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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Winter
Two hands hooked around my arms.
My feet dragged along the cold, hard floor.
The sensation wasn't new. I'd been hauled through hallways like this before, dragged toward a place I knew I wouldn't escape. It was routine, expected.
The new feeling was hurt, a different kind of hurt. Not physical like it usually was. Normally my body ached as they handled me and tried to stop me from escaping. Pain from whatever procedure I'd been put through before I was taken to the darkness. This time, the pain was deep in my chest, somewhere I couldn't reach. Somewhere only he could touch. A place that had felt warmth when my eyes first landed on him. When I first heard his voice. When I heard him say my name. A deep, crushing pain in my chest as Harry stood there, watching as they dragged me away. Knowing where they would be taking me.
It wasn't like he could do anything to help. That part I had to accept. I was a killer, I'd killed hundreds of people, so many that I'd lost count. I wandered into the office of Secret Service agents who were investigating me and had been for months. Of course they'd go after me. Of course, the second they had the opportunity to finally catch me, they were going to lock me away somewhere that I could never escape from.
Did I think he was going to save me?
Harry.
Harry whose name I repeated over and over. Harry, who I told myself I could never forget.
I knew him. I knew I did. And that picture he showed me, there was no denying it was a photo of us. Together. Smiling. Smiling like we really liked each other.
There was something about him. As soon as I saw him my body reacted, I knew it. I felt him without him even having to touch him. My body craved him, as did small fragments of my mind. When he called me flower, I felt I'd heard it before. It wasn't a new, unusual nickname for me to have. It felt natural to hear. I knew how his kiss felt. I knew how his hands felt on my skin, my waist, my thigh, when he caressed my cheek. It was all so familiar. That was the feeling in my chest.
But my gut, my gut told me no. My gut told me that he had ruined me. That the man I'd tried hard to remember, was someone better to forget.
It all made me feel sick.
But I knew, out of everyone in this building, he was the only person I wanted to be with.
"Harry!" I called after him screaming as I tried to get away. Though it would never work and I knew that. But usually, I didn't have someone to call for. It wasn't like me to cry when I was in a place full of people that saw me as a threat. Through an office full of agents. But this time, I really couldn't hold back the tears as they spilled. "No. Stop. Stop."
My wrists ached against the cold bite of the metal cuffs, but all I could feel was leather. It wasn't real, but it didn't matter. My mind had already taken me back—to the table, to the straps, to the rag shoved between my teeth so I couldn't bite through my own tongue. I wasn't there. Not yet. But if Roman found me, if that's where I ended up again, I prayed he'd never turn the machine off. Let it run. Let it take me. At least then I could finally escape all of this.
