Stitches

1.8

This is your only warning for the book hehe 

:) This chapter will contain graphic sexual scenes - Viewer discretion is advised :)

I watched the men vanish into the shadows, their shapes blurring into the dim, smoky haze of the club's low light. One by one, they pushed themselves up from the booth, each movement a slow, almost reluctant uncoiling, like animals shifting away from a prey they weren't quite ready to abandon. Silence began to creep in, thick and unsettling, a kind of charged emptiness that seemed to press down harder than the music thudding just beyond our little corner.

As they rose, I tracked their movements, each man a hulking silhouette, broad shoulders and dark jackets cutting through the haze. They all shared a similar look—hard, unreadable, and just detached enough to make me feel like I was being dissected under their gaze rather than seen. 

One of them brushed past me, his presence a wall of heat and muscle, a faint scent of something sharp and metallic lingering in his wake. Another shifted his gaze my way, his expression guarded, maybe curious, but I could sense the way he sized me up, his gaze flicking from my face to Harry as if silently questioning my place here. He gave a slight nod toward Harry before moving on, his heavy steps fading into the shadows.

But it was the last man that caught my attention—the one I'd noticed stretched out in the booth, who'd lingered just a beat too long when he'd first looked at me, his eyes dark with an almost unsettling curiosity. He didn't move right away, just sat there for a moment longer, his gaze a heavy, lingering weight. His face was shadowed, expression unreadable, yet there was something in his eyes—a glint of skepticism or maybe disdain—that felt like a slow burn under my skin.

For a moment, he didn't break his stare, his eyes fixed on me like he was trying to peel back layers, to see beyond whatever mask he assumed I was wearing. His lip curled slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I forced myself to hold his gaze, feeling a strange defiance bubbling up even as my heart pounded faster, every instinct screaming at me to look away.

Finally, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed himself up, his stare unbroken until the last possible second. He gave a slight nod, a half-smirk twisting at the corner of his mouth before he turned, his broad frame vanishing into the dim light like the others. I felt the tension he'd left behind settle like smoke, curling and clinging to the air, filling the silence with an unease that gnawed at my nerves.

The silence expanded, a void left in the wake of their departure, heavy and electric, as though the room itself was holding its breath. I glanced at Harry, his face a study in shadows, his gaze trained on me with a focus that felt as intense as it was unreadable. He hadn't moved, still standing close, one hand resting on the back of the booth, fingers curled and tense. His gaze, a mix of unreadable tension and something that might have been concern, drifted over me like he was assessing the damage. But he didn't say anything, didn't push or break the silence that had settled thick between us, like he knew even the slightest nudge would be enough to set something off in me.

A moment passed, long and loaded, and I felt the remnants of my daze start to slip, like threads loosening their grip on my mind. Harry's presence was steady, pulling me back in a way that felt both grounding and intense, his silence speaking more than anything he could say. I blinked, focusing on the dimness of the club, on the reality of the table between us. The memory of what I'd just seen, of that room from my past, felt like it was receding, but the weight of it still clung, thick as smoke.

Then, his voice broke through, low and careful. "You okay?"

The words were simple enough, casual even, but there was something underlying them, a note of hesitation that surprised me. He didn't seem the type to hesitate—least of all around me.