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.
The world around me slowly came into focus. My head pounded like a relentless drum, a throbbing pain radiated from my temple and spread through my skull. The air was thick with the damp smell of wood, the aftermath of rain, followed by something metallic — blood I realised a moment or two later.
I tried to move but my body seemed unresponsive, a sharp pain shot through my wrists, and I realised with a jolt that my wrists were tied behind my back, and I was tied to a chair. Coarse ropes bit into my skin. It was then that my heart began to pound faster, trying to piece the memories together. But every thought and movement had fresh waves of pain spreading through my body.
My eyes darted around the dimly lit room. It was dark, a flickering light overhead cast a small glow over the cold, wooden walls. There was a distant drip of water echoing somewhere nearby, as if it had just finished raining.
I stiffened slightly when I heard a noise coming from directly behind me, a breath, a slow, wavering breath, shaking in fear. Quickly I realised I wasn't alone.
"Winter?" I whispered, hoping it was her breath I heard. That she was here with me and hadn't been taken someplace else. That she was alive.
"Harry?" her voice was fragile, quiet, but quickly softened after a relieved breath. "Oh thank God."
It seemed she was in a similar position to me. Behind me, our backs together. I could only assume that she was as well tied to a chair. I focused for a moment on the binds on my wrists. They were tightly tied, leaving little room for manoeuvring. The rope chafed on my already raw skin when I tugged on them. I had to get us out of here.
"What happened?" I asked her, still a little hazy. I barely remembered leaving the hotel with her.
"The car." She said quietly. "There was someone shooting at the car."
And the memories came flooding back to me, the uber, the driver getting shot, the motorbike. The crash. I exhaled a breath, feeling the injuries from the crash on myself, I knew I was bleeding.
"Are you hurt?" I asked her, hoping only to hear that two letter word from her, but I knew it was impossible.
"I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm not hurt." she assured me, but I knew she was lying. I heard it in her voice. "Are you?"
I thought about my answer, part of me wanting to come to terms with my injuries and answer the question to myself whether or not I lied to her. The skin on my face was sticky and warm, coated in blood. It had to be. I wasn't wearing a seatbelt when we crashed, and at the speed we'd been going, the glass would have shattered into thousands of tiny sharp crystals. My hands were aching, stinging but also tingling with a near-numbness. It didn't feel like they were going numb from being tied together, there was liquid dripping down my fingers, blood from my hands.
