Reckless {HS}

nineteen

Delilah's Pov

I woke up to a warm glow casting shadows through the unfamiliar curtains, my mind sluggish and cloudy. Blinking against the light, I tried to piece together where I was. This wasn't my room. The sheets were too soft, and the bed was far too large. Panic shot through me for a split second before the headache hit, a dull throb right behind my eyes. I groaned, slowly sitting up as my head spun with the effort. What the hell happened last night?

Forcing myself to focus, I glanced around the room. The walls were a muted gray, the furniture modern but not overly fancy. My gaze landed on a crumpled blanket and pillow on the floor beside the bed. Someone had clearly slept there, and a sharp unease filled my chest. My heart hammered in my throat as fragments of the previous night rushed back in jagged flashes—alcohol, dancing, a stranger's hands on my waist. And then... Harry.

I winced, pressing my palm to my temple. Harry had dragged me away from the club, hadn't he? His hands had been on my arms, firm, pulling me away from... that guy. But now, I was here—in some stranger's bed, still in my dress from the night before. The adrenaline spiked again, sending my mind spiraling into overdrive. I'd been reckless. So incredibly reckless. What if I hadn't run into Harry? What if—

I shook my head, trying to focus on the now. My throat was dry as sandpaper, and the room felt stifling. My eyes landed on the bedside table where a glass of water sat alongside a couple of pills. Next to them, a neatly folded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. My stomach flipped when I saw them. The clothes looked too big for me, and I could guess who had left them.

I hesitated before reaching for the water, downing the entire glass in one go. The coolness was a welcome relief against the dryness in my throat. Then, I eyed the clothes again. I was still in my wrinkled, tight dress from the night before, and I desperately wanted to get out of it. After a moment of deliberation, I stood up, legs wobbly beneath me, and slipped out of the dress.

The t-shirt and sweats were soft, swallowing me whole as I pulled them on. They smelled like him—like a mix of something clean and distinctly Harry. I felt an odd warmth in my chest, the scent comforting, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I hugged the fabric closer for a brief moment, before shaking my head. Get it together, Delilah.

I padded quietly to the door, barefoot, every step cautious. I had no idea where I was or what kind of situation I was about to walk into. What if he was just outside? What if... no, I needed to leave before I could find out. My hand hovered over the door handle, ready to make a quiet escape, but then I froze.

There were voices on the other side of the door.

I pressed my ear against the wood, barely breathing.

"...you're cutting it too close, mate. We need to be done with this job before things spiral out of control," a voice said, low and rough. Someone I didn't recognize.

I tensed immediately. The tone, the seriousness—it didn't feel right.

"I know," Harry responded sharply. His voice was unmistakable. "But I've got it handled. Tomorrow night, we're in and out. No mess, no mistakes."

Tomorrow night? A chill ran down my spine. What were they talking about?

"You've been distracted, Harry. We can't afford distractions, especially not with your dad breathing down our necks. You need to focus. This isn't some petty score."

I felt my heart drop. They were planning something, something big. And by the way they were talking about it, this wasn't just some small-time operation. No, this was serious.

"I said I've got it handled, Niall," Harry snapped, sounding more irritated now.

Niall. I didn't know the name, but he sounded important. I pressed myself harder against the door, trying to process what I was hearing. A heist? Another robbery? My mind raced, my heartbeat thudding in my ears as I realized just how deep I had gotten into something I shouldn't be involved in.

I didn't know what to do. I stood frozen, listening as they continued to talk about plans, timelines, and targets. My gut twisted in knots. They were planning another heist tomorrow night. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was real—Harry was involved in something dangerous, and I was here, caught in the middle of it.

"I don't care what you think. Just be ready," Harry said, his tone brooking no argument. "We're doing it my way."

I needed to leave. Now.

Backing away from the door as quietly as I could, I glanced around the room, desperate for another way out. My gaze landed on a door across the room that looked like it led to the outside. I moved quickly but cautiously, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. I didn't care where it led, just as long as it got me out of here.

I fumbled with the handle, the cool metal slipping under my fingers before I finally managed to pull it open. The rush of cool morning air hit my face, a stark contrast to the tension-filled room behind me. I took one last glance back, hearing Harry's voice still talking, unaware that I was about to slip away.

Then, without thinking twice, I bolted out the door and into the early morning.