Reckless {HS}

sixteen

Harry's Pov

Her voice echoed in my mind long after I'd left the museum.

"Harry?"

The way she said it—it stuck with me, repeating over and over, each time making my chest tighten. I'd heard my name a million times before, from people who feared me, from people who followed me, but this time... this time it was different.

I wasn't supposed to let her know my name. I'd been careful, deliberate. But all it took was one slip-up—Niall's voice drifting down that hallway—and suddenly, my name was out there, hanging in the air between us. There was no taking it back now.

I leaned against the wall of the safe house, trying to shake the feeling. It shouldn't matter. None of this should matter. She should be nothing to me—just a girl who stumbled into something way over her head. But the look in her eyes when she whispered my name... It unsettled me in ways I couldn't explain.

She looked scared. The way she flinched when I grabbed her arm, the way her eyes went wide when she put it together—it was like I was the monster in her nightmares. And maybe I am. Maybe I want her to be scared, to see me as dangerous, to know I'm not someone she should be messing with.

But a part of me hated that look. That fear.

The way she said my name, it wasn't just fear. There was something else there. Confusion, maybe? Or curiosity. I couldn't tell which, and it was driving me insane.

I slammed my fist against the wall, cursing under my breath. Why did I care how she looked at me? Why did it matter whether she was scared or not? She was in the way, she shouldn't even be here, but the fact that she was... that she had figured out enough to end up in the middle of this, tracking me down like I was some sort of puzzle—that's my smart girl, I thought bitterly, my jaw tightening.

She shouldn't be my anything. I shouldn't even be thinking about her. Yet here I was, replaying every damn detail of our run-ins, and I couldn't stop.

That look in her eyes when I caught her on the roof... she had been terrified then, too. But this time, it wasn't just because she was standing on a ledge. This time it was because she knew who I was. Or at least part of it.

Dangerous. Scary. That's what I was to her.

And maybe that's a good thing. If she's scared of me, maybe she'll stop. Maybe she'll finally stay away. Maybe this'll be the end of it. She'll run back to her quiet, normal life and forget all about me. About us.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't going to happen. Delilah didn't strike me as the type to let go that easily. And that's what worried me. She had already proven she was too smart for her own good, too curious, too... stubborn. Hell, she probably liked the danger, even if she didn't realize it yet.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind in my head. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face again—wide-eyed, scared, whispering my name like it held more power than it should.

"Harry"

The way it sounded coming from her lips... I wasn't sure if I hated it or wanted to hear it again.

I clenched my fists, annoyed at the pull she seemed to have on me, the way my mind kept circling back to her. I should be focused on the job, on the museum heist that had just gone sideways because I couldn't keep my head straight. My father was already pissed. The boys were growing suspicious. Everything was spiraling out of control, and yet all I could think about was her.

That wasn't part of the plan.

I paced the length of the room, trying to work off the tension, trying to focus on anything but the sound of her voice. She should be scared. She should be running in the opposite direction. But instead, she kept coming closer, pulling at threads she had no business unraveling.

She was walking into the lion's den, and I wasn't sure if I could protect her from it—if I even should.

It would be easier if she feared me, if she stayed far away and never thought about me again. But what if she wasn't afraid? What if, deep down, she wanted more?

I shook my head. I couldn't go there. I couldn't let this become something it wasn't.

But I couldn't deny the flicker of pride I felt when I saw her at the museum. She'd figured it out—something no one else had come close to doing. Not this quickly, not like this. I was both angry and impressed. A dangerous combination.

What was she even thinking, though? She had no idea how deep this went, how dangerous it really was. She thought this was a game of cat and mouse, and she was playing along without understanding the consequences.

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with the endless loop of thoughts running through my mind. I needed to get it together, needed to focus. I was losing control, and in my world, losing control meant you got hurt. Or worse.

She would get hurt if she didn't stop. And that thought—her getting hurt—made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't used to.

I couldn't afford to care about her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But as much as I wanted to forget, to push her out of my mind, I knew it wasn't going to be that simple. Delilah wasn't going to let this go, and neither, it seemed, was I.