The Me You Can't See (H.S)

73

Harry's POV:

 My hands grip the steering wheel beneath as I stare at the entrance of the once standing warehouse. Marked off with police tape that's now surely caught on my bumper, it's nothing more than piles of rubble. 

The bastards not even here yet. 

I'd had no time to prepare for this meeting but I wasn't surprised by his summoning either. I don't think I can ever properly prepare for a meeting with him. 

Hearing his voice alone sends shockwaves of rage coursing through my body. But the sight of him — the look of his smug fucking grin has me feeling psychotic at the lack of control I feel towards my emotions. 

But tonight must be different. 

Rain pounds against my windshield as I await for him to arrive. It isn't until I see the highlights of a vehicle far off rounding the corner that I finally perk up. 

Even in these icy and wet conditions my palms begins to sweat and the thud of my heart rises as he nears closer. 

But I can't think of anything other than her. 

Of what I've done and what I must now right. 

His driver pulls up, entering from an entrance I could have sworn wasn't there last time. I expect a number of men at his side but I'm suprised when it's just him that gets out of the car. 

I feel my jaw threatent to drop when my eyes finally lay on him. Brusied argualbly just as much as Haven, minus the handprints around the neck, he walk towards the center. He tries to hide it, but I don't miss the way he walks attempting to hide the kink in his stride. 

Rising my hand to my face and hidden behind the cover of my palm, the corners of my mouth lift up at the image before me. 

That's my girl. She'll be alright. 

I never thought she needed me. In fact, I know she doesn't. 

But I'm no better than him — my guilt just lies in my compliance.

"Malcolm." I greet with a nod of my head as I stuff my hands into my drenched pockets. Distracted by all the chaos inside my head I didn't register the moment my clothes went from dry to wet, nor did I from warm to bone shivering cold. 

Yet even in all my discomfofr, my face shows nothing more than the apathy I've always reserved special for him. 

Hidden under the cover of the umbrella held in his grip, I watch his mouth pull into a grin and I can only imagine being the child of such a sleaze. 

Yes, I worked with him much closer than maybe anyone and spent many an hour with him. 

But I wasn't his child. 

And like it or not, she was. 

Not in the ways that would matter to anyone else. But to Malcolm, she was his daughter — a title that only blood demands.

He smiles at me and I shiver, from the cold or him I've yet to decide — maybe both. 

"You've done good 14." he tells me, knowing better than to offer me a hand as he normally would. 

"You've held up your end of the bargain, it seems only fair that I hold up mine." Pulling a pen from the inside of his suit pocket, he awaits the documents I don't have. 

"Don't tell me you expected me to bring the damned papers too?" he says mockingly. 

"I fucking hate you. You know that?" I say, the words slipping out of my mouth before I can even register.