look on Aaron's face when he saw that it was Harry—some random man as far as he was aware, who opened the door instead of me, was a look I was all too familiar with. One that told me he was about to beat the shit out of everyone that his eyes landed on.
Harry glanced at me over his shoulder, flashing the fakes sweet smile I'd ever seen. "You didn't tell me you were having friends' round, baby."
Aaron was absolutely fucking livid. His hands were trembling with rage, there was enough fury in his eyes to start a fire. Harry stared at my horrified expression, not looking at Aaron, even after everything I had just told him. That was Harry's problem. He didn't listen to me, he might have heard what I'd said but he didn't process or retain a single piece of information. It was that or he was just that much of a stupid fucking dick that he didn't care at all.
Aaron's next words were so thick with rage and disgust that it had the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. "Oh you absolute fucking whore—"
He'd barely gotten the last world out.
Harry had turned back to face him, and punched Aaron across the jaw with so much force that Aaron went stumbling, spitting out a blob of blood onto the ground.
Bad. This was so fucking bad. He had to stop. And here I was, an idiot who couldn't intervene because someone had fucked away the use of her legs. "No—!"
Aaron was just as quick as Harry. He was a professional, and as cocky as Harry could be and confident in himself, he would never have had training as intensive as Aaron had. I knew that for a fact. Aaron was a killing machine, and he was going to kill Harry in my living room.
Struggling, I was running towards the door, everything was happening at once. I didn't even have time to let Harry know what I knew was going to happen. Aaron had withdrawn a small knife from the back of his trousers, and dug the thick steel blade deep into Harry's side.
"You fucking cunt." Harry choked when the knife was withdrawn from his side, blood began pouring down his side, staining his shirt, spilling onto the floor and pooling over his fingers when he dropped both of his hands to the wound to try and stop the bleeding out of reflex. "Shit!
In horror I watched as Aaron shoved Harry to the floor, simply stepping over him like he wasn't even there. Harry groaned, in his face I could see he was still trying to process what had happened, it looked like he had gone light headed for a moment or two, he got so pale so quickly. But I didn't have time to think about that, because Aaron was coming straight for me, and if what Harry said was true—if Aaron had been brought in for questioning, he was going to kill me.
