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
Winter had ruined me.
I knew from the moment I met her, on that cold September night, that she was going to ruin me eventually.
And now she had.
It has been a few days since our last run in. It seems it was more often than not I had to take a small leave from work due to injuries. My shoulder was weak, my left arm was stiff and ached whenever I moved. Thankfully, there wasn't too much damage. The doctors told me I'd gotten lucky—the knife hadn't gone deep, it was a clean slice, nothing vital was punctured. It would heal. Smoothly. Cleanly.
But God, it still hurt like a fucking bitch.
The pain wasn't the problem, though. Pain I could deal with. Pain was familiar, manageable. What I couldn't handle were the thoughts that came with it.
Because she'd recognised me. I replayed it over and over. As soon as that knife was on my shoulder, she knew me. She recognised me. I saw her. I saw a glimpse of her. My flower. Not Roman's machine.
I didn't know if it was hearing my name. or maybe when she'd driven that knife into me, there was the tiniest flicker of hesitation. Something that said, deep down, she didn't really want to stab me.
Because she didn't really want to stab me, right?
But she did. Because she had come after me weeks ago in that alleyway. She'd been clear-headed. No treatments. No procedures. Nothing to mess with her memory of me. And she had still tried to kill me. She hadn't wavered until the very last second, with that knife against my throat.
I truly had no idea what to think anymore. But the thing was, whether she wanted me dead or didn't, I couldn't bring myself to care.
Because I wanted her alive.
I wanted her breathing. I wanted her out of Roman's hands.
But I was going to get her out.
No matter what it cost. No matter what she did to me next.
My palm pressed flat against the door as I pushed it open, stepping into the office. It was the last place I wanted to be. My mind was stuck between two extremes—staring into nothing, thinking of nothing except how everything had changed overnight, and obsessively chasing leads, trying to figure out where Roman was. Where she was.
Neither had gotten me anywhere. Months of searching, and I was barely a few steps closer to tracking him down. But they had her. I knew she was back with them again. And she wasn't going to leave. So I wasn't going to stop until I found her. It didn't matter how long it took.
Black coffee in hand, I moved through the office, heading for my desk. I expected to find Niall at his, same as always. But as I walked, a prickle crawled up the back of my neck, a feeling like I was being watched.
